Forsaken House Read online

  One of the elves who had been standing with Seiveril detached himself and followed. He was a tall and strongly built moon elf, his red-brown hair pulled back into a long braid behind his back. He wore a lacquered breastplate with a large kite-shaped shield slung over his back. Araevin didn’t recognize him, but then again, in the last hour he’d seen hundreds of elves he didn’t know.

  They filed into the pavilion Seiveril indicated, and found simple but comfortable furnishings, including light folding stools and a portable table with several maps laid out across its surface. A tray of fruit and bread filled one end of the table, along with ewers of cold water and wine.

  “I wish I could claim credit for the hospitality, but I can’t,” said Seiveril. “Thilesin and her assistants decided to provide me with a valet so that I could devote all my attention to the challenges ahead, instead of fretting about where to rest and when to eat. Please, be seated.”

  “Father,” said Ilsevele, “what are you doing here? Why didn’t the queen send the army? Why did she refuse to help?”

  “As I said, it is a long story, and it is a story that may not be for everyone to hear. I will only say that the queen has duties and responsibilities that constrain her freedom of action, and that this was the only way for those of us on Evermeet to send any real help to the People in Faerûn.” Seiveril looked over at Grayth and Maresa. “You have neglected to introduce me to your guests, Ilsevele.”

  Ilsevele frowned, noting the change in subject, but she did not protest. Instead she introduced Grayth and Maresa, and in turn Seiveril introduced the moon elf called Starbrow. Araevin took the fellow’s hand wondering who he was again, and his eyes fell to the sword hilt at the moon elf’s hip.

  “You are wearing Keryvian!” he gasped in surprise.

  “Yes,” Starbrow said. He offered a crooked smile. “Seiveril loaned it to me. I have some experience in fighting demons, and he thought I could make good use of the sword.”

  “I don’t believe I have ever heard of you,” Araevin said. “Where are you from?”

  Starbrow glanced at Seiveril, then back to Araevin, and said, “Cormanthyr. Though I have been away from my homeland for a long time.”

  Seiveril poured himself a cup of water from the ewer on the table.

  “Well, Ilsevele,” he said, “you can see what has been occupying my time since we parted. Where have you been? Araevin, did you learn anything more about the attack on Reilloch?”

  “We’ve spent the last two tendays in Faerûn,” Ilsevele said. She looked at Starbrow, and decided that the moon elf obviously enjoyed some special confidence with her father. “We learned the hard way that the daemonfey are very interested in the lorestones. We found … no, Araevin should tell the rest. The tale is his.”

  The company gathered in Seiveril’s tent turned their eyes on Araevin. He gave Ilsevele a pained look, but stood and faced the others.

  “We followed the first telkiira’s directions to a second telkiira, lost in an abandoned tower in the Forest of Wyrms …” Araevin began.

  He went on to relate the course of their adventure along the Sword Coast, from their arrival in the Ardeep, to their meeting with Grayth and Maresa, their journey through the Trollbark to the Forest of Wyrms, and the fierce battle against the daemonfey at the ancient tower. Then he described what he’d discovered when he opened the second loregem, and what Quastarte and his fellow mages had divined of their secret enemy.

  “So, we don’t know exactly why the daemonfey want these telkiira. But they must be important to the Dlardrageths, if they are pursuing them at the same time they choose to launch a war against the High Forest and Evereska together.”

  “I’ve heard of the Dlardrageths before,” Starbrow said to Seiveril. “Their old tower used to lie abandoned near the outskirts of Myth Drannor. I never knew the story behind it, though.”

  “Where is the daemonfey army now?” Grayth asked Seiveril.

  “They are near the top of the Sentinel Pass, the northwestern approach to the city, about ten miles from Evereska’s walls.”

  “What are you up against, and what do you have to stop them with?” the cleric asked.

  “We face an army of perhaps fifteen hundred fey’ri, five hundred demons of various sorts, and several thousand orcs, ogres, and other such creatures,” Seiveril replied. “Against that stands Evereska’s army, roughly two thousand strong, plus our own expedition, which will number close to six thousand by tomorrow.”

