Forsaken House Read online

  One blow of his huge axe tore Gaerradh’s bow from her left hand, and he reversed his swing and brought the sharp hook on the back of his weapon whistling at her neck. Gaerradh ducked under the blow and yanked her off-hand axe from her belt. Then she straightened up and launched herself at the orc, weaving her two axes before her in a deadly double arc of whirling elven steel. She slashed him once across the forearm, a second time across the ribs, and the savage warrior simply shoved her away with the thick haft of his war axe. Gaerradh stumbled back three steps and almost fell.

  The berserker roared in glee and stepped forward, whirling the axe with the full length of his long, powerful arms, but then he grunted and staggered as a barrage of streaking globes of blue magic pummeled him from the side. Gaerradh risked a quick glance that way, and saw Methrammar Aerasumé standing, sword in one hand, wand in the other. He offered one quick, fierce smile, and whirled away to aid another soldier.

  The orc recovered from Methrammar’s spell and snarled, blood streaming from his mouth. He fixed his eyes on Gaerradh and shambled closer, kept on his feet by nothing more than hate and bloodlust. Roaring in rage, the bestial warrior swung wildly, but the wood elf used her right-hand axe to pass the orc’s swing over her head. She stepped inside his reach and split his forehead with her left-hand axe.

  More spells blasted into the melee, silver forks of lightning and furious jets of azure fire dropping orcs on all sides, while simmering spheres of acid and lances of black ice streaked down from the fey’ri sorcerers skulking on the hillside above, wreaking carnage among the Silvaeren soldiers. Gaerradh stooped to retrieve her bow and crouched beside a tree, searching for another fey’ri spellcaster, but in the space of a few moments the battle suddenly ended. The orcs broke and ran, the surviving warriors fleeing into the trees or snarling defiance at the Silvaeren company. Overhead, the fey’ri spellcasters vanished as well.

  “Gaerradh!” Methrammar Aerasumé called. He stood among the soldiers of Silverymoon, his long sword spattered with red. “Gaerradh!”

  “I’m here,” she replied.

  She looked around. Despite the furious assault, the Silvaeren company had not fared too badly. More than a few of Silverymoon’s soldiers would not return to their city, but even more orc warriors lay dead at their feet. Farther back in the column, where the fey’ri had concentrated their first barrage of deadly spells, she expected the carnage would be worse. She slung her bow, then stooped and wiped her axe on the ragged wolf skin worn by her orc adversary.

  “We walked right into that,” she said.

  Methrammar grimaced and replied, “I know. You warned us about these fey’ri, but after so many days of seeing nothing of them …” The high marshal sighed and sheathed his sword. “At least we slew many of them, too.”

  “Only their orc allies. The daemonfey spellcasters are the real threat. I shot one, but I didn’t see any more fall.” Gaerradh looked up at him, and smiled thinly. “Thank you for the help with this big one, by the way. You gave me just the opening I needed.”

  “We’d never find our way to the Lost Peaks without you. And I find that I’ve grown too fond of your company to let an orc deprive me of it,” replied Methrammar. He sighed and looked over the soldiers who stood nearby, searching to see who among their fallen comrades still lived. “We will have to post a strong watch at night. If they’re willing to attack us by day, they will certainly look for a chance to harry us while we’re trying to rest.”

  Amlaruil, Queen of Evermeet, entered the Dome of Stars at a sedate pace. She was dressed in a regal dress of gold brocade, her scepter of office transmuted into a willowy golden wand to match the gown. The Dome’s galleries were dark and silent, empty of courtiers and spectators. By chance the tidings from Faerûn had come an hour before the beginning of a royal ball, so she had arranged for the council members to be diverted to the Dome as they arrived at the party.

  Faint strains of music echoed from the distant ballroom. Some of her guests would undoubtedly note that the queen and her councilors were late for the revelry, but Amlaruil hoped that they would be able to sweep in together as a gala entourage, and appear fashionably late.

  As one, her councilors rose to meet her. If Ammisyll Veldann and Selsharra Durothil stood a little slower than the others and did not bow as deeply or as long, they at least observed the forms of courtesy. Like Amlaruil, each was dressed for the formal dance to follow, bedecked in the finest robes or flowing dresses as appropriate. It lent a strangely humorous atmosphere to the scene.

  Amlaruil suppressed a smile and said, “Thank you for answering my summons. I have received news from Evereska. There has been a fierce battle in the passes approaching the LastHome.”

  “Lord Miritar’s expedition?” High Admiral Elsydar asked.

  “Yes. It seems that his host transited the elfgates to Evereska just in time to meet the daemonfey onslaught. They fought the invaders on the shoulders of Ilaerothil and halted their advance.”

  “A victory, or a defeat?” Keryth Blackhelm asked, steeling himself for the answer.

  “The fighting was fierce. I understand that Lord Miritar lost hundreds of warriors, but he won the day. The daemonfey army suffered far greater losses, and they were stopped short of the Vine Vale.”

