from the flesh over his breastbone, leaving not a mark on him to show where it had been anchored to his very bones a moment before. Araevin willed it to become fully visible, and it appeared in his hand, a fine crystal of deep violet about the size of a woman’s thumb, etched meticulously with tiny lavender runes.
He whispered a word and left it suspended head-high in the air, floating in place under the power of its ancient enchantments.
He withdrew three steps and said, “I remind you again, the Nightstar is very dangerous.”
The high mages moved closer, though none approached closer than a full arm’s length. Kileontheal pursed her lips thoughtfully as she studied the dark facets. Breithel Olithir whispered the words of seeing spells and stared intensely at the flickering spell-auras he read in the gemstone. The loremaster Haldreithen simply frowned, saying nothing.
Finally Breithel sighed and turned away from the Nightstar. “It is an old stone, of that I am certain-old, and strong.”
“That is what I told you,” Araevin said.
“Yes, but I wanted to see for myself. The selukiira might have instructed you to lie about its origins.”
“Grand Mage, I am not under the stone’s control. Examine me, if you are not sure.”
“We have already,” Haldreithen said. The scholar measured Araevin with a long look. “Just because no sign of the stone’s dominion is obvious does not mean that you are not under its influence. After all, through this thing you wielded spells of mythalcraft we did not even suspect were possible. Who is to say that this Saelethil Dlardrageth didn’t possess enchantments that we cannot detect?”
“If the Nightstar had overthrown my mind, Loremaster, why did it then permit me to strike against Sarya Dlardrageth and bar her from the mythal of Myth Glaurach?” Araevin demanded. “For that matter, why did it not hide its identity, and invent a more innocuous origin? It could have used me to subvert one of you if it had concealed its true origin.”
“Sometimes half a truth is the best way to cover a lie,” the moon elf Anfalen said. “Still, I agree that your Nightstar would probably not have allowed you to tell us so much about it, if it really controlled your mind.”
“Even if you are not shackled to the stone’s will, you may be under a more subtle influence,” Kileontheal said. “If you are right, the Nightstar is the handiwork of a monster. Selukiira hold much of their maker in them, and it seems to me that you might be wise to put it away somewhere for safekeeping and never handle it again.”
“Better to destroy the thing outright,” Haldreithen added.
“I understand your concerns,” Araevin replied. “But consider this: The Nightstar holds spells of mythalcraft that no elf has known for five thousand years. Secrets as old as ancient Aryvandaar remain inside the selukiira. I do not understand all of them now, but in time I will.”
Kileontheal gazed on the stone for a long time, then looked up at Araevin and asked, “Is the selukiira capable of instructing you in high magic?”
Araevin hesitated. He felt the other high mages awaiting his answer. He did not want to speak the truth, but he dared not attempt to deceive them.
“Yes,” he said at last. He heard soft intakes of breath and sensed widened eyes and sharp sidelong glances around him. It was not often that high mages were surprised. “The spell I used to sever Sarya Dlardrageth from the mythal of Myth Glaurach was a spell of high magic. There are a number of even more powerful high magic spells in the Nightstar, as well as a great store of lore on mythalcraft and similar works. I have only scratched the surface of the selukiira ’s contents.”
“Have you embarked on the study of the other high magic spells contained in the lorestone?” the diviner Isilfarrel asked.
“Not yet, High Mage, but it is my intent to do so.” Araevin felt the consternation of the others, but he did not look away. “Sarya Dlardrageth did terrible things with the mythal of Myth Glaurach. What else might she do, given the chance? Who else might be able to do such things, now that the daemonfey have demonstrated that they are possible? Faerun is littered with the remnants of elven wards, vaults, and gates.” He paused, allowing the high mages to consider his words. “I fear that things are stirring in Faerun, things that our forefathers buried and forgot long ago. Our ignorance may prove deadly.”
“The impudence!” growled Haldreithen. “Kileontheal, you erred gravely with this one.”
