Forsaken House Page 18

  Methrammar frowned, rubbed his jaw, and said, “So maybe five hundred sorcerers, five hundred demons, and fifteen hundred orcs and such.” He looked at his mother. “If they gathered that force and marched north …”

  “We would be hard-pressed to defend Everlund,” she finished for him, nodding. “The wards of Silverymoon would prove a difficult obstacle for that army, and Sundabar is quite strong too. But I would fear for Everlund and the smaller towns of the Rauvin Vale.” She looked back to Gaerradh. “How do matters stand now?”

  “We’ve abandoned most of the villages in the eastern part of the forest, which is where they first appeared. We’re withdrawing to the Lost Peaks. We have some hidden refuges there. But the demonspawn are following us, Lady Alustriel. They’ve caught up to and slaughtered many of our fleeing folk, and so far we’ve been unable to muster a force strong enough to stop them. Lady Morgwais hopes that as more of our folk reach the Lost Peaks, we will be able to assemble an army from the warriors of a number of villages, and perhaps meet our attackers on a more equal footing. In the meantime, we need help.”

  “I know,” Alustriel said, then she fell silent, thinking.

  “There is one more thing,” Gaerradh said. “I don’t know if this is important or not, but Morgwais said that you might understand its significance. We know where these demonspawned elves, or some of them anyway, come from. They were held somewhere in Nar Kerymhoarth, the Nameless Dungeon. I discovered the guards of the dungeon slain, and a vast portion of the hillside blasted open.”

  “Siluvanede,” Alustriel breathed. She stood and paced away, arms folded. “I knew that many things had been buried in Nar Kerymhoarth, but I never suspected something like this. That is dire news, indeed.”

  “What is it, Mother?” Methrammar asked.

  “I will have to ask some questions to be sure,” Alustriel said. “It may take me some time, but for now, I want you to return to Rauvinwatch Keep and march the Argent Legion companies there south to the High Forest. We will aid the elves of the High Forest with all the strength we can spare.”

  “The council won’t like sending even a couple of companies out of the Silver Marches,” Methrammar said.

  “I will explain to them why it is necessary.” Alustriel turned to Gaerradh and asked, “Would you consent to guide Methrammar and his soldiers to the place they can best serve the High Forest folk? We don’t know where the wood elves will gather or stand.”

  “Of course, Lady Alustriel.”

  “Good,” Alustriel replied. She took Gaerradh’s hand. “I am sorry that we have only a few hundred soldiers who can march now, but it may be that even a few hundred will make a difference. I will send more companies after Methrammar as soon as I can. If it lies within my power, I will not let the High Forest folk fall beneath these demonspawned monsters.”

  Snow still dusted the peaks of the Shaeradim, the rugged hills that concealed the green valley of Evereska. The elven city nestled high in the hidden vale, and drifting streamers of gray cloud wreathed the white towers and mighty trees. From his vantage on the high slopes of Ilaerothil, the mountain known as the Sentinel, Seiveril found that the clouds and fog revealed and covered the city, almost nine miles distant, from moment to moment.

  I can see why the LastHome was built here, he thought.

  The high peaks of the Shaeradim formed a mighty rampart almost six thousand feet in height, completely surrounding a maze of narrow vales, high cwms, and smaller peaks that stretched for fifteen miles between the Sentinel—the mountain at the northwest end—and the Eastpeak, the even taller mountain to the southeast. Someone traveling through the Forgotten Forest far below would see nothing more than a fence of unbroken peaks, never suspecting the green vales and forests cupped within.

  Seiveril had come to Evereska with Vesilde Gaerth in order to study the approaches to the city and see with his own eyes the daemonfey army. He had passed through the elfgates early in the day, leaving the crusade to continue its muster under Elvath Muirreste in Elion. Soon he would be ready to march at least a few of the more organized and better equipped companies through the gates, but it would likely be the work of three days, perhaps four, to bring the entire army to Evereska. He’d return to Evermeet by the end of the day and begin planning the march. “Look north,” said Lord Duirsar.

