supposed to do?”
“You called me back from Arvandor to beat an army of demons. Now that Sarya’s demons have been defeated-through no doing of my own, I’ll add-I find myself wondering whether I am supposed to, well, go back.” Fflar looked at Seiveril and shrugged. “Do I just discorporate when I’m ready to go this time, or do I have to go throw myself off a precipice or something?”
“Is that what you want to do?”
Fflar looked at his hands for a long time. “I don’t think so. I feel alive enough right now. I miss Sorenna, I miss her terribly. But I know she is waiting in Arvandor for me, and time does not mean much there, Seiveril. In the meantime, there seems to be more of the world for me to see and more things for me to do. I just don’t know if it is wrong for me to linger now.”
Seiveril stepped close and set a hand on Fflar’s shoulder. “I think I know Corellon’s will in this,” he said. “You were not called back to live one hour, or one day, or one battle. You were called back to live, for as long as fate, chance, and your own heart allow. There is nothing wrong in tarrying here. It is nothing more or less than any of us do.”
Fflar looked up, a crooked smile on his face. “Well, good. I would hate to leave again without finding out where in Faerun the fey’ri legion has gone to ground.”
“You and I both,” Seiveril murmured. He returned his attention to the map spread out on the table. “You asked me a moment ago how long I intend to keep the army here. My answer is this: I will stay here until I am convinced that Sarya’s legion won’t return, and cannot be found. I don’t expect all of our warriors to stay that long, but I certainly hope that some number of them do. We have unfinished business with her.”
Fflar joined him at the map. “We fought her at the Lonely Moor eighteen days ago. As recently as ten days ago, she and her fey’ri were here at Myth Glaurach.” He tapped on finger on the Delimbiyr Vale, thinking. “Some of her fey’ri can teleport, but not many. They would have used that tactic in combat, if it was available to them. But they do fly. How fast could a flying army travel? Fifty miles a day? Sixty?”
“They didn’t seem to be tremendously strong or fast flyers, not like an adult dragon or a giant eagle. And they must carry some equipment with them. I expect they’ve abandoned anything like a supply train. Sixty miles a day, ten days… that would be six hundred miles from here.” He looked more closely at the mountains and forests depicted before him, and frowned. Within that distance lay tremendous swaths of the great desert Anauroch, most of the wild backcountry of the Nether Mountains, the Gray-peaks, the southern High Forest, the High Moor and the Evermoor, as well as the forbidding Ice Mountains north of Silverymoon, and even the Spine of the World and the High Ice. “She could be anywhere.”
“Have you been able to divine any clues?”
“I have been casting divinations every day, with little luck. I suppose I must redouble my efforts, and ask Vesilde Gaerth and Jorildyn to have their own clerics and mages begin the search, too. Perhaps if enough of our spellcasters search at once…”
“I suppose it’s the best chance we have. But Seiveril-if we do not find some sign of the fey’ri soon, you will have to give thought to how much of this army you can send home.”
“Excuse me, Lord Seiveril?” Both elves turned as the priestess Thilesil entered the hall. She was also a cleric of Corellon, junior to Seiveril, who had joined Lord Miritar on his quest and served as his adjutant and chief assistant. “Lord Keryth Blackhelm of the High Council is here to see you.”
“Keryth, here?” Seiveril frowned. Keryth was the High Marshal of Evermeet, leader of the island’s armies, and one of Queen Amlaruil’s most valuable advisors. “Show him in.”
Thilesil nodded, and beckoned their guest in. “This way, sir.”
She stood aside to permit Keryth to enter, and followed him in, anticipating decisions to record or orders to issue.
Keryth Blackhelm was a moon elf of middle years, perhaps a little past his prime as a swordsman, but still hale and fit. He was not as tall as Fflar, but he was a commanding presence anyway, with a fierce determination burning in his eyes and a gruff, confident manner.
“Lord Miritar,” he said. “Thank you for receiving me.”