  “They have that many demons?” Grayth asked in surprise. “How did they do that, I wonder?”

  Araevin rubbed his jaw, thinking. His human friend had touched on something important, he was sure of it. Demons were not native to Faerûn. They could only be summoned from their foul hells for a very short time by battle-conjurations, or sometimes bound to longer service with difficult and expensive rites. If the daemonfey army had so many demons and yugoloths among their numbers, then they were clearly not using short-lived summonings or difficult binding rituals to enslave their fiendish allies.

  “They must control a gate of some kind,” he said. “The demons are serving of their own free will.”

  “Evereska’s scouts have reported the presence of demons in this army for most of its approach,” Seiveril said. “So, the gate must be located somewhere near the place where the daemonfey legion and their orc allies began their march. That would be somewhere in the upper Delimbiyr Vale. Hellgate Keep, perhaps?”

  “Presumably, there must be some constraint on how rapidly the demons can enter the world through the gate,” Grayth said. “Otherwise all the North would be overrun by hellspawn.”

  “Wherever they are coming from, the most pressing point is the fact that they are at Evereska’s doorstep,” Ilsevele pointed out. “Father, you said they were only ten miles away. Will you have time to bring the rest of the army through the elfgates before the battle is joined?”

  “I don’t know,” Seiveril said. “We have two companies of volunteers holding the top of the pass, but we do not expect to do anything more than slow the daemonfey for a few hours. We will try to meet the invaders in the West Cwm at sunrise. We’ll be marching soldiers up the track to the Cwm all night.”

  “Sounds like an even fight. Can you beat them?” Maresa asked directly.

  Starbrow looked to Seiveril, then back to Maresa. “The numbers are about equal, but we have the advantage of defending,” the moon elf swordsman replied slowly. “We could hold the Sentinel Pass or the Sunset Gate against any number of enemies—if our enemies did not possess the powers of flight and teleportation—but since they do, we can only choose our battleground against the orcs, ogres, and goblins. The fey’ri and their pet demons may choose to simply fly or teleport past the Cwm and either trap us in the Cwm or attack the city directly.”

  “Why haven’t they done so already?” asked Ilsevele. “I think they’re being overly cautious. They know there is strength in numbers, and so they prefer to keep their army together so that we won’t be offered the chance to destroy it piecemeal. And perhaps more importantly, I don’t think they know we’re here.” Starbrow offered a fierce smile. “They brought an army sufficient to reduce Evereska by itself, but there was no army from Evermeet here yesterday. By tomorrow morning, Evereska’s strength will be more than tripled.”

  “But they might choose to avoid fighting you at all,” Grayth pointed out.

  “Not without abandoning their ground forces. If they assail Evereska directly and leave their orcs and goblins to fight through on foot, we’ll destroy a large portion of their army seven miles from the city walls.” Starbrow shrugged. “In that case, the best move for our enemies is to concentrate all their efforts on destroying the army that meets them in the Cwm by surrounding us through the air, knowing that we dare not leave Evereska itself with too little strength to defend against a direct attack.”

  “How can we help?” asked Ilsevele.

  Seiveril looked up sharply.

  “I didn’t ask
you to fight, Ilsevele. There is no need—”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “If you called for all of Evermeet to take up arms in the defense of the LastHome, then you called for me as well. I am a captain in the queen’s spellarchers, and I have just as much reason to be on this battlefield as you do.”

  “I don’t know how tomorrow will turn out, Ilsevele. If you were to be hurt, I could not stand it.”

  “I will be exactly as careful as you are, Father,” Ilsevele retorted. “Now, I’ll ask again: How can we help?”

  Starbrow cut off Seiveril’s protest with a motion of his hand.

  “Stay close by our command group,” the mysterious elf said. “We have no time to find a different place for you, and to be honest, I think we will need all the skilled fighters we can get around the standard. In my experience, demons like to use their teleporting ability to butcher the opposing commander when the fight grows heavy. There will be a point in the battle when several dozen appear at once to tear down the standard and kill any leaders they can sink their claws into.”

  “How can you fight an enemy that can be anywhere he wants with a mere thought?” Araevin wondered aloud.

