away.”
Xhalph did not often stand for correction from one of their lessers, but in this case he did not rebuke the vulturelike fey’ri spymaster. Even he had realized that sheer fury and bloodlust might not be the way to victory any longer. “The Abyss? I doubt the palebloods would follow us there.”
Sarya shook her head. “I will not go to the Abyss in defeat. I have no wish to beg protection from a demon lord.” There were some who might offer her refuge, but she would not allow herself to be made into a vassal again. She thought about it for a moment more and made her decision. “We will seek out a portal to some remote part of Faerun
… Chult, perhaps, or maybe the lands beyond the Unapproachable East. Come; we will find a speaking stone and make the Gatekeeper show us a suitable portal.” And if they happened to encounter Malkizid, why, she might demand an accounting from the archdevil.
She unfurled her wings and leaped into the air, soaring easily over the mazelike arrangement of corridors and walls that made up the Waymeet. She spied the cluster of higher towers and spars that marked the center of the device, and banked in that direction. Below her, she spied several dead mezzoloths, sprawled out in one of the main boulevards of the place. What is going on in this place? she wondered. Is Malkizid at war with some other infernal power?
“There has been fighting here,” Xhalph said. “Those yugoloths have not been dead long.”
The actinic flash of a lightning-spell close by threw a harsh white glare across the Waymeet’s towers and columns, followed an instant later by a sharp crack of thunder. Apparently, the fighting was not yet over. Sarya would have ignored it and continued on her way, but as it happened, her chosen course was leading her toward the place where the lightning had flashed.
“It’s the master speaking stone,” she hissed. “Allow me, Lady Sarya,” one of the fey’ri warriors said. “I will spy it out and see who is there.”
“Very well,” she agreed. “Be swift, and do not allow yourself to be seen.”
The warrior murmured a spell to cloak himself in invisibility and hurried off toward the center of the complex. Sarya alighted on a high spar to await his report. The Waymeet rumbled with a deep, ominous groan, and not far off one of the high spires lost its footing and toppled over slowly, crashing to the ground with the shriek of twisting iron and the shrill sound of shattering glass. More portals flickered and went dark.
“I do not think we will be able to return to this place once we depart,” Vesryn said quietly.
“It suits me for now,” Sarya replied. “Presently, no one will be able to follow us through this place. That may turn to our advantage.”
She heard the beat of unseen wings, and her warrior returned. He allowed his invisibility to fade. “It is the paleblood mage, Lady Sarya,” he reported.
“Araevin Teshurr?”
“Yes. He has several companions with him-a human, a half-breed, an elf of a kindred I do not recognize, and some other planetouched woman. They are in the square of the master speaking stone, as you said. They just drove off a small number of yugoloths and baatezu.”
“The mage must have damaged the Waymeet,” Sarya breathed. Malkizid had told her that he had gotten his hands on a shard of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal. Was that sufficient to explain the destruction of the mythal around her? Or, for that matter, was that how the palebloods had dealt with her defenses at Myth Drannor?
“There is something more, my queen,” the warrior said. “The mage, the strange elf, and the half-breed all are wounded. The strange elf and the half-breed can’t walk without help. They are heading that way”-he pointed, indicating a course at right angles to Sarya’s-“making for a portal.”
Sarya glanced at her small company. She had eight who could fight, including the vrocks. Araevin had half as many, and two of them were hurt. She might not be able to undo what he had done to her mythal’s defenses at Myth Drannor, but she could make sure that he paid for the trouble he had caused her.
“Then it seems we have one more enemy to deal with before we abandon this place,” she said. “Lead the way, my warrior. Araevin Teshurr is mine.”
The battle for Myth Drannor had broken down into a hundred fierce skirmishes. Bands of elves, Dalesfolk, and Sembians hunted the streets, searching out the surviving fey’ri and infernal monsters summoned by Sarya Dlardrageth. Many of those had vanished with the Araevin’s reduction of the mythal, but some still remained, creatures that had been brought to Faerun through means other than the mythal. Ilsevele did not intend to allow any of those to escape, if she could help it.
At noon she found a few moments of quiet and allowed herself to grieve for her father. He knew it was going to happen, she reflected. He understood the designs of the Seldarine, and he did not shy from the part he was given. The only thing that kept her heart from breaking was the thought that her father did not regret the time of his death… and he was once again with Ilyyela, whom he had loved for three hundred years. How could she begrudge him that reunion?
A rustle of armor brought her back to the streets of Myth Drannor. She looked up as Vesilde Gaerth, the slightly built warrior who led the Knights of the Golden Star, leaned against the ivy-covered wall beside her.
“You do not need to go on today,” he said softly. “Stay by your father, Ilsevele. We can finish this for you and allow you to grieve.”
“I know,” she said. “But I feel that I must finish Father’s work here, Vesilde. I will grieve for him later.”
“Have you given thought to what follows this victory?” the elf knight asked.
“You have been my father’s second throughout this war, Vesilde. It is up to you. You command the Crusade.”
“I may have been Seiveril’s second, Ilsevele, but I am not his heir. You are House Miritar now.” Vesilde knelt beside her and took her hands in his. “This war ends today. The Crusade has accomplished its purpose; the daemonfey are broken. What will tomorrow bring?”
“We must make sure that Sarya Dlardrageth and any fey’ri who escaped are found and dealt with.”
“You misunderstand me. After today, I trust we will deal with the daemonfey.” The slight sun elf shook his hair out of his eyes. “I was speaking of what follows our victory over the daemonfey. Your father had a vision of what might take root here, Ilsevele. To him, this was not just a Crusade against the Dlardrageths. This was the Return, a homecoming to the ancient lands of our people. With his death, will that vision still come to be?”
She frowned, studying the lush green forests that had grown over the city. The day was growing warm, warmer than it would ever be on a summer day in Evermeet, even though the season was fading toward fall.
“I think I will stay for a time,” she finally said. “If nothing else, I want to be certain that no enemies arise in our ancient lands again. I suppose there will be others who feel the same.”
“But I do not, Ilsevele. Evermeet is my home. I followed your father here out of my love for him, and my desire to see justice done for the murders at Tower Reilloch.” Vesilde frowned, searching her face. “I suppose what I am trying to say is this: If you believe in your father’s Return, you must take up his banner. You must look after those of our People who hope to make Cormanthor their home again, you must treat with the human of these lands, and you must make sure that our foes are defeated and driven out of Cormanthor. That is what your father asked of you when he asked you to finish what he had started.”
She stared at the knight-commander in horror. “I don’t even know where to begin with that, Vesilde. Even if I did, would anyone follow me? My father was the one who stirred the hearts of thousands with his words and his courage.”
“And those words need a new voice now, Ilsevele. I can think of none better than yours.” Vesilde straightened up and offered his hand to her. “As far as how to begin, well, we have unfinished work here today, as you have said. Perhaps you should begin with that.”
Ilsevele took his hand, and stood up. She did not know if she could lead the Crusade… but she did know that her father’s dream, his words, had stirred her heart too. If she was the best hope for that dream to continue, then she would honor him by making sure it was not forgotten.
“We need to speak with Selkirk and the Sembians,” she said, thinking out loud. “He needs to know of my father’s death, and we must determine the best way to finish off the daemonfey.”
Vesilde nodded. “I will have him summoned at once, Lady Miritar.”
“Thank you, Vesilde,” she said. She turned away from him and wrapped her arms around herself. She had much to think about.
Selkirk and his personal guard arrived soon. Dressed in his resplendent half-plate of black and gold, Selkirk
