Ilsevele. Besides, it was her idea.”
“If the Sembians used her as a hostage against me, there is nothing I would not do.”
“I know,” said Starbrow. “I will go with her and make sure that does not happen. I promise you, my friend, I will keep her safe.”
Ilsevele crossed her arms. “I don’t think-”
“I didn’t ask you,” Starbrow said firmly. “I’m going for your father’s sake. Now, when do you want to leave?”
Sunlight and warm pine scent filled the forest glade when Araevin appeared. He ghosted into solidity, his hand resting on the battered old stone marker that stood in the center of the clearing. He felt the mossy stone cool and damp under his fingertips and allowed himself a small smile.
“I suppose they haven’t barred me yet,” he murmured.
It was late afternoon in Evermeet, a perfect summer day with just the faintest whisper of the ever-present sea somewhere far off beyond the forest. The glade stood high in the rugged hills overlooking the isle’s northern shore, not far from the House of Cedars, where Araevin had grown up. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, momentarily lost in the memories of childhood years spent wandering in these hills.
“Well, this is a pleasant enough spot, but I was beginning to wonder why you’d asked me to come here.”
Araevin turned at the sound of the voice. Quastarte, the ancient loremaster of Tower Reilloch, sat with his back to a tree trunk, resting in the shade. Araevin smiled and waved in the human manner.
“Quastarte!” he called. “I did not know if you would puzzle out my sending or not.”
“They call me a loremaster for a reason,” the old sun elf muttered. He squinted, looking closer at Araevin. “Now, why the secret summons to this place? And what has happened to your eyes? Unless I miss my guess, you have walked some strange roads indeed since we last met.”
“First question first,” Araevin answered. “I have been asked to stay away from Evermeet for a time. Given that, it hardly seemed like a good idea to rap on your door in Tower Reilloch.”
“But this seemed like a less flagrant act of defiance?”
Araevin shrugged. “I needed to speak with you, and I felt that it could not wait.” He sat down by a boulder near the loremaster, and dropped his rucksack to the ground at his feet. He rooted around in the sack and drew out a wineskin and two wooden mugs. “I have much to tell you, and I hope you will share some of your wisdom with me.”
“I have no other business to attend this afternoon,” Quastarte said. He poured himself some of the wine, and settled back against the tree. “Start at the beginning.”
“That would be about eleven thousand years ago…” Araevin drew in a deep breath, and he told Quastarte the story of his search for the secret of the telmiirkara neshyrr, the strange twilight quest in the fading world of Sildeyuir, and his subsequent conquest of Saelethil Dlardrageth’s malevolent presence in the selukiira known as the Nightstar. He explained what he had learned from the ancient loregem and how that had illuminated what he had seen of Sarya’s works in his visit to Myth Drannor’s mythal. The better part of the afternoon passed as Araevin recounted his tale to the loremaster, while Quastarte listened attentively, frowned, and swirled the last swallow of wine in the bottom of his cup, thinking hard on Araevin’s story.
“And you spoke with the high mages?” he asked Araevin after the mage finished.
“Yes. I asked them to help me expel Sarya’s influence from Myth Drannor and the Waymeet, but they wish to study the threat more carefully before they employ high magic against the daemonfey.”
“And you think that no such study is necessary?”
“I do not think that we have the luxury of deliberation. If Sarya succeeds while we still are pondering how to stop her, there will be no end to the damage she causes.” Araevin took a swallow of his own wine. “I can’t overthrow her by myself, and I can’t wait for the help of the high mages.”
“And so one old loremaster will have to serve in place of a circle of Evermeet’s most powerful mages.” Quastarte set down his cup. “All right, then. As I see it, Araevin, you need the Gatekeeper’s Crystal.”
“The same device Sarya used to open Nar Kerymhoarth, and free her fey’ri legion? It’s powerful enough to destroy the Waymeet?”
“I suppose it might be, but that’s not what it’s for. The Gatekeeper’s Crystal is the key to the Waymeet.”
Araevin looked at him with a blank expression.
The loremaster shook his head. “See, that’s what you get for drinking your knowledge from ancient loregems. If you had studied honestly, you would know this. The Gatekeeper’s Crystal is not just a weapon, Araevin. It is intimately connected to the Waymeet. Now, we never had the whole crystal at Tower Reilloch, only one of the three shards, so I never had the opportunity to experiment with it. But we learned long ago that the crystal we guarded drew its power from the Waymeet.”
“I never knew,” Araevin said.
Quastarte sighed. “Trust me, I understand. I did not know that the Waymeet itself was a mythal of old Aryvandaar until you told me just now, and I have had centuries to figure it out.”
“Sarya Dlardrageth holds the Gatekeeper’s Crystal. I doubt she would let me borrow it to deal with the Waymeet.”
“She had the crystal when she rent the wards of the Nameless Dungeon, yes. But she has it no more.”
“How do you know?” Araevin demanded.
“It’s the limitation of the crystal. When its full power is employed-as Sarya did when she opened Nar Kerymhoarth-its component shards fly apart and scatter themselves across the face of the world. She has not had the crystal since the day she freed her fey’ri.”
Araevin leaped to his feet, and gathered up his rucksack. “Thank you, old friend. I think you’ve given me more hope than I’ve had in a long time.”
Quastarte rose more slowly. “If you intend to assemble the Gatekeeper’s Crystal again, start at the Nameless Dungeon. When the weapon shatters, it often leaves one of its component shards near the place where it was last employed.”
Araevin clasped Quastarte’s arm. “If you could neglect to mention to the high mages that I was here, I would appreciate it.”
The old loremaster gestured at the forested hillside. “I went for a long walk in the woods on a fine summer day, and that is all. No one needs to know any more than that.”
CHAPTER TWO
21 Flamerule, the Year of Lightning Storms
At sunset of the day following his illicit visit to Evermeet, Araevin rode into Highmoon, the chief settlement of Deepingdale. It was a handsome town that climbed a small hill alongside the East Way, the road that skirted the southern flanks of the great forest. Stands of trees hundreds of years old shaded much of the town, and lanterns suspended from the branches gave the place the look of an elven town-which was not far from the truth. Those few elves of Cormanthyr who hadn’t Retreated had lingered in the forests near Deepingdale, befriending and mixing with the humans of the Dale. Only in Aglarond had Araevin encountered a land where elf and human ways were so intertwined.
He stopped by an inn advertising itself as the Oak and Spear, and swung himself down from his saddle with a pat for his horse’s neck. The Oak and Spear at least seemed to be doing a fair business; music drifted from the taproom’s open door into the warm night. Araevin led his horse into the stable, took his saddlebags, and headed into the common room. A single lutist strummed her instrument softly by the cold fireplace. Few Deepingdalesfolk were drinking that night; most of the able-bodied men were standing guard at the Dale’s borders or serving with Theremen Ulath up in the forests around Lake Sember. “About time you got here!”
Araevin glanced to his right, and found Maresa Rost leaning back in her chair as she nursed a small goblet of wine. The genasi wore crimson, as she often did; it made for a striking contrast with her perfect white complexion and drifting halo of silver-white hair. She had commandeered a big round table in an alcove of the taproom. Beside