  Leader of the Hill Council, the moon elf elder was a short, thinly built fellow whose unassuming manner seemed at odds with his high place among the elves of Evereska. His face was marked with almost humanlike signs of age, including heavy worry lines at the corners of his mouth, and a pained expression to his eyes that spoke of too much grief and sorrow. Only two years before Evereska had fought a terrible war against invading monsters, and almost lost it. Thousands of the city’s People walked in Arvandor, and those who remained knew more sadness than any elves Seiveril had ever met.

  “The main body is passing the Westhorn,” Duirsar observed.

  Seiveril followed the Hill Elder’s gaze over the wild green hills and gray mists of the lands beyond Evereska. The Sentinel offered a commanding view over the lands lying west of the LastHome. From the high pass at his left shoulder, a deep, winding valley—the Rillvale—descended from the high slopes of the Shaeradim to the shadowed eaves of the Forgotten Forest, almost four thousand feet below. The Forest lay in a broad vale between Evereska’s hills and the Graypeak Mountains forty miles to the west. Toward the south the forest sank into the great Marsh of Chelimber, a gray-green flat just visible from where Seiveril stood. To the north of the forest the Lonely Vale stretched between the Graypeak Mountains and the Graycloak Hills, which were more accurately described as a more mountainous part of the Shaeradim divided from Evereska’s hills by a windswept pass. Seiveril looked to the north and spotted the distinctive Westhorn, twenty miles away in the rugged rampart of the Graycloaks.

  “I cannot see them at this distance,” he said.

  Duirsar offered him a lens of clear crystal, held in a small gold hoop and said, “You’ll need this.”

  Seiveril held the magic lens to his eye and looked again. The hillsides and forests blurred, and Seiveril found himself gazing on the daemonfey army as if they were only a few hundred yards away. As he expected, the vanguard was a huge, disorganized rabble of orcs, ogres, goblins, and giants, with a handful of stranger beasts mixed among them. Then came a great marching mass of horrors and abominations spawned in the darkest hells: hulking insectlike mezzoloths, prowling canoloths, hopping hezrou-demons and skeletal palrethees and babaus. Winged demons, mostly vrocks, soared over the vile horde, flapping this way and that. He also glimpsed the marching ranks of the daemonfey, slender and quick. Many of those were in the air as well, but others, too heavily burdened with arms and armor to fly easily, simply marched in orderly legions behind their rabble and their demons. More humanoids—goblin slaves, it seemed—dragged the army’s train, such as it was, behind the warriors.

  “At their current pace, they’ll reach the mouth of the Rillvale in two days,” Duirsar said. “The pass is difficult, and I think it will take them another two days to bring their main body all the way to the top.”

  Seiveril took the lens from his eye, turned to face Duirsar, and asked, “Do you have the strength to stop them?”

  “We did before the phaerimm war,” the Hill Elder said. “Now, I am not so sure. We lost almost the whole of the Tomb Guard, most of the Vale Guard, and better than half of the Swords of Evereska. We managed to preserve our mythal, but it was virtually destroyed before we restored it, and it is still weak.”

  “Well, if the Seldarine smile on us, I should be able to bring you a thousand swords, staves, and bows by sunset tomorrow, and as many as four thousand more within three to four days of that.”

  “Lord Rhaellen will be greatly cheered by that news. He despairs of defending the city.” Duirsar glanced at Vesilde Gaerth, who stood a short distance away speaking with the watchpost’s guards, and lowered his voice. “But will Amlaruil really allow you to mar
ch?”

  “Amlaruil will not hinder us,” Seiveril said. “However, I am concerned about other nobles of Evermeet, which is one reason why I want to march as soon as possible.”

  Duirsar said, “I am sorry that Evereska has need of help again, so soon after Evermeet gave so generously to assist us in the war against the phaerimm. Maybe it would be wiser to consider Retreat.”

  “Lord Duirsar, I have come to the conclusion that the Retreat was a terrible mistake. When we abandoned Cormanthor, we surrendered our first line of defense against the perils of a Faerûn dominated by other, younger races. Kymil Nimesin’s attack on Evermeet convinced me of that.” Seiveril studied the weary Elder. “Your desire to fight for your home is not misguided, Duirsar. Do not let anyone else try to convince you that it is.”

