carried a double-bitted battle-axe in his steel gauntlets. “Ilsevele!” he called. He strode up to Ilsevele and doffed his helmet. His face was streaked with sweat and dust. “I just heard about your father. I am truly sorry for your loss. He was a remarkable man.”
“Thank you, Lord Selkirk. I know that he thought well of you, too.” Ilsevele brushed her hand across her eyes, unashamed of the tears that gathered there. She would mourn her father properly, in time, but today she meant to finish the work he had started. That was the best way to honor him, and to give meaning to his death.
“Where did it happen?” Selkirk asked, his voice soft.
“The steps of Castle Cormanthor, not far from here. He was struck down by Xhalph Dlardrageth, the daemonfey prince.” Ilsevele’s voice shook, but she continued. “He lies in the Castle’s main hall now, with Felael and the rest of his guards keeping watch over him.”
“And the daemonfey?”
“Xhalph and Sarya fled. Starbrow and Jerreda pursued them.” A bleak tide of fear for the warrior who had won her heart threatened to overcome Ilsevele. She bit her lip, determined to see the rest of the day through before giving into grief and dread. He will return, she told herself. No one else she had ever seen matched his skill, and he had not gone after the daemonfey alone. It was foolish to let fear of what might happen to paralyze her. “Our scouts believe they went through a portal in the castle. When I am sure that we have matters in hand here, I will follow him.”
“Of course,” Selkirk said. He looked at the old ruins around them. A tall shadowtop grew right in the center of what must have once been the common room of an inn, spearing through the long-vanished roof to spread its branches more than a hundred feet overhead. It was a pleasant spot, in its own way. “As far as I can tell, we have broken the daemonfey in the eastern half of the city. There is no organized opposition to our warriors, though there is plenty of skirmishing against stragglers and handfuls of fey’ri… and other monsters that seem to haunt this place.”
“It is much the same for us,” Vesilde Gaerth told the Sembian lord. “We have secured everything from this spot to the west. The daemonfey who remain are in hiding.”
Miklos Selkirk flashed a bright smile in his dusty face. “Then it seems that we have won the day.”
“Almost,” Ilsevele said. “Some fey’ri will escape, but I intend to make sure that most of Sarya’s warriors do not get away this time. This must be the last battle of this war.”
“What do you propose, then?” Selkirk asked.
“First, we must throw a cordon of archers and mages around the outskirts of the city,” Ilsevele answered him. She reached into her tunic and drew out a parchment map, a copy of one sketched by Starbrow a few tendays ago when her father had first asked him how to go about taking the city. She spread it out on the stone rubble of one of the inn’s walls. “Many of our warriors already surround the city, but now we must tighten the net. We have set a watch from the Burial Glen to the Meadow, here. Lord Selkirk, if you agree, I suggest that the Sembian army sets its guard from the Meadow to the Glyr-that’s the stream on the north side of the city. Lord Ulath and his Dalesfolk already watch the northerly approaches to the city, from the Burial Glen to the Glyr.”
“Done,” Miklos Selkirk said. “We’ll need to make sure the companies we assign to that duty keep in contact with the sentries on each side. We don’t want to give the daemonfey a way out.”
Edraele Muirreste looked over at Ilsevele. “How will you prevent the daemonfey from simply flying away, Lady Miritar?”
Ilsevele glanced up at the summer sky overhead. It was a clear morning, with only a few high clouds. A trio of Eagle Knights wheeled slowly hundreds of feet above the city, riding the air currents on their great birds of prey.
“I think the job is in good hands already,” Ilsevele said. “Our Eagle Knights guard the sky.”
Daeron Sunlance hadn’t been able to risk his giant eagles and their riders against the fey’ri legion, simply because he would have been so badly outnumbered in the air. But with the fey’ri legion shattered, his thirty knights could deal with the stragglers that were left. Chasing down small bands of fey’ri was an entirely different sort of task than dealing with Sarya’s legion all at once.
