castle’s hall. The windows were thrown open to the fine summer morning, and an impressive buffet was spread out on long tables along one side.
The Sembian made a point of helping himself to several small slices of cheese and a goblet of wine- demonstrating that it wasn’t poisoned, Fflar guessed-and said, “Please, refresh yourselves if you like. I haven’t had much opportunity for good meals lately, so I certainly intend to do so.”
Ilsevele inclined her head and accepted some wine from a steward. “You are most kind, Lord Selkirk.”
Selkirk studied her for a moment, then said, “While I am delighted to entertain such a beautiful lady of the Tel’ Quessir, Lady Miritar, I am afraid I do not know what I can do for you. What does your father have to say to me?”
“We have no wish to fight you, not when our true enemy awaits in Myth Drannor,” Ilsevele said evenly. “I would like to arrange a truce between our peoples. If we could reach some understanding, then my father would be freed to turn his full strength against Sarya Dlardrageth.”
“I see,” Selkirk answered. He looked down into his goblet and swirled the wine idly, thinking for a moment. “There are difficult questions to resolve between us, Lady Miritar. Regardless of the relations my father or I might desire with our northern neighbors, too many of my countrymen-including some with powerful voices in our realm’s Great Council-will not be dictated to by an elven power in Cormanthor. We are here because those voices fear that your people will deny Sembia its natural and necessary growth.”
“Do you think that Sarya Dlardrageth will permit that growth, Lord Selkirk?”
Miklos Selkirk snorted and shook his head. “Borstag Duncastle seemed to think so, but he is quite dead now. For my own part, I harbor no such illusions. Not after what I have seen in the last two tendays.”
“Then you must surely see that it costs Sembia nothing to stand aside and allow us to try our strength against the daemonfey. If you husband your forces while we and the daemonfey weaken each other, your position can only improve.”
“Unless you fail, and the daemonfey choose to make us the next target for their wrath.” Selkirk smiled humorlessly. “Or succeed, and emerge stronger from the confrontation.”
Ilsevele frowned and set down her own goblet. “You fear our failure and you fear our success. But it seems to me that the current situation simply cannot be borne indefinitely. What would you have us do?”
“Defeat the daemonfey, and leave.”
“I cannot make that promise, Lord Selkirk. We will not leave Cormanthor empty again. But I hope that we would be better neighbors than the daemonfey. We understand the notion of compromise, at least.”
“You may find the concessions my countrymen demand difficult to meet. Our merchants want Cormanthor’s timber, game, furs, even some of the forestlands to clear and settle.”
“And you may find our demands equally difficult. We will not allow the outright conquest of lands allied to us-such as Tasseldale, here-or the ungoverned and reckless plundering of the forest’s bounty.” Ilsevele took a step forward, not allowing the Sembian lord to look away. “However, we are willing to strive in good faith to find common ground with you. We must put an end to the abominable depredations of the daemonfey. The bloodshed and horror of this awful season cannot be allowed to continue a day longer.”
“The gods know that is true enough,” the Sembian said quietly.
He set down his cup and paced away, hands clasped behind his back, to gaze out one of the hall’s high windows. Fflar studied the set of the man’s shoulders, the hint of fatigue and pain lurking beneath his polished exterior. It was hard to be certain, but he thought that the Sembian lord had the decency to be outraged by the murder and horror he’d seen.
Selkirk sighed, and faced Ilsevele. “Very well, Lady Miritar. You shall have your truce. My forces will not advance against Deepingdale or press any farther north than the positions they currently hold. If you can destroy the daemonfey, the world will be a better place.”
“If you truly believe that,” Ilsevele said, “then I have something else to propose to you: Help us against the daemonfey. March alongside us and help us to burn out this evil from Myth Drannor.”
Surprise flickered across Selkirk’s face. “You have a bold turn of mind, my lady,” he breathed. “I do not think you appreciate how difficult that will be for some of my countrymen.”
“I understand, Lord Selkirk. But I suspect that elves and humans alike will find it much easier to trust one another once we have fought together in the name of what is right, as opposed to what is expedient.”
“You may be right, Lady Miritar, but it is not in my power to agree to that. Extricating Sembia from this disaster of a campaign is what I came here to do.” Miklos Selkirk shook his head. “Before I throw more gold and blood into the Dales, I will have to consult with my father in Ordulin… and likely some of the important voices in the Great Council, too.”
“Then, with your permission, I will notify my father of our truce and await your decision about joining us against the daemonfey.”
“Yes, of course,” Selkirk said. “I will have word of the truce passed to all my commanders at once. And we will speak again soon about your bold suggestion.”
A dim sense of peril roused Araevin from a Reverie so deep and dark that he had almost begun to believe that he had died.
He struggled to wakefulness and discovered nothing but cold blackness all around him. The small lights they’d left burning in their camp had flickered out entirely during their long, cold sleep. Why didn’t someone strike a new light? he asked himself. Whoever was on watch would have needed something to see by… but did we even set a watch?
“Aillesel Seldarie,” he whispered. The cold and exhaustion must have taken their toll on his mind! How long had they been helpless in the dark?
Light, he decided. That was the first priority. He fumbled through his pockets, searching for something he could throw his light spell on. But then he heard a sound, slow and deliberate-a faint creaking of stone, a small crackle as rocks pressed against each other. It was close by, somewhere only a few feet away.
Araevin froze, not daring to move. Something prowled just outside the square doorway of the stone structure. Something large sighed, a low, rumbling sound, and the stone creaked softly again. He held his breath, trying to discern what it was that moved outside their bleak little refuge.
The thing outside paused and held still. Araevin could see nothing, but he could feel it there, the subtle strain of something that leaned against the walls, the slight stirring of the otherwise motionless air. It’s just outside the doorway, he realized. It’s right here.
His fingers closed on the disruption wand holstered at his left hip. It was a potent weapon, but he dared not discharge it unless he knew none of his friends were in the way. But he drew it out slowly just in case.
The thing outside drew in a sharp breath.
It sees me! he realized.
Without another thought, Araevin rolled to his feet. “Nharaigh lathanyll!” he cried, casting his light spell on the wand in his hands. A sudden yellow radiance filled the room, throwing stark black shadows into the corners.
A huge, misshapen face filled the square stone doorway, peering at him with great round eyes. The face was big, easily three feet from chin to brow. It was a pallid white, the eyes black and huge, the lips fleshy and loose. Crooked yellow teeth as long as Araevin’s hand glistened in its wet mouth. Then the creature screwed its eyes shut with a moan of distaste and jerked away, recoiling from the painful brightness.
“By Bane’s black hand, what in the world was that?” Jorin, who lay closest to the open door, came awake in the blink of an eye. He scrabbled back from his bedroll, a short sword already in his hand. “Damn it, who had the watch?”
Maresa, Donnor, and Nesterin struggled to awareness more slowly than the Yuir ranger. They blinked in Araevin’s light, fumbling to throw off blankets and find weapons.
“What’s going on?” Maresa mumbled sleepily.
“Something is outside,” Araevin replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the square doorway. “A giant of some kind.”
“Giant?” the genasi muttered. She found her feet and backed away from the doorway. “What do we do?”
“Wait a moment,” the sun elf said. “It recoiled from my light. Maybe it will move on.”
His companions watched the doorway nervously, straining to catch a glimpse of what waited in the