  “Simple,” said Starbrow. “You set a trap and wait for him to stick his foot in it. We’ll create a false standard to lure in any demon rush, and prepare an ambush around it to make sure we punish the fiends for the attempt.” He looked over to Seiveril. “Lord Miritar, we need to get up to the Sunset Gate and oversee the disposition of the troops. I think our foes will wait until they get their main body over the pass, but if they have spied out the movements of our army, they may push their vanguard ahead to seize the cwm before we can get our forces there.”

  Seiveril said, “You go ahead. I’ll be there as soon as I speak with Lord Duirsar again. I also have to send word to Muirreste to bring the rest of the expedition through in whatever order he deems best.” He turned to Araevin and his companions. “None of you are bound by any oath or promise to fight here. You do not have to stay.”

  Ilsevele gave her father a level look and said, “I stand by what I said before.”

  “I suspect you have a need for capable mages,” said Araevin. “I will help, too.”

  “Lathander opposes the forces of darkness, wherever they appear,” Grayth said. “I wish I had time to summon the Order of the Aster here to join in this battle, but since I am the only one of my order here, I will stand for my fellows and do what I can.”

  The tent fell silent before Maresa shrugged and said, “It’s not my fight. But I agreed to aid Araevin, so if he stays, I’ll stay too.” She jabbed a finger at the mage. “Running headlong into battles was not part of our agreement, but someone has to watch your back.”

  Thin, freezing mists clung to the mountainsides in the dark of the night, gathering and pouring downslope like rivers of wicked moonlight. Sarya Dlardrageth stood on an ancient Vyshaanti battle-platform recovered from the depths of Nar Kerymhoarth, admiring the masterful workmanship of a war machine crafted almost ten thousand years past. Shaped like a brazen disk forty feet in diameter, the battle-platform hovered in the air, suspended by levitation magic. Its armored sides could shelter twenty skilled archers or mages, but Sarya had no intention of exposing the platform to harm. Instead, she used it as a flying dais for her throne, a mobile tower from which she could survey the progress of her army and issue whatever orders seemed needful.

  “Ascend a little higher,” she directed the fey’ri who operated the platform’s control orb. “I desire a better view of the fight at the top of the pass.”

  She paced along the metal crenellations at the platform’s edge, dressed in black robes enchanted to the hardness of steel. In her hand she gripped a sinister staff of zalanthar wood decorated with bright gold wire, a potent weapon indeed in her hands. She longed to join the fray herself, hungering for the heady wine of triumph over her enemies, but she restrained herself. She had a legion of fey’ri, hundreds of demons, and great tribes of orcs and ogres marching under her banner. She needed to watch how they fought together and judge how best they might be employed against a serious obstacle.

  A spearcast below her brazen platform, the orcs, ogres, and goblins of her army surged up the last half-mile of the Rillvale’s winding trail, pressing up against the weak line of elf archers who fought to hold the saddle of the pass. Above the archers, fey’ri and winged demons wheeled and stooped, scouring the Evereskans with gouts of hellfire and hurling iron darts down from above at the foolhardy warriors trying to bar the passage of Sarya’s horde. A few of the archers found the opportunity to shoot down at the climbing ogres and orcs, but most of the Evereskans were busy with keeping their aerial enemies at bay with archery and spells.

  “Not much of a fight,” observed Mardeiym Reithel. The fey’ri lord, a leader of the ancient fey’ri she had freed from Nar Kerymhoarth, served as Sarya’s general. His battle armor was striking, a black mithral breastplate embossed with the likeness of a snarling dragon, and his face was distinguished by an exceptionally large pair of ram’s horns that curled out from under his war helm. “They are simply trying to slow us down, and perhaps exact a small price for seizing the Sentinel’s pass.”

  “How many hold the pass against us?” Sarya asked.

  Mardeiym studied the ridge top from the platform’s edge.

  “Two companies of archers,” the fey’ri lord said, “with a handful of mages. They’ve certainly hurt the orcs in the vanguard. Most likely they’ll disengage and fall back when the orcs crest the pass.”