  Vesilde Gaerth joined them, shading his eyes with his hand as he studied the terrain over which the approaching army would have to march.

  “Lord Duirsar,” Vesilde asked, “have you contested this horde’s approach?”

  “No, we haven’t met them yet, though we’ve watched their march for better than a tenday now. At first we thought they would continue south down the Delimbiyr and fall on Llorkh and Loudwater in the Gray Vale, but then they crossed from the Delimbiyr Vale to the desert verge above the Fallen Lands. Much as I would have liked to harry their march, especially through such inhospitable country, we simply don’t have the strength to risk anything more than a few scouts against an enemy more than a few miles from our doorstep.”

  “Where do you think we should try to stop them?” Seiveril asked Duirsar.

  “I would like to fight here, at the top of Sentinel Pass. The way is narrow, and we could inflict great damage with a company of archers and some mages. However, I am concerned by the number of fliers in that army. Almost half its strength, including all the daemonfey, are winged. If I send out a small force to contest the pass, the fliers will go over our soldiers to attack them from behind, and we will lose whomever we send here. If I send a large force, then I risk the possibility that the fliers will ignore Sentinel Pass all together and strike directly at Evereska.”

  “Where else, then?”

  “The next good place of defense would be the Sunset Gate, which lies between the West Cwm and the Vine Vale. But there again we risk being bypassed by demons and daemonfey who fly.”

  Vesilde Gaerth thought carefully, then said, “Maybe we should invite the attempt. If we offered a strong army to hold the pass or the gate, the daemonfey might choose to split their forces, leaving their foot troops to try a very difficult defense while their fliers strike at the city. At least we might keep the non-fliers away from Evereska itself.”

  “A dangerous gamble,” Duirsar observed. “Soldiers in the pass might face attack on both sides, including from hundreds of demons and sorcerers. You will need powerful magic to defend yourselves if the daemonfey decide to surround and eliminate your force, and you will be well outside the mythal.”

  “The only other alternative I see is adding our army to yours inside the walls of Evereska, and surrendering the Shaeradim and the Vine Vale to your foes,” Seiveril said. He gazed at the distant army, crawling up into the mountains. “I hesitate to retreat behind Evereska’s wards and invite a siege.”

  “What other choice do we have? We can’t meet so many demons and sorcerers outside the mythal,” said Duirsar. “It would be as bad as fighting the phaerimm.”

  “That worries me too,” Gaerth said to Seiveril. He turned away from the vale. “I’ve fought demons before. Their physical power is bad enough, but they also possess innate magical ability that’s the equal of a potent sorcerer, and many of them are virtually immune to the bite of normal steel. A whole company of archers might not be able to even scratch something like a mezzoloth or vrock before it tore them to pieces or incinerated them with its hellborn sorcery. Worse yet, many of the damned things can simply teleport from one spot to another with a simple act of will. The idea of trying to form something like a defensive line against any number of demons is laughable. And of course, there are more than a thousand of those winged daemonfey, many of whom seem to be capable sorcerers, too.” The knight-commander hesitated, then added, “We have to prepare ourselves for a fight like we’ve never imagined.”

  “Elves have fought against armies of demons before,” Seiveril said.

  “Yes, but the last time I know of was in the Weeping War that brought about the fall of Myth Drannor. We lost that one.” Gaerth looked over at the Hill Elder and asked, “Lord Duirsar, does the mythal ward have any special powers against demons and such creatures?”

  “Yes. They cannot teleport into or out of it.”

  “So we still have to worry about them flying past us to get at the city, but at least they won’t simply transport themselves there in the blink of an eye,” Seiveril said. “That’s something, anyway. Come, Lord Gaerth. We have to get back to Elion and consider what we’ve seen today.”

  Elven armies had stood against demons before. Somehow he would find a way to do it again.

  CHAPTER 11

  20 Ches, the Year of Lightning Storms

  The sea winds blustered against the stone and battlements of Tower Reilloch, chill and damp despite the brightness of the day. Fir and spruce trees surrounding the tower sighed and creaked in the wind. Araevin looked up at the tower’s stark strength, surprised that he felt as if he were returning home. He’d been away so much over the years that it didn’t seem that Reilloch should feel that way to him.