“Of course, Keryth.” Seiveril took Keryth’s hand in a firm clasp. They’d served together on Evermeet’s High Council for many years, and even if they did not always agree with each other, they shared a mutual respect. “Have you traveled long? I can ask for refreshments to be brought.”
“No, the trip was quick. The grand mage loaned me the services of a sorcerer who knows the spell of teleportation. We left Evermeet not more than half an hour ago.” Keryth looked about the ruined building. “How is Ilsevele?”
“She is well. I spoke to her just this morning. She is visiting Silverymoon with her companions, though I believe Araevin is attending to some business at Tower Reilloch.”
“I have not seen Silverymoon,” Keryth replied. He wandered into the old library and through to the ruined colonnade outside, taking in the view. “This was Glaurachyndaar?”
“Yes. It was called the City of Scrolls in its day.” Seiveril gestured at the ruins beyond the library. “The daemonfey used the grand mage’s palace as their lair. While I have seen no sign of them since I have been here, I decided it was not prudent to take up residence in their quarters. There are deep vaults and armories hidden in the heart of the hill beneath the palace, and I am not sure that we have found all of their secrets yet.”
“It seems that you have matters well in hand otherwise,” Keryth said. He faced Seiveril. “Speaking of which, I have been sent here to ask if you would consent to attend the High Council’s meeting in seven days and provide the queen and her advisors with a firsthand account of your campaign. We have heard many stories, and we want to get the most accurate report we can.”
“You may have forgotten, Lord Blackhelm, but I am no longer a Councilor of the Realm.”
Keryth shook his head. “No, the queen is not summoning you as such. Nor is she summoning you at all, to be honest. She only requests that you come to speak before the council, my friend. She will send a mage to teleport you, if you like, so it should not take you long at all. And to be honest, you will save us a lot of pointless debate in which Veldann or Durothil question the veracity of every report we have received.”
Seiveril considered the request for a moment. He was certain that Selsharra Durothil and Ammisyll Veldann would question him harshly on any account he cared to provide. On the other hand, he could think of nothing he cared to hide, and he no longer needed to be particularly polite to the conservatives and antimonarchists on the council, did he?
He looked over to Fflar and asked, “Lord Starbrow, can you keep things in order here for a time?”
Fflar shrugged. “I’ll know where to find you if I need you.”
Seiveril turned back to Keryth. “All right, then. If the queen requests my presence, I will not tell her no. I will be there.”
The House of Cedars stood on a rocky headland on Evermeet’s rugged northern shore, hidden within a sparse forest of wind-shaped cedars and hemlocks. It was a rambling old elven lodge of open verandas and promenades anchored into the very rock of the headland. Araevin’s ancestors had built themselves a home in which they remained a part of the world outside, instead of a burrow from which they could shut things out. Light screens of wooden paneling and large windows of strong glass in clever wooden frames allowed him to close or open most of the rooms as he saw fit.
Early in the winter Araevin had spent a tenday there, repairing the damage of many long years of weathering. As the spring turned toward summer and the days grew bright and windy along Evermeet’s shores, he was pleased to see that his repairs were keeping well. He had lived in the house as a child, more than two hundred years past, but no one had lived there for a century or more. When he’d finally gotten around to visiting the place a few months before it had been in poor shape.
On his arrival Araevin spent three days arranging the personal effects and arcane tomes he’d had sent from his chambers in the Tower Reilloch. The house featured a handsome library on its eastward face, which Araevin filled with the collection of grimoires, spellbooks, journals, treatises, and scrolls he had accumulated over eight decades of residence at Reilloch. Next to the library stood an empty hall that Araevin converted into his workroom, installing at one end the cabinet of theurglass in which he stored his collection of magic wands and other such devices. He also wove a potent fence of abjurations and magical defenses around the entire house, since he could no longer count on the wards of Tower Reilloch. He wove careful illusions to hide the books and artifacts he was most concerned about, and summoned magical guardians to defend the house if necessary.
