them.
“Ah, good morning! It is not often we are visited by two of the ar Tel’Quessir. I am Brother Calwern. How might we help you today?”
“I am Araevin Teshurr, and this is my betrothed, Lady Ilsevele Miritar,” Araevin replied. “I am interested in making use of your library.”
“Of course. What topics interest you, sir?”
“I am looking for books or treatises on the magical lore of ancient Arcorar, from the early days of Cormanthyr-the centuries following the Twelve Nights of Fire, or perhaps the Fifth Rysar of Jhyrennstar. You may also have writings by the wizards Ithraides, Kaeledhin, Morthil, or Sanathar.”
Araevin did not mention Saelethil Dlardrageth. Saelethil would never have shared any of his writings with other mages, or left a record of his studies other than the Nightstar intended for members of his own House.
Brother Calwern raised a bushy eyebrow, and leaned back in his seat. “We have few works of such antiquity here. The wizards you named, are they from the same era?” Araevin nodded, and the Deneirrath priest continued. “I will have to examine our indices and catalogs to see if we have anything that might help you. It might take a little time. In the meantime, I can certainly recommend a likely tome or two for you to begin with. I presume you read Loross and Thorass?”
“Among others, yes.”
“Excellent!” The Deneirrath priest stood up, and gestured toward an archway leading deeper into the great building. “If you please, then-this way.”
Araevin glanced at Ilsevele and offered a small smile. When it came down to it, he couldn’t resist a scholarly mystery, and there was not a better place in Faerun to solve one than the libraries of Silverymoon. Together they followed Brother Calwern into the Vault of the Sages.
“High Lords and Ladies of the Council, the Lord Seiveril Miritar of Elion!”
Seiveril faltered on the threshold of the Dome of Stars, surprised to hear his own name announced. He glanced at the herald-captain, a young sun elf who stared straight ahead, giving no further sign that he recognized Seiveril’s presence.
Eighty years on the Royal Council and never once have I been announced, Seiveril wondered. Instead, he had always been a member of the body that guests were announced to.
He felt the eyes of the minor lords and functionaries in attendance fall on him, as he stood unmoving in the chamber door. Then Seiveril recovered, and he strode with growing confidence into the Dome of Stars.
The high council chamber of Evermeet, the Dome was part of the sprawling palace compound in Leuthilspar. A striking chamber with a dark, star-flecked marble floor and a great clear ceiling of magic theurglass, the Dome was illuminated by the warm yellow light of late afternoon, striking bright gleams from the glossy stone underfoot. It was a magnificent chamber, and in its center stood the glassteel council table, a delicate ornament of frosted- white glass magically hardened to the toughness of steel. It had always struck Seiveril as a good metaphor for the elf race-beautiful to look upon, yet stronger than the eye could believe.
Six of Evermeet’s councilors waited on Seiveril’s approach. Closest to him, at the left-hand foot of the horseshoe-shaped table, sat the old scribe Zaltarish, one of the queen’s most valued advisors. Beside Zaltarish sat the High Admiral Emardin Elsydar, master of Evermeet’s navy, and on the other side of the admiral-past Seiveril’s own former seat, apparently still vacant-was the High Marshal Keryth Blackhelm, leader of Evermeet’s army.
On the right-hand wing of the table sat two of Seiveril’s most determined opponents: Lady Selsharra Durothil, matron of the powerful sun elf Durothil clan, and Lady Ammisyll Veldann, another sun elf noble who governed the southern city of Nimlith. Both highborn sun elves stared daggers at him as he came near. To Veldann’s left sat Grand Mage Breithel Olithir, another sun elf. Seiveril had always thought well of Olithir, even if the fellow did not trust his own wisdom.
At the head of the table sat Queen Amlaruil herself, dressed in a resplendent gown of pearl-white that was set with countless gleaming diadems. Her raven-dark hair was bound by a simple silver fillet, and she held a thin scepter of shining mithral across her lap.