Miklos Selkirk was already issuing orders to his own captains and Silver Ravens. “We’ll have your cordon set quickly, Lady Ilsevele,” he said when he turned back to her. “I presume you’ll want to sweep the city after we set our net?”
Ilsevele nodded. “We must clear these ruins building by building, and roust out any fey’ri who are trying to hide from us. I suggest that we divide the work as follows: You and your folk begin in the east near the Street of Sorrows, Lord Selkirk, and push toward the west. We’ll start in the Westfields-the Dalesfolk on our left, the army of Evermeet in the center and right-and work toward the east.”
“If I may, Lady Miritar?” Miklos Selkirk said. He looked at the map scroll in front of her. “Let’s place a strong company or two in the center, even before we start the sweep you suggest. We’ll ambush any daemonfey trying to stay ahead of the search.”
“A good idea,” Ilsevele agreed. “I’ll have our Evereskan Vale Guards take up positions along the Street of a Dozen Dreams. They are our best footsoldiers.”
“What of the other denizens of this place?” Vesilde Gaerth said. “There are undead, beholders, nagas… all sorts of monsters the daemonfey left for us to deal with.”
Ilsevele thought for a moment. “If a monster flees, let it leave unless it is too dangerous to be permitted its freedom,” she decided. “If it hides within its lair and does not emerge, report its location, and post sentries to make sure that no one blunders into it. Otherwise, destroy it. My father wanted this city cleansed of the evil that has crept into it over the centuries. I intend to see his wishes carried out.”
The fall from the nycaloth’s talons had left Nesterin with a leg too badly broken to walk on, so the star elf put one arm around Araevin’s shoulders and the other over Maresa’s. Together, the three of them limped back the way they had come in search of Donnor and Jorin. Broken glass crunched under their feet, and from time to time the ground trembled. Each such tremor was stronger and lasted longer than the previous one, bringing more of the Fhoeldin durr’s magnificent columns and arches crashing down from above.
After the third quake in the space of five minutes, Maresa scowled up at the majestic glass balanced overhead. “Araevin, do we have time to retrace our steps all the way back to the door to Myth Drannor? What do we do if we get there and find that our gate has already burned itself out?”
“We’ll use whatever portal we can find if we have to,” the sun elf answered. “But I don’t want to leave without Donnor and Jorin. The Seldarine alone know where they might end up if they choose a portal at random. It might be impossible to find them.”
“It doesn’t look too promising right now,” Maresa muttered. “This place is going to kill us if we don’t leave soon, Araevin.”
A loud groan from overhead caught their attention. Araevin looked up and saw a slender arch of glass more than a hundred feet above waver, and fold to the ground. They staggered back out of the way just as a spar forty feet long crashed end-on into the floor with a deafening crash. Flickering pulses of violet-white energy sparked and streamed from the ruin.
A misshapen figure appeared through the shower of sparks, lurching toward them. “Araevin!” hissed Maresa.
“I see it,” Araevin said.
He slipped Nesterin’s arm from his shoulder and stood free, gripping a wand in his hand. They’d already had to fight off several yugoloths and devils stalking them through the Waymeet. The creatures seemed confused and leaderless without Malkizid to command them, but that did not mean that they weren’t dangerous, especially given how battered and bloodied the three companions were.
Araevin raised his wand and aimed it at the creature coming closer. He started to speak its trigger word, but Nesterin suddenly lunged out and pulled his arm down. “No, Araevin! It’s Donnor and Jorin!”
Through the acrid smoke and bright sparks, Donnor limped into sight. He half-carried Jorin, and the Aglarondan had a hand clamped to his side. Blood trickled through his fingers. Donnor helped Jorin to a spot where he could lean against the wall, and addressed Araevin.
“Is all this your doing?” he asked. “Did you use the crystal?”
“Yes, and yes,” Araevin answered. “We destroyed the heart of the mythal-this place won’t last much longer- and we caught Malkizid in the crystal’s influence. He will not trouble us again for a long time, even though his minions still roam the Waymeet.”