Kileontheal’s eyes flashed, but she kept her voice calm. “Araevin, you have no way of knowing what perils might sleep in that ancient lorestone. Even if you succeed in your efforts, we may all have cause to regret it later. If nothing else, your defiance of our will in this matter speaks poorly of your readiness to become a high mage.”
“I understand, High Mage. I have weighed all these factors in my decision. Whether you believe it or not, I am the best judge of the perils of the Nightstar.”
“You will not study that lorestone here,” Kileontheal replied.
“I know,” Araevin said. He offered a deep bow. “That is why I have chosen to depart the tower. As I said, the time has come for me to follow another path.”
Deliberately, he stepped forward and closed his hand around the selukiira as the high mages watched. He slipped the lambent gemstone beneath his tunic, and pressed it to his breastbone again. Then he turned his back on Kileontheal and the others, and strode out of the great hall.
Patches of snow still lingered beneath the green branches of the evergreens that mantled Myth Glaurach’s rocky shoulders. Despite the bright sunshine that had lingered all day, spring did not come early to the Delimbiyr Vale. The air was damp and cold with the snowmelt, and not far from the ruined walls and broken domes of the ancient elven city, the Starstream-second of the four Talons that fed the mighty Delimbiyr-roared and rushed with white, cold floodwaters, so loud that its roar filled the air miles from the river’s course.
Fflar Starbrow Melruth pulled his cloak closer around his broad shoulders, and gazed over the jagged stumps of a long-abandoned colonnade on the city’s southern heights, watching the last embers of daylight painting the snow-covered mountaintops and high, wooded hills with soft splashes of gold and orange. He was a moon elf, tall and strongly built, with the strong hands and long arms of a born swordsman.
“A clear night coming,” he remarked. “The stars will be out, but I think it will be cold.”
Lord Seiveril Miritar looked up from the large map he was studying on a table nearby. He was a noble sun elf with red hair showing silver streaks at his temple, a high cleric of Corellon Larethian who wore a surcoat emblazoned with the star and sword of the elven god he served.
“I think I’ve come to like the spring here,” said Seiveril. “I find it… bracing.”
As High Captain of the Crusade-even Seiveril had come to think of Evermeet’s expedition as “the Crusade,” despite the fact that he’d resisted the appellation for some time-he had chosen the ruins of Myth Glaurach’s library for his headquarters. Though the empty shell of white stone was mostly open to the sky, the building still possessed strong walls that were easily enclosed with light screens and rugged canopies. Nearly six thousand elf warriors were encamped in the city’s ruins or in the forest nearby. An elite guard of twenty Knights of the Golden Star stood watch within a stone’s throw of the old library, along with dozens of officers and aides who helped Seiveril and Fflar to keep order in the elven army.
“A couple of months ago you might have thought differently,” Fflar said. “The wood elves of Rheitheillaethor told me how bitter the winters are in these lands. Do you know the ice broke on the Delimbiyr only a tenday ago?”
Fflar was more than he seemed, an ancient hero of fallen Myth Drannor whom Seiveril had called back into life with a powerful spell of resurrection. Together the sun elf cleric and the moon elf champion had led Evermeet’s Crusade in a fiercely fought campaign to defend Evereska and the High Forest from the daemonfey legions of Sarya Dlardrageth.
“Will we still be here in midsummer? Or the fall, perhaps?” he continued.
Seiveril straightened up from his map table and looked at Fflar. “There’s more on your mind than the weather, my friend. What is it?”
“How much longer can you keep this army together, Seiveril? Araevin banished Sarya’s demons, we destroyed her orcs and giants, and her fey’ri have fled the field. It seems to me that you have accomplished your goal: Evereska has been preserved, the folk of the High Forest are safe. Your army has no enemy to fight.” Fflar turned from the open colonnade and climbed a couple of weathered stone steps to the empty shell of the library, lowering his voice. “For that matter, have I now accomplished the purpose for which you summoned me from Arvandor? What am I supposed to do now?”
Seiveril frowned. “I do not know that I have an answer to your second question, Fflar. What are any of us