“You are welcome here, Seiveril Miritar,” Amlaruil said in a warm voice, and she smiled graciously. “So little time has passed since you left, and yet we have so much to speak of.”
Seiveril looked up into Amlaruil’s eyes, and felt his heart flutter at the sad wisdom and perfect beauty of her face. To look on Amlaruil as she sat in state was to catch a glimpse of Sehanine Moonbow’s throne in Arvandor, or so it was said. For his own part, Seiveril knew of no son or daughter of Evermeet who could stand before Amlaruil unmoved.
“I thank you, Queen Amlaruil,” he replied, and he bowed deeply.
When he straightened again, Amlaruil looked left and right to her advisors. “I asked Lord Seiveril here today, in the hope that we might hear from his own mouth the tale of his battles to defend Evereska and the High Forest from the daemonfey army. Few events in Faerun within the last few years have portended so much for the People, and we would only be wise to inform ourselves as best we can about Lord Seiveril’s campaigns.” Amlaruil looked back to Seiveril, and said, “Will you speak, old friend?”
“Of course, Your Highness. Where should I begin?”
“Begin with your mustering at Elion,” Keryth Blackhelm said. “We were all here for your call to arms when you spoke of returning to Faerun, and we remember the arguments that led to your oratory. Tell us what happened after you left this chamber.”
“Very well,” Seiveril agreed, and he began his tale.
He recounted the gathering of companies and volunteers in Elion, and the efforts to organize useful military units from the horde of individuals who had answered his call. He described their quick transit to Evereska by means of the ancient elfgates when it became clear that the city was in imminent peril, and the victory of the Battle of the Cwm, in which Seiveril’s Crusade had stopped the daemonfey horde from laying siege to Evereska. Then he went on to the pursuit of Sarya Dlardrageth’s army through the wild lands north of Evereska, to the climactic battle at the Lonely Moor.
“That was a terrible fight,” Seiveril said. He could see it before his eyes even then, remembering the onslaught of demons and the furious battle as the Crusade found itself surrounded on all sides by Sarya’s forces. “We fell on the ranks of orcs, ogres, and such, and decimated them. But Sarya and her demons teleported to our flank, and attacked fiercely, while her fey’ri took to the air and fell on our rearmost ranks. It seemed desperate indeed, but then Sarya’s demons all vanished at once-each one of them banished back to its native hell as the spells holding the demons in our world failed. That turned the tide. The fey’ri warriors abandoned their orcs and ogres and fled the field soon thereafter.”
“The demons vanished-that was Araevin Teshurr’s work at Myth Glaurach?” asked the grand mage.
“It was.”
“What has happened since?” Zaltarish the scribe asked.
“Well, we have searched all of the North, or so it seems, for any sign of where Sarya and her surviving fey’ri warriors might be hiding. The spellcasters among our army have cast divination after divination, hoping to uncover some sign that our scouts might have missed. We have also helped the wood elves to hunt down the last of the orc warbands and ogre gangs that accompanied the fey’ri in their assault against the High Forest.”
“You have won a great victory,” Selsharra Durothil said. Seiveril fixed his eyes on her, instantly suspicious. Lady Durothil had not spared many kind words for him over the past few months. Selsharra ignored his dark look and continued, “The daemonfey attack against Evereska and the High Forest has failed. Events have vindicated you, Lord Miritar. I do not think I was wrong to argue for caution when we debated this question a few short months ago, but I certainly cannot argue today that your impetuousness did not accomplish a great good.”
Seiveril carefully kept his face neutral, merely inclining his head in response to Durothil’s concession.
What is she up to? he wondered.
“So,” Keryth Blackhelm said, “When can we expect the return of your army?”
“When I am certain that the threat of the daemonfey has truly passed, and that no other enemies will try Evereska’s strength as soon as I leave. Some companies I could send home within a month or two, I think. Others I may ask to remain longer.”
“How will you judge when the daemonfey have been finally defeated?” the high admiral asked. “What if you simply cannot find them again?”
“I am prepared to wait.”
