glimpsed a large boulder of pale pinkish stone, half-covered with green moss.
The mythal stone! he realized.
Araevin filed away the glimpses shown by his orbs, and set out down the hallway leading to the daemonfey dungeon.
Tor Evermeet!' Seiveril cried.
With Fflar at his side and the Knights of the Golden Star at his back, he hurled himself headlong into the foul tide of demons who sought to encircle the crusade. There was nothing to gain by avoiding the fighting anymore. No orders he might give could possibly affect the outcome, as the battle of maneuver was clearly done with. All that remained was to slay or be slain.
The Golden Star raised a high, clear war cry that echoed across the twilit moorlands. Chancing falls and broken legs, they spurred their elven coursers toward the wave of demons, who gladly leaped forward to meet them. Hellborn fangs, claws, and sorcery met elven steel magic in a tremendous collision that shook the battlefield.
Seiveril's war-horse reared and plunged, beset on both flanks by the hulking, chitinous forms of mezzoloths. One jabbed its iron trident at Seiveril while the other lunged low, seeking to gut his horse. But the elflord managed to wrench his mount's reins aside and dance the horse away from the second fiend while parrying the strike of the first with his holy mace. He turned toward the first mezzoloth and rode close up on it, standing in his stirrups to smash down at its head and shoulders with all his strength. Chitin split and ichor flew, and the monster went down beneath the stamping silver-shod hooves of his mount.
Seiveril wheeled to parry the attack he expected from the second mezzoloth, but that one was gone, swept away by the tide of battle. In its place a grossly obese hezrou battled with its back to him, battering at one of Gaerth's knights with its long, clawed arms. He rode three steps closer and slammed the spiked mace head between the toadlike demon's shoulder blades. The thing howled abominably, but it did not die-demons were difficult to kill, at best. Instead it spun around and struck him a backhand blow with its ogrelike fist that knocked the elflord clean out of his saddle.
Seiveril grunted as he hit the ground, but there at least the moorland was a blessing-he landed on a tuft of stiff grass that helped to break his fall. The elflord glanced up just in time to find demons scrabbling toward him from all sides, fangs dripping with venom, eyes aglow with the power of the hells.
From his knees he spoke a single word of power, a holy word of Corellon Larethian so mighty that no evil creature could endure its utterance. Several of the demons nearby disappeared with wails of agony, instantly banished back to their infernal domain by the power of the word. Others reeled away stunned, black blood trickling from their ears, smoke rising from their foul bodies.
'That's better,' Seiveril managed, and found his feet again.
All around him the battle between the Golden Star knights and the demonic allies of the daemonfey raged without respite. The collision of armies had devolved into hundreds of individual encounters. Fortified by their magic, the elf knights were giving as good as they got. Blasts of argent light and bursts of holy wrath tore through the demonic ranks, while hastily raised spell shields parried or deflected many of the demon's own unholy blights and scourges of hellfire. But elves were falling on all sides, dragged down into blood and death by their infernal foes, and powerful sorcerers in the daemonfey ranks strove to pull down or pierce the elven spell shields. Horses screaming in mortal agony, the awful din of metal on metal, angry war cries, and roars of bestial wrath threatened to drive all thought from him.
'By the Seldarine, what a disaster,' he breathed.
'Seiveril! Are you hurt?' Fflar called as he rode into the small circle Seiveril's holy word had cleared.
Keryvian agleam like a bolt of pure sunlight in his hand, Fflar struck left and right as he approached, cleaving demon flesh and searing yugoloths with the sword's terrible power.
'I'm well enough,' Seiveril answered, even though he was surprised to find that something had torn deep furrows in the mailed skirt guarding his hips. He limped over to his war-horse and awkwardly swung himself back up into the saddle, while Fflar stood guard. aWe have to reform, regroup! This is not the battle we meant to fight!'
Fflar shook his head and replied, 'There's no place to go. We're hemmed in on all sides. We have to stand our ground, or press forward and cut our way out. There is no retreating now!'
'But we are being slaughtered!'
'Yes, but so are the daemonfey. We will simply have to slaughter a little better than they do tonight, my friend,' Fflar said. He wheeled his horse, and pointed with his sword. 'Look there!'
Seiveril followed his captain's sword point. Amid a foul phalanx of demons hovered a great brazen disk or platform, its sides armored and scribed with ancient Elvish writings. From its deck he glimpsed fey'ri hurling spell after spell into the melee.
'I see it,' he answered.
'Our scouts reported seeing it at the Battle of the Cwm. The daemonfey general is there!' 'Guard me,' Seiveril replied.
He began to cast a powerful summoning. His voice rose and fell in the ancient holy words of the invocation. He noticed that Fflar turned to drive off another trio of demons prowling closer, but he paid it no mind, focusing on completing his spell. He called out the last words and held Corellon Larethian's symbol high-and the ground shook again, fountaining water and mud. Before Seiveril rose up a titanic mound of animated earth and rock, an elemental the size of a small tower.
'Destroy the battle-platform!' he cried to his summoned elemental.
The colossal creature turned ponderously and marched toward the enemy spellcasters, simply burying lesser demons and fiends who could not get out of its way. A whole barrage of magic abruptly shifted to the elemental. Seiveril watched its progress, but then Fflar grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed his head down, just as a thrown spear sailed over him. The battle was returning, and quickly.
'We need a plan!' Seiveril growled, turning to face the newest threat.
'I advise, fight hard and don't get killed,' Fflar answered.
The moon elf warrior raised a war cry and charged at the enemy ranks. Seiveril hesitated, then followed the champion of Myth Drannor into the fray again.
Padding quietly through the chill stone corridors of the daemonfey stronghold, Araevin followed the path traced by his orb, still cloaked in his invisibility spell. It seemed that he need not have bothered, since he met no enemies as he passed through the empty hallways. Sarya's war against Evereska and the High Forest had emptied the place, or close to it.
Araevin climbed the long, winding steps leading up to the level of the prison, and turned to the right as he had previously seen. Ahead he saw a dim glimmer of lamplight, and heard the low sound of voices in conversation. He slowed his steps even further and crept close to the guardroom's entrance, staying near to the right-hand wall even though he was mantled in invisibility. There were spells that negated invisibility, after all, and the fey'ri were skillful enough as sorcerers to know such invocations. He reached the doorway and risked a quick glance inside.
Three fey'ri stood watch over the hallway with its cells.
There were two of them a few minutes ago, he thought. Is there a change of the watch coming?
He decided that it didn't matter. He was too close to Ilsevele and Maresa to wait on events, not when he couldn't be certain of avoiding discovery for long. Stepping around the corner, he quickly evoked a devastating blast of multicolored rays at the three fey'ri. Potent beams of brilliant yellow, sullen red, and vivid blue lashed out at the daemonfey even as they scrambled to their feet, warned by the arcane words Araevin used to unleash the spell. Magical power filled the air with a deafening crackle, and the bright rays destroyed the dark shadows of the room with a sudden burst of light as bright as the sun.
When Araevin's sight cleared, one fey'ri stood petrified, transformed to stone by one of the prismatic rays. The second slowly picked himself up from the floor, his scaly flesh puckered and sizzling from the terrible acid of the orange ray. The third fey'ri was simply gone-disintegrated by multiple rays or blasted into some far plane, Araevin neither knew nor cared. His invisibility spell spoiled by his attack, he drew Nurthel's iron short sword with one smooth motion and charged the remaining fey'ri.
The fellow bared his fangs in a sinister snarl and started a spell of his own, but Araevin closed on him before he could finish casting. He took three fingers off the fey'ri's hand and spoiled the enemy's spell.
