She lifted out the other pieces one at a time and joined them, base-to-base. As each segment's lower facet touched that of the neighboring segment, the crystal glowed blue and melded together, forming a seamless, perfect whole. When the last piece was added, the device seemed to hum with power. It resembled a three- pointed star almost a foot in diameter, stronger than steel and imbued with magic beyond mortal means.
'Ah,' Sarya purred. 'What a pretty trinket this is!'
'Will it work?' Nurthel asked, peering at the artifact.
'Oh, yes,' Sarya said. 'Nothing can stand against it, though we must be careful, or else it will fly apart and fling its component crystals to the far ends of the multi-verse. I dare not invoke its powers here, not within the spell wards of Myth Glaurach-but it will serve for the task I have in mind. I am confident of it.'
Sarya replaced the conjoined crystal in its coffer, then set a lethal spell over the chest. She gestured at a decanter of dark wine and a pair of golden goblets across the room, summoning them to her hand.
'Now, what of the rest of your mission? How did that proceed?'
'We battled at least two, perhaps three high mages. We killed the two we were certain of and destroyed a number of lesser mages, too. Some had skill, others were mere novices. We plundered what we could from the Tower, and left before the mages managed to organize their defenses.'
'And what of Kaeledhin's key?'
'We did as you directed, my lady. I attended to the matter personally,' Nurthel said. The fey'ri lord accepted a goblet from his lady's hand and sipped the fiery vintage within. He dropped his eyes to his golden cup and swirled the wine thoughtfully. 'Still… I do not see the point of it. We have the Gatekeeper's Crystal. That seems sufficient.'
'Perhaps,' Sarya replied. She turned and paced absently away, resuming the endless prowling she fell into when her mind was engaged. 'But once I use the crystal, it is almost certain to fly apart again, and it may take years to reassemble. I would like a more permanent weapon at my disposal. In any event, it seems that Evermeet will remember our visit for some time.'
CHAPTER 3
16 Alturiak, the Year of Lightning Storms
Araevin spent most of the day lending his spells and lore to the restoration of the Tower's magical defenses, aiding Quastarte and the other mages. An hour before sunset, he and Ilsevele left Tower Reilloch, following the coastal track west.
While they walked, Araevin carefully replayed the battle over and over in his mind, setting its every detail in his memory and thinking long and hard on the nature of the Tower's foes. The demons and yugoloths were clearly little more than footsoldiers, brought to the tower in order to destroy its defenders and guard the winged sorcerers. The latter were the creatures that most concerned Araevin. He'd seen at least three of them among the attackers. Each had possessed the narrow face, elegant features, and graceful build of an elf… along with the fine scales, sinister wings, and supernatural malice of a demon. It shouldn't have been possible for the winged ones to gate their demonic minions into Evermeet, not with the magical wards surrounding the island, but somehow they had managed the feat.
They have elf blood, he thought grimly. They pierced our defenses because Evermeet did not recognize them as enemies. But what manner of elf is so clearly spawned of the lower planes? Not even the cursed drow are so debased.
A couple of hours before dawn, they finally stopped to rest in a small wayside hostel along the road. So far they had seen no signs of anything untoward, but as an extra precaution, Ilsevele stood watch while Araevin prepared his spells. Araevin had used many spells the night before, and he took some time to ready all his powers again. The act of unleashing a spell was fairly simple, a few arcane words, a quick pass of the hands, a pinch of odd reagents. But a wizard often required hours of tedious preparation to ready spells for the quick casting called for in battle. When he finished, they set out again, and reached the Miritar estate on the outskirts of the northern city of Elion late in the afternoon.
The Miritar clan had held Elion and the surrounding land in the name of Evermeet's monarchs for close to five hundred years. Like many other Cormanthorian families, the Miritars had fled Myth Drannor in the last days of that great city, escaping the terrible army that had destroyed the city. They had never been a numerous family, but they claimed the allegiance of a number of less noble clans, and they had proven to be good stewards over the northern lands granted them by the Crown. Seamist, the Miritar seat, was a large, rambling place of white stone walls wreathed in the ever-present mists of the northern shore. Dimly glimpsed colonnades and alluring bowers hovered beneath the dripping fir trees like an ethereal dream.
Two guards in dappled gray cloaks greeted Araevin and Ilsevele as they approached the palace gates.
'Lady Miritar, glad homeagain!' one of them called.
'We wondered where you were when Swiftwind returned unsaddled.*
'I sent him along, Rhyste. He is well?'
'Yes, my lady. You'll find him in the stables.'
'Good,' said Ilsevele. She glanced at Araevin. 'Swiftwind knows his way here, unlike some others I can think of.' Araevin winced, but she smiled and looked back to the guard. 'Is my father here?'
'Yes, my lady,' said Rhyste. 'He just returned from Leuthilspar. You'll find him taking his dinner in his study, if I am not mistaken.'
'Thank you,' Ilsevele replied. 'Mage Teshurr will be staying with us for a time. Please send word to have a room readied for him.'
Ilsevele and Araevin passed into the palace grounds, following a winding path that climbed through the cool groves and elegant buildings to a broad meadow high on the hillside. There a manor house of white stone crowned the palace grounds, looking out over the forested slopes below to the gray sea beyond. An open archway led to a courtyard of undisturbed natural stone open to the sky, grown over with moss and heather. Ilsevele led Araevin to a door on their left and knocked twice before entering.
The room beyond was a broad study, its walls graced by elegantly carved wooden screens and wide windows of mystic theurglass. A writing desk of cherry stood against one wall, beside two tall bookcases of the same wood. On one wall hung the ancient sword Keryvian, a mighty weapon of fallen Myth Drannor that had come into the possession of House Miritar almost three hundreds years before, recovered from the demon-haunted ruins of the city by Ilsevele's father when he was young.
A trim sun elf dressed in robes of green reclined on a divan beneath one of the windows, a book in his hands, a tray of sliced fruit and thin cakes forgotten on the end table. His hair, once a copper red, was streaked with silver, and thin lines framed his mouth and gathered at the corners of his eyes, but he was still graceful and fit. Lord Seiveril Miritar wore his four hundred winters well. He glanced up as Ilsevele and Araevin entered, and smiled warmly.
'Ilsevele! Glad homeagain, my dear. This is an unexpected surprise. And Araevin, too! Welcome to Seamist.'
Ilsevele hurried across the room to take her father's hands and kiss his cheek.
'Hello, Father,' she said. 'It's good to be home.'
'Please, join me in my meal,' Seiveril said. He waved at the divan, and took in their mud-splashed boots and mist-dampened cloaks with a glance. 'You've traveled a fair distance today, I see. Have you come from the Tower, then? How are things there?'
Araevin did not move. He exchanged glances with Ilsevele. Seiveril spied the worried look in Araevin's eyes at once, and paused.
'Something is wrong,' he observed quietly.
'The Tower has been attacked, Lord Seiveril,' Araevin said. 'The night before last. A large band of demons and yugoloths killed many of the Tower's folk, including the high mages Aeramma Durothil and Philaerin, the Eldest. And they stole a dangerous artifact from the Tower vaults.'
'Aillesel seldarie! Has Amlaruil been told?' Seiveril asked at once.
A high priest of Corellon Larethian, highest of the elf gods, Seiveril served as one of Queen Amlaruil's high
