spearmen farthest out on the enemy right had no hope of keeping up with the intended wheeling movement, and fell behind at once, even though they were running at their best speed to try to keep their place.
'It's only bought us a few minutes,' Seiveril replied.
The shining silver ranks of the elf infantry flowed over the uneven ground, rippling like a stream of steel pouring across the moorland. The gap between the armies narrowed moment by moment, closing by two hundred yards a minute at their swift pace. Seiveril glanced to the west. The sun had descended from the day's overcast and gleamed, orange and cold, in the gap between mountains and clouds. It was a spectacular sunset, really, the skies streaked with shadow and gold.
Corellon, let our work be done swiftly and well tonight, he prayed. Speed our arrows to our enemies, confuse and foil them so that no more of your sons may go to Arvandor before their time.
'Archers!' he cried. 'Fire at your pace as we advance. Look for fey'ri and enemy banners.'
Strong bands of wood elf archers marched alongside the spearmen and swordsmen of Evermeet. The battle of the cwm had taught Seiveril that his archers were the best answer to the fey'ri spellcasters. By salting his ranks with small companies of Evermeet's wood elves and the elite spellarchers, he would make it difficult for the fey'ri legion to attack from the air without enduring at least some danger of their own. With easy skill, the archers kept the pace of the advancing swordsmen and spearmen, pausing a half step every twelve heartbeats to loose an arrow at the army waiting ahead.
More than a thousand bows began to speak as the elven force drew close to its adversary, sending ragged flights of white arrows whistling through the space between the armies. The fire was nothing like what they might have achieved if they had halted, but elf archers trained long and hard at firing on the move, and from the first volley their deadly shafts began to work destruction among the ranks ahead.
The orcs and ogres of the daemonfey army screamed and bellowed in anger. Banners fell, their standard- bearers slain. Captains and sergeants choked on slender arrows fired by keen-eyed elf marksmen. Seiveril considered ordering a halt to allow his archers even more time to rake the enemy ranks, but then the daemonfey decided matters for him. Again the heavy trumpet blatted out its deep note, and the uneasy ranks of savage warriors shouted in delight, breaking into a clumsy, ragged charge.
'Halt and hold!' Seiveril cried. 'Archers, break the charge! Mages, stand by for the fey'ri and demons. Don't waste your spells on orcs unless you have to.'
The elven army slowed to a stop, heavy infantry in the front grounding their shields and setting their spears and swords, the archers redoubling their fire. The ragged volleys of the advance became a withering storm of white shafts. For one endless minute, the archers scythed down hundreds of orc berserkers and rampaging ogres as the feral warriors struggled to reach the elves across the rough moorland.
The first of the orcs and ogres reached the elf ranks, while the fey'ri legion took to the air, their wing beats as great and terrible as thunderclaps.
'Beware the daemonfey!' Seiveril called.
He readied his own counterspells and defenses, prepared to withstand a magical assault. But the fey'ri stayed out of reach and flew over his army, in one swift and precise movement sealing off his retreat.
The sun sank below the dark, cold mountains, and shadow fell over Seiveril and the army of Evermeet.
Sarya Dlardrageth watched her orcs and ogres hurl themselves upon the elves' army, breaking on the rampart of the elven line like a stormy sea unable to overcome a stone breakwater. In truth, she was impressed by the speed and handiness of Evermeet's army, as well as their sheer determination. She hadn't been sure that they had the stomach to press their pursuit to the point of another pitched battle, but so much the better.
'It's going poorly for the left flank,' Mardeiym Reithel said. 'Without our fey'ri behind it, I think they will break and run.'
'No matter,' Sarya replied. 'The palebloods will have to turn to meet the attack of our center and right. And we are about to give them something else to worry about, anyway.'
She paced across her Vyshaanti battle-platform, watching the fray closely. She was dressed in golden mail of exceptional quality and exquisite workmanship, a highly enchanted artifact she had found among the spoils of Nar Kerymhoarth. Sarya intended to lend her own mastery of the Art to the attack, and she was well prepared to do so.
The fey'ri, hovering well above arrow-reach, passed over the entirety of the elven army and alighted behind her foes. The sorcerers and warriors of her daemonfey legion began to attack the rearmost companies of the elven army, guarding themselves with potent spell shields as they scoured and blasted the elf ranks with their terrible spells and fire wands. She had deliberately ordered her captains to allow Evermeet's host to reach the moorland unchallenged in order to draw them well and truly into the open. The elven army was engaged on three sides by her left flank, her center, and the fey'ri.
The moment was as right as it would get.
Sarya laughed with malice and hissed, 'Now we shall test the mettle of our enemies. Mardeiym, you will take command of the center. Send word to the right that I want them in the fight in five minutes, or I will personally slay every captain in that host.'
The fey'ri general struck his fist to his chest and replied, 'As you wish, Lady Dlardrageth.'
Sarya made a gesture with her hand activating one of the useful enchantments in her battle-platform. Switching to the Abyssal tongue, she barked out her orders.
'Time to spring our trap,' she grated. 'All of you, follow me and slay to your hearts' content!'
Lurking in the shadows sheltering her from sight, hundreds of demons waited-virtually all who could transport themselves from place to place with a simple act of will. Many were survivors of the Battle of the Cwm, but better than threescore were newly summoned and bound to her service. Sarya spoke a command word, and her platform teleported from its place of concealment to a barren, sandy stretch on the unengaged left flank of the elven army. An instant later, the first of her demon marauders followed her, appearing from midair like a rain of horror.
Her army surrounded Evermeet's host on all four sides.
'Destroy them!' she cried, sweeping her arm at her foes.
Demons howled, barked, and laughed in response, and threw themselves against their prey.
CHAPTER 18
12 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms
Araevin trotted swiftly through the damp, rain-soaked trees of Cormanthor, distancing himself from the vault behind him. He deliberately avoided the old elfroad, just on the chance that the daemonfey might discover his freedom and their dead comrades and come looking for him. The side of his chest still burned with the broken ribs the behir had given him, and various other injuries announced themselves as he traveled, but he refused to give the pain a place in his thoughts, and instead considered what to do next as he jogged on.
Ilsevele first, he thought. And Maresa too. I have to get them out of Sarya's hands before the daemonfey discover my escape. All I have to do is walk into the demons' den.
Armed as he was with a mind full of spells and abjurations as potent as anything he could ever have prepared in his own workroom, Araevin didn't shy from returning to the daemonfey halls. He even thought he might have an unpleasant surprise or two for them.
This should do, Araevin decided.
He looked around at the wet woodland and shivered. The vault of Ithraides, with its teleport-distorting spell wards, lay two miles behind him. He was well outside its magical mantle.
'Now, for the difficult part,' he breathed.
Gesturing absently, he prepared a couple of defensive spells to protect himself-one that covered him in an intangible shield of magical force, and another to turn himself invisible. He gazed around at the forest, breathing in the scent of spring rising from hidden roots and deep places.
Hold it in your mind, Araevin, he told himself. It might be the last good thing you look on in this life.
Then he incanted the teleport spell, fixing in his mind the image of the marble-floored cavern in the daemonfey stronghold.