  “I see no reason to allow them to escape,” Sarya said. “Land a strong company of fey’ri and a warband of demons on the far side of the pass, behind the defenders. We will crush them between our two forces and slaughter them to the last warrior.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” Mardeiym answered.

  He barked out a set of orders to the winged imps who fluttered nearby, awaiting messages to carry. The foul little creatures streaked off to find the fey’ri captains and demons Mardeiym named.

  Sarya and her general watched as two ranks of the fey’ri waiting behind the orcs and other rabble abruptly launched themselves into the air, scarlet wings beating furiously as they climbed up into the dark sky and passed over the defender’s positions. From somewhere on the rocky slopes a bright bolt of lightning stabbed up into the air, bringing down a pair of the daemonfey warriors. Several of the fey’ri replied with a rapid succession of fireballs that scoured across the ridgeline in a string of lurid explosions.

  “That’s better,” Sarya said.

  Even from a distance, she could hear the screams of the wounded and the frightened calls of the elf warriors as a cloud of vrocks and other winged demons descended on the defenders.

  She was so absorbed in the carnage that she did not even notice the arrival of a vrock scout until the creature alighted on the platform and spread its shabby wings, bowing before her.

  “Lady S-Sarya,” it hissed through its vulturelike beak. “I have flown to the edge of the mythal-l and back, as you commanded-d. There are many elves-s marching out of the city.”

  Sarya frowned. “Are they fleeing?”

  “No, these are warriors-s. They march to meet you.”

  “How many?” she demanded.

  “At least ten different companies-s. I s-saw their standards-s. They are w-waiting for you at the east end of the v-valley beyond this pass-s, three miles distant-t.”

  “Good,” Sarya said. “Return and see if you can get a good count of their numbers and dispositions.”

  The vrock bowed again and flapped off, the platform bobbing as the creature’s weight left it.

  “Three miles,” she said aloud. “It will take us hours to get the main body up and over the pass. Dawn will be close by the time we are through the pass.”

  “Should we send the fey’ri against them now, while they are still marching?” Mardeiym asked her. “We could strike them hard, right now.”

  “No,” Sarya replied, “we
brought our orc allies for a reason. Let’s keep our forces together, so that we can crush the Evereskans in a single blow rather than send our army at them one piece at a time. That way lies defeat.”

  She found her seat and sat down, curling her long, snakelike tail around her feet. After twenty days of tortuous marching alongside slow, clumsy orcs and giants, Evereska was within her grasp.

  The first gray streaks of dawn gathering in the eastern sky did little to warm the damp chill of the cwm. The rain had finally given out in the middle of the night, but the overcast was so low that Evereska’s higher peaks pierced the clouds, leaving scraps and tatters of mist to drift by only a few hundred feet overhead. The bowl-shaped West Cwm was high and bare compared to other parts of Evereska, flirting with the tree line. A large, deep lake of icy water lay close under the cliffs on the southern side of the cwm. It struck Araevin as an open and unforgiving battleground, especially against aerial foes. He would have preferred to fight under the cover of the trees, where winged sorcerers and demons would have to come well within bowshot to attack.

  He peered into the night, trying to piece together what he could see of the approaching army. Elves needed less light to see by than humans did. Even in the darkness Araevin could make out the saddle of the Sentinel Pass, about three miles distant. The fight at the pass had been over for better than three hours, and very few of the elves who’d volunteered to fight there had returned. He could glimpse movement there, distant torches and large, awkward wagons threading their way over the pass and into Evereska’s heart.

  Marching steadily eastward toward him came a great, shapeless mass, sprinkled here and there with torches and burning brands—the army of the daemonfey. Their numbers seemed to fill the cwm, and menacing black shadows wheeled and soared above the marching orcs and ogres. A vast, many-throated rumble preceded the army, the rustle and creaking of armor, the clash of weapons on shields, the bone-shaking thunder of hundreds of war drums, hisses and screeches and roars of demons and other fiendish things from the hells beyond the world. Briefly Araevin entertained the curious impression that the whole valley was a cup being filled from the Sentinel Pass, and that in time the horde would fill it up entirely and spill out over the sides.