Sembians in short order, I’d wager.”
“I am not so sure, Lord Xhalph,” the warmaster said carefully. “While it is true that you shattered a number of the Sembian mercenaries when you struck them near the Standing Stone, I think that many of these fellows are sellswords of a better quality. They are certainly better led now under Selkirk. The Sembians may prove more tenacious than you think.”
“In other words, all the mercenaries who were going to flee have fled already?” Sarya did not attempt to conceal the acid in her voice.
Mardeiym did not respond. The warmaster had learned to tread lightly around the daemonfey queen and her son over the last few days, as had most of the other fey’ri. If he wondered why Sarya fumed with black fury or why Xhalph’s habitual bloodlust had grown into a storm of murderous violence that exploded at the least provocation, he was clever enough not to say so. If Sarya believed that Mardeiym or any other fey’ri had the least suspicion that she had been forced to kneel to Malkizid, she would have killed him in an instant. She would have torn him to pieces with her own naked talons.
I will not be your thrall for long, Sarya silently promised the archdevil. If Malkizid thought the Dlardrageths would take him for their lord and master, then he was a fool. Sarya intended to dispense with Malkizid’s help as soon as she could… but she would have to defeat the armies of Evermeet and Sembia first, and for that she needed the archdevil’s help for a little bit longer, as much as it galled her to admit it.
When I have crushed my enemies, we will see who is the master and who is the slave, Sarya told herself for the hundredth time. I will carve out Malkizid’s heart for his arrogance and his presumption!
But first she had to defeat the enemies at her doorstep.
“We could strike them tonight with our assembled fey’ri and demons,” Jasrya Aelorothi mused aloud. “In but a short time we could bring five hundred fey’ri and half again that number of demons, yugoloths, and devils to this place.”
“We have taught our enemies to be wary of sudden attacks,” Mardeiym answered her. “They have been careful to fortify their encampment at the end of each day’s march. I advise against attacking either encampment with anything less than our whole strength.”
“Are we to simply allow them to march on Myth Drannor, then?” Jasrya snarled at Mardeiym.
“For two more days, that is exactly what we will do,” Sarya said. She turned away from the distant points of firelight and lanternlight to her assembled captains. They fell silent, sensing that she had arrived at her decision. “We will harass them, of course. Our demons will harry their march-kill stragglers, waylay scouts, and teach them to fear being out of sight of their banner. But we will not try their camp again, not yet, anyway.”
“Where do you intend to give battle, then, Mother?” Xhalph asked.
Sarya leaped across the menhir circle with one easy snap of her wings, and pointed out over the forests to the north. “There,” she breathed. “The Vale of Lost Voices. We will meet Miritar and his human allies in the Vale of Lost Voices.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
16 Eleasias, the Year of Lightning Storms
The Crusade marched through the lush forest, a river of diamond and sunlight in the warm green shadows. Seiveril rode at their head, caparisoned for battle. He did not expect to meet the daemonfey yet-after all, Myth Drannor was still sixty miles ahead of him-but a sudden demonic ambush was more than likely, now that he had led his warriors out of the ancient wards of Semberholme.
Seiveril guided his mount to one side of the hidden elven road along which his warriors marched, and paused to watch his warriors pass. His guards formed a wary ring around him, watching for any sign of daemonfey attack.
“The Sembians are keeping up?” he asked Edraele Muirreste.
“We could march to Myth Drannor and back twice in the time it would take them to get there,” the young captain said. She failed to suppress a restless flick of her head. Edraele was simply not made for standing still. “I suppose they’re still moving north, if that’s what you mean. Rauthauvyr’s Road is about two miles east of us here, but we’re still in touch with the overmaster’s banner.”
“Good,” Seiveril said. Should Sarya Dlardrageth attack the Sembians, Seiveril could join them quickly… and if the daemonfey struck at him, he intended to fall back toward the Sembians and bring both allied armies into the battle in that fashion.
For three days they’d marched north through the forest, paralleling the Sembian march along the road. A contingent of elven captains and spellcasters marched with Selkirk, while a whole company of Sembian officers and Silver Ravens remained close by Seiveril’s banner. The hope was that the exchange of trusted captains would make it easier for the leaders of the armies to coordinate their efforts when battle came. Seiveril did not know if the arrangement would work out, but any measure that reinforced cooperation over rivalry would go that much farther toward keeping their swords pointed at the daemonfey instead of each other, and that was no small thing. On the other hand, he had spent almost no time in Ilsevele’s company since the two armies started on their way north, simply because she was the elf the Sembian leaders knew the best.
He turned his attention to the warriors passing him by. Several strong companies of wood elf scouts were already well in front of the vanguard, and a mile or more ahead of him. First came the Vale Guards of Evereska, grim and purposeful, shining silver in their mail hauberks. The Evereskans noticed Seiveril watching, and hailed him. “Miritar! Miritar!” they called, raising their arms in salute.
“Quietly, now!” he answered them. “Let’s keep the daemonfey guessing about our whereabouts instead of shouting out where we are.”
The Evereskans passed into the tree-shadow, vanishing in the gloom. Behind them rode a large contingent of Seiveril’s own Silver Guards, who saluted both him and their captain Edraele. Seiveril watched them pass, and Starbrow joined him, riding up from the rear of the column. The moon elf looked over the march and nodded in approval.
“We’ll be on the other side of the Vale of Lost Voices by sunset,” he said.
“I suppose Sarya has decided to wait for us in Myth Drannor,” Edraele observed. “Still, I’d like to be sure of that. With your permission, I think I’ll catch up to my company and see to our scouts.” Seiveril nodded to her, and the small moon elf tapped her heels to her horse’s flanks and cantered after the Silver Guard.
“We should make sure to provide the Sembians with plenty of guides for their crossing of the Vale,” Seiveril thought aloud. “I doubt that their rear guard or siege train will make it all the way across before sunset, and I would not want the guardians of the place to mistake our human allies for enemies.”
“Easier said than done. More than a few of those who rest in the Vale died fighting the Sembians’ forebears. Human armies in Cormanthor rouse old and watchful spirits.” Starbrow fell silent, and watched the Crusade’s companies and banners glide swiftly by without further comment.
“Something troubles you, old friend,” Seiveril finally said. “What is it?”
The moon elf looked down at the reins in his hands. “Seiveril, there is something I need to tell you.”
Something in his friend’s voice warned Seiveril that he would not like what followed. He turned his mount in a half-circle so that he faced the tall moon elf, and looked into his face. Starbrow avoided his eyes, instead looking out over the Crusade marching past.
“What is it, my friend?” Seiveril asked.
“Not here.” Starbrow glanced around at the elf guards who watched nearby, and led Seiveril a short distance away. When they were out of easy earshot of the other elves, he looked around one more time, and took a deep breath. “I don’t even know how to say what I have to say,” he muttered, more to himself than to the elflord.
“For what it’s worth, I’ve often found that it’s easiest to just come right out and say the thing you’re most afraid to say.”
“I know it.” Starbrow wrestled with himself a little longer, and he brought his eyes up to Seiveril’s. “I have fallen in love with Ilsevele. And I think she is in love with me, as well.”
Seiveril simply stared at Starbrow. He had heard every word clearly enough, but taken together they didn’t make sense. “I do not understand,” he managed.