  Ilsevele watched him. Simply setting foot back on Evermeet seemed to have filled her with a tangible radiance that almost showed through her pale skin and green eyes. She set a hand on his arm and offered a rueful smile.

  “Glad homeagain,” she said.

  “Glad homeagain to you, too,” Araevin replied. “I suppose I missed the place.”

  “It’s been your home for a hundred years.”

  “As much as any place, I guess. But it won’t be the same without Philaerin and the others.”

  Araevin turned to Maresa and Grayth, who both looked distinctly uncomfortable standing beneath the green boughs of the forest. Grayth had drawn the hood of his cloak up over his head as if that would hide his human build and heavy gait. Maresa seemed determined to hold herself absolutely still in order to appear graceful, but it simply gave her the appearance of being petrified with fear.

  “Do not be afraid,” Araevin said. “You are my guests, and you are welcome here. I only ask that you promise not to tell anyone of this tower, or what you see or hear while you stay here.”

  “Are you … permitted to bring non-elves here?” Grayth asked.

  “It’s not encouraged, but you don’t need to worry about it,” Araevin replied. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll arrange quarters for you, and a good dinner. I don’t know about you, but I am exhausted, and I could use a few hours’ rest before we address any serious business.”

  “A sound idea,” Grayth said. “I’m afraid that I’m in need of something else to wear, though. Everything except my weapons and armor were with the pack horses.”

  A shadow passed over his face as the human cleric’s thoughts turned dark, and he seemed to sag with weariness.

  “We’ll provide anything you need,” Ilsevele answered. “Come; this is Evermeet. Walk in wonder, for you will see sights and hear songs few humans—or genasi—have ever shared.”

  They passed beneath the gatehouse of the keep, where Araevin found a guard of determined warriors eight strong watching the gates. The guards eyed Grayth and Maresa with no small suspicion, but agreed to allow them to pass as long as they remained with the two elves. Araevin requested the Tower’s major domo to arrange rooms for his guests, and saw Grayth and Maresa to their chambers before Ilsevele and he returned to his own apartment. They bathed and changed into comfortable robes, ate heartily of the dinner sent up by the kitchens, and lay down together on Araevin’s divan to drift off into Reverie.

  At moonset
, a few hours before dawn, Araevin rose, dressed, and carried the second telkiira down to his workshop. He was pleased to find that the room was much as he had left it, everything more or less in its place, but Ilsevele accompanied him despite his protests.

  “I may be at this for hours,” he told her. “There is no telling what spell I might need to open this stone.”

  Ilsevele shrugged and patted her hip, where she wore her sword and Araevin’s lightning wand.

  “I don’t know if it would be wise for you to be alone,” she said. “If demons start popping out of the air to take that loregem away from you, I intend to contest the issue. Besides, our human and half-human friends won’t be up for hours yet, so I have little better to do.”

  Araevin shrugged and began to scrutinize the second telkiira. First, wary of traps, he cast a spell to study the magical aura of the stone. Philaerin’s loregem might have been safe, but that didn’t mean the others would be. To his surprise there was a powerful abjuration embedded in the lorestone, which might have indicated the presence of a deadly trap. He examined the defensive spell closely, and decided that it seemed to be keyed to function only against specific enemies.

  “This is interesting,” he murmured. “The loregem is screened by powerful defenses against divination. It would seem to be very difficult, if not impossible, to search it out by means of magic.”

  “But you could sense its location, once you had opened the first stone,” Ilsevele said.

  “Yes, but I think that might have been the only way to circumvent the defense. So, if you didn’t have the first stone, you would not be able to locate the second. Even then, the loregems seem to be keyed to refuse certain users.”

  “Like who?”

  “I am not certain. It’s possible to key magical wards of all sorts to recognize or refuse particular people. You can make a magic door that only opens for an elf, or a person who does not serve evil, someone who knows the right password or performs a specific action like casting a particular spell…. This telkiira is warded against some, but open to others. Fortunately, it seems that I am not prevented from studying it closer.”