her sat the Aglarondan Jorin Kell Harthan, who had guided Araevin and his friends to the secret realm of Sildeyuir, and next to him the star elf Nesterin, who had accompanied them back to Faerun. Donnor Kerth, the Lathanderite crusader, sat opposite, his fist around a mug of ale.
“We were starting to wonder if you had forgotten about us,” Maresa said.
“I had to confer with some friends in Semberholme, and in Evermeet. I hurried back as quickly as I could.” Araevin took a seat at the table next to Donnor and poured himself some wine from a flagon on the table. “Has Ilsevele arrived yet?”
“No, we have not seen her for several days,” Nesterin said. The star elf was dressed in pale gray and white, with silver embroidery at the collar and sleeves. He attracted more than a few odd looks in the Oak and Spear. Deepingdalesfolk were familiar with most kindred of the elf race, but star elves were a different story. “As far as I know, she is with her father.”
Araevin glanced at the door, half-expecting Ilsevele to follow on his heels, but she did not appear. “She knows we are gathering here,” he mused. “I suppose she will be here when she can.”
“What news of the daemonfey army?” Donnor asked. He was a thickly built human almost as tall as Araevin himself, but better than eighty pounds heavier than the sun elf. He kept his scalp shaved down to stubble, and wore a closely cropped beard. His tunic was emblazoned with the sunrise emblem of Lathander, Lord of the Dawn, the deity to whom Kerth had pledged his sword and his service.
“Sarya’s demons and devils harry the borders of Semberholme every day. I don’t know if or when Seiveril will try to take the battle to the daemonfey again.”
“Glad we’re here,” Maresa muttered. “Wars are bad for the health, you know.”
“We’re not done with ours,” Donnor growled. “The daemonfey have much to answer for.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” The genasi hid her glower in her goblet, drinking deeply.
Jorin looked across the table to Araevin. “What did your ‘friends’ say about the threat you perceived in Sildeyuir?” the half-elf asked in a low voice. “Can they counter it?”
“They are going to study the question.”
Nesterin raised an eyebrow. “I thought the matter was urgent.”
“In my estimation, it is. But my friends in Evermeet have always been hesitant to move recklessly. They do not think it wise to exercise their power until they know precisely what will happen when they do.”
“No one can foresee all outcomes. If you wait until you think you can, you will never act at all,” the star elf said. “Sometimes it is wiser not to wait.”
“That is what I fear. As my human friends like to say, he who hesitates is lost.”
“So what are we going to do while your ‘friends’ are thinking things over?” Maresa asked.
Araevin allowed himself a small smile. Maresa had struck the nail on the head. “I think I know how to slam shut the doors that Sarya and her allies are trying to open. At the beginning of this war, Sarya used a weapon called the Gatekeeper’s Crystal to open the ancient dungeon of Nar Kerymhoarth, freeing her fey’ri legion. I can use that same device to stop her from destroying the boundaries between the planes.”
“How do we get the device away from her?” Jorin asked.
“We may not have to. Quastarte-one of my friends on Evermeet-reminded me that the crystal does not remain intact after use. It breaks into its component shards, three of them, and hurls its pieces across the world, sometimes even across the planes. I mean to find it, assemble it again, and use it to seal the Waymeet-the Last Mythal of Aryvandaar.”
“These three pieces could be anywhere?” Donnor asked. “Where do we begin?”
“The place where Sarya Dlardrageth last employed the crystal. The Gatekeeper’s Crystal often leaves at least one of its shards near the place where it was last used. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”
“Back to the High Forest again.” Maresa shook her head. “You don’t let the moss grow under your feet, do you, Araevin?”
“We’ll retrace our steps through the portals back to Myth Glaurach. I don’t think that Nar Kerymhoarth is more than two days’ ride from there.” Araevin glanced at each of his companions, and added, “It may be a long, dull, or dangerous task to reassemble the Gatekeeper’s Crystal. None of you should feel obligated to come with me.”
“Is this the best way you can think of to slip a knife between Sarya’s ribs?” Maresa asked. Araevin nodded.
“Then I’m in.”
“And I,” said Donnor.
“Sildeyuir is in your debt, Araevin Teshurr,” Nesterin answered. “I will help you.”
Araevin looked to Jorin. The Aglarondan shrugged. “I haven’t traveled these lands before. I have a notion that I’d like to see more of the west, or wherever your search leads you.”
“Thank you, my friends,” Araevin said. “We’ll set out first thing in the morning.”
He raised his goblet to his companions and drank deeply; the others followed suit. Briefly, he explained as much as he felt comfortable telling them about the Waymeet and the crystal. He glanced at the door often, expecting Ilsevele to appear at any moment, but still she did not come. Finally, it grew late, and the companions said their goodnights to one another.
The innkeeper showed Araevin to his room, and Araevin spent some time double-checking his belongings, making sure that he was ready for another long journey. Then he stretched out on the bed to rest, slipping in and out of Reverie. He did not need as much as he used to-an odd side-effect of the telmiirkara neshyrr, one that he just as soon would have done without, since it left him wakeful and alert most of the night. Eventually he found himself simply sitting at the window seat in the little room, gazing out over the sleeping town while he grappled with wheels, fonts, and bonds of magic in his mind, reflecting on the artifices of high magic he had encountered in the last few tendays.
Shortly after midnight, his reflections were disturbed by the lonely clip-clop of a horse’s hooves in the street outside his window. He shook himself and looked down. A rider in green approached, riding a small dapple-gray mare. The rider stopped before the Oak and Spear, and drew back her hood. Ilsevele shook out her copper-red hair and turned her face up to him.
“Keeping watch for me?” she asked with a small smile.
“Simply taking in the night,” he told her. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
He slipped down from the window seat, pulled on his boots, and headed down the stairs to the dark and empty common room. Ilsevele came in a moment later, still dressed in her riding cloak.
“Do you want me to rouse the innkeeper?” Araevin asked. “It’s late, but they might have something you could eat.”
“Don’t trouble the fellow. I am not hungry.” She hesitated in the doorway, studying the room. “Are the others here?”
“Yes. We were only waiting for you.” Araevin took her in his arms, and held her close, but she returned his embrace half-heartedly. When he frowned at her, she disentangled herself from his arms and stepped back. “What is it, Ilsevele?”
“Araevin,” she said, “I cannot go with you.”
“What? But why?”
“I have something else I need to do. I am leaving in the morning for the Sembian camp in Battledale. I am going to try to persuade them to make peace with us, so that we can turn our full attention against the daemonfey.”
“It’s too dangerous,” he said automatically. “You would be too valuable as a hostage. The Sembians will try to use you against your father.”
“I do not think they will.” Ilsevele raised her hand to forestall his response. “If the daemonfey and the Sembians were still allied, you would certainly be right. But Sarya turned her demons and devils against the Sembians, too. We have a common foe, and I understand that counts for much in human diplomacy.”
“Ilsevele, you don’t understand-”
“Starbrow will come along to safeguard me, Araevin. And I’ll have a trick or two up my sleeve, just in case. But we have to take the chance that the Sembians can be reasoned with, before all the Dales are laid to waste.”
He started to protest but gave up with a grimace. “Very well. But promise me you will be careful,
