at Myth Glaurach. This city is the seat of my third realm, Malkizid, and here I will raise a mighty kingdom indeed. All I need is time, time to master more of your mythal spells, time to build my armies again.”
“You need not fear that possibility, Sarya,” said the demon-prince. “With the right mythal spells, you could stand a siege of centuries within Myth Drannor’s ruins.”
Sarya stopped her pacing and turned to face the mythal stone through which Malkizid spoke, even though she knew that he was not physically present.
“I have spent ages uncounted buried in traps and prisons! I am not going to simply sit within these crumbling ruins and allow my enemies to contain me here forever.”
“Then you must destroy Evermeet’s army. Since you cannot reach them where they are now, perhaps matters will turn to your advantage if they place themselves within your reach here.” Malkizid paused a moment, then asked, “Are you certain that Evermeet is your only foe? What of the Jaelre or Auzkovyn drow? Or the human lands near this city?”
Sarya barked in bitter laughter. “The drow have not seen fit to show themselves yet, and I doubt they will do so. Vesryn Aelorothi tells me that some demonic nemesis has all but harried them from the old Elven Court entirely. As for the humans… the humans have dreaded these woods for a thousand years or more. Why, the memories alone of old Cormanthyr have been sufficient to keep them from expanding into the forest.”
“A kingdom stands on four pillars, Sarya: magic, steel, coin, and allies. You can do without one pillar, but your realm will not survive long if you lack two or more. Here you have magical power, and soon an army to be reckoned with, when we bring more of my infernal warriors to your banner-under the terms of our existing bargain, of course. What of the other two pillars?”
“Commerce is for humans,” Sarya growled. “But allies… allies could be useful. Unfortunately, the nearest orcs or ogres of any number are in the lands of Thar, across the Moonsea.”
“I was speaking of the human powers that surround this forest. Or even the drow, for that matter.”
Sarya turned slowly to gaze into the aura of dancing golden light.
“I have no use for the drow,” she said. She was inclined to discount the rest of Malkizid’s suggestion, too, yet there was something in the archdevil’s words, wasn’t there? Even if she had no use for the humans, she certainly did not want to see Evermeet’s army ally with any of those powers against her. “But the humans… Sembia or Zhentil Keep have no interest in seeing Evermeet’s army in Cormanthor, do they? Perhaps these enemies could be turned against each other. But what would you gain from such a development, I wonder?”
“Your success is my success, Sarya Dlardrageth. You are the ally I have needed for five thousand years, the missing pillar in my kingdom. And I am the missing pillar in your new realm.” Sarya felt the archdevil’s keen hunger and ambition glinting through the mythal almost as if she were gazing into his eyes. “I have waited a long time for my freedom. You can help me gain it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
22 Mirtul, the Year of Lightning Storms
Anticipating trouble, Araevin and Filsaelene wove a number of spells, wards, and abjurations over their companions in the safety of the hidden cave. Araevin warded them from blades and talons with his spell of stoneskin, and finished by once again weaving the spell of invisibility over the small band.
“The spells will not last long,” he said. “We should head straight for the portal glade, and avoid any delay.”
He nodded to Starbrow, and the tall moon elf set his shoulder to the hidden door leading out into Sehanine’s shrine, gently opening it a handspan to peer outside.
“No one in sight,” Starbrow said. “Follow me, and stay close.”
One by one they slipped out of the refuge. Daylight had long since faded, and the night was overcast with only a hint of moonshine glowing behind the clouds. Starbrow lingered a moment to slide the door shut behind them and quickly scuff up the signs of their passage.
“No sense letting the daemonfey find it,” he said in a low voice.
They set off at a quick jog along the old forest roads, heading back toward the jagged spires of the city that rose above the trees.
They hurried on through the night-black forest, until Araevin sensed that they were quite close to the portal glade. He started to whisper a warning to Starbrow, but the moon elf slacked his pace and raised one hand in warning before Araevin could speak.
He looked back to Araevin and whispered, “Do I go on ahead, or do we all go together?”
“Together,” Araevin whispered back. “My invisibility spell won’t work if we spread out too far.”
Starbrow nodded, and moved carefully out into the clearing, his hand on Keryvian’s hilt. Araevin followed him, peering into the dark shadows that gathered around the edges of the clearing. Nothing stirred in the small clearing. He felt Ilsevele a step behind, and Filsaelene and Maresa bringing up the rear.
“The portal,” Araevin said to his companions, and he hurried over to the blank stone face where the magical doorway opened. He checked it quickly, searching for signs of a sealing spell or trap, and found none.
“Just a moment,” he told the others, and he fished out the tiny white blossoms needed to open the gate.
A sinister voice hissed somewhere in the air above him, and Araevin felt his invisibility spell suddenly shredded into useless scraps of fading magic.
“Ambush!” he cried to his companions.
“I knew you would return to this door, paleblood!” cried a harsh, booming voice from above the glade. “You have troubled us for the last time.”
Araevin whirled and looked up. Descending from some unseen perch high above, a band of armored fey’ri appeared in the night sky and dropped down toward his small company. At their head flew a terrible scion of darkness, a huge, powerfully built demon-elf with four arms and a curving scimitar in each hand. His eyes burned like balls of green flame in the darkness.
“What in the black pits of the Abyss is that?” Maresa snarled.
Her crossbow snapped, and a stubby quarrel glanced from the huge swordsman’s breastplate. Ilsevele’s bow sang beside Araevin, and silver-white arrows killed in midair a fey’ri sorcerer about to cast a spell. The creature’s wings crumpled and he plummeted headlong into the clearing.
A stabbing bolt of lighting darted down from another spellcaster, but Araevin expertly parried the spell with a quick spell-shield, batting its baleful energy aside to detonate in the forest nearby. Then from another fey’ri a small knot of absolute darkness streaked down into the center of the glade. In the space of two heartbeats the black ball blossomed out into a wide cloud of roiling blackness, shot through with purple-white bolts of energy. Frigid, cloying darkness closed in around Araevin, and jabbing lances of unclean fire seared him across his limbs and torso, as if icy filth had been shoved under his skin. He gasped and staggered.
“Araevin, get the gate open!” Starbrow called.
Keryvian leaped from its sheath like a brand of white fire, burning away the foul blackness that had descended over the glade. He dashed forward and met the daemonfey swordmaster.
With a roar of fury, the four-armed monster dropped down on top of Starbrow, his two lower blades flashing in a vicious cross-cut, followed an instant later by a double down-cut from his upper arms. Yet somehow Starbrow, with his one blade, parried both cross-cuts with a single great shock, and quickly spun aside from the overhand attacks, finishing his turn with a whirling backhand slash that beat through the massive daemonfey’s right-hand guard and slashed a deep cut across the back of the monster’s calf. Keryvian gave off a shrill, high ring as it tasted demonflesh.
The huge swordsman roared again, then turned and sprang straight at Starbrow, unleashing a dizzying fusillade of slashes with his four blades. Then Araevin wrenched his eyes away from the furious duel as more fey’ri attacked, scouring the clearing with gouts of green sorcerous fire and deadly curses and blights. Filsaelene stumbled and fell to her hands and knees, blinded by a fey’ri spell, then Maresa swore a vile oath and scrambled back away from a boiling nest of magical, ruby-colored scorpions that erupted from the ground all around her, each the size of a human hand.