  “Recklessness,” muttered Selsharra Durothil. “He led his mob of volunteers away from the safety of Evereska’s walls to fight in the open field? Here we see the cost of Miritar’s folly—yet more of Evermeet’s sons and daughters dead on meaningless fields in Faerûn’s pointless battles. When do you intend to put an end to this, Lady Moonflower?”

  “None of us was there to judge whether Seiveril Miritar’s generalship was foolish or sound,” Keryth Blackhelm growled. Lady Durothil’s discourtesy had not escaped him. “I for one will withhold my censure until I know more.”

  “For what possible purpose did he lead an untrained army into such a terrible battle?” Selsharra asked. “I am no war leader, but even I know that a wise general does not abandon impregnable fortifications to hazard his soldiers in an even fight on open terrain. Was it simply a matter of Seiveril’s crusading zeal overriding his common sense? Or was he determined to demonstrate to all of us that his courage brooks no question?”

  “Among other things, it occurs to me that Lord Miritar could do little to succor the wood elves of the High Forest if he sat on top of Evereska’s cliffs and did nothing else,” the High Marshal retorted. “If you take up arms against an enemy, you must be willing to hazard losses in order to defend positions you must defend, or attack positions you must take. That is the nature of war.”

  “That is the problem, isn’t it?” Ammisyll Veldann observed. “Evermeet is not at war, yet here we learn that hundreds of our soldiers are dying in distant battles.”

  Amlaruil refused to let Veldann and Durothil bait her any further.

  “I will provide a full account of the fighting as soon as I am able to,” she said firmly. “Hill Elder Duirsar of Evereska informs me that Seiveril’s warriors won a hard-fought battle and halted the enemy advance. For that I give thanks, since the daemonfey are enemies of all elves. I regret that warriors have died, but I do not regret that they died to spare the folk of Evereska a deadly siege or bloody assault.”

  The table fell silent, until Zaltarish the scribe cleared his throat and said, “Have you heard anything of Lord Seiveril’s intentions, Your Majesty? What has happened since the battle? Where is he now, where are his foes? Wars are rarely won in a single day.”

  Amlaruil shook her head and answered, “I know nothing more than what I have already said. I will send a representative to Evereska tomorrow to confer with the Hill Elder and obtain a better account of the fighting in the Shaeradim.”

  “I will go, if you permit me,” Keryth Blackhelm said.

  “Of course, Lord Blackhelm.” Amlaruil looked around the table. “That is all I had to say. If there is nothing else—”

  “There is one thing,” Selsharra Durothil said.


  Amlaruil smoothed her face and refused to show any irritation when she asked, “Yes, Lady Durothil?”

  “Your council now stands at seven members, Lady Moonflower. While there is no law that dictates the size or composition of the Council of Evermeet, tradition would indicate that we should replace Miritar and Jerreda Starcloak. I have given the matter some thought, and it occurs to me that we could fill Miritar’s seat immediately.”

  Zaltarish folded his hands before him and said, “Lady Durothil, it has been less than a month. Council seats have sometimes gone unfilled for years. There is no need to hurry such an important decision.”

  “I disagree. First of all, it is not clear to me that Evermeet’s peril allows us to delay this decision as we might in more peaceful times. Secondly, if an ideal candidate is available, I see no point in delaying his or her accession.”

  “I presume you have some ideal candidate in mind?” Meraera Silden said dryly.

  “Lord Miritar was, of course, the High Cleric of Corellon’s Grove, a very senior representative of the Seldarine’s clergy. I find myself concerned that we have no high-ranking cleric on the council now who might advise us of the will of Corellon Larethian when we engage in our deliberations. Therefore, I propose that Elder Star Mellyth Echorn should be elevated to Miritar’s seat. He is the highest-ranking cleric of Corellon in Evermeet, and a member of a high and noble family as well. Who could be a better choice?”

  Amlaruil leaned back in her seat, her expression neutral. Clearly, Selsharra Durothil thought that a conservative cleric of Corellon Larethian might be a powerful new voice on the council, a voice sympathetic to the traditionalist sun elf Houses. By suggesting Mellyth Echorn, Selsharra put Amlaruil in the position of accepting her nomination—not something Amlaruil was particularly inclined to do, though in truth she didn’t know if Echorn was unsuitable—or declining the Elder Star, which would appear to be a deliberate slight to those of Corellon’s faith. She had no doubt that Selsharra would see to it that word got out that the Durothils had pushed for the Elder Star’s nomination. Lady Durothil gained in either case.

  I wonder how badly it would go if I told Selsharra Durothil that her seat was vacant, too, Amlaruil thought.

  The queen offered the sun elf noblewoman a warm smile.

  “The councilors serve at my pleasure, as I am sure you know,” she said. “I will consider the matter carefully, and I thank you for your suggestion. However, I would rather examine our needs thoroughly and make sure that I select the right candidate than act hastily and perhaps choose the wrong one. I will let you know when I have decided.” She rose, and indicated the chamber’s doors. “Now, let us join the festivities, before our absence creates undue alarm.”

  The cave mouth led into a warren of dank, twisting tunnels, filled with swift, icy rivulets of water that poured down through the wet rock. Araevin summoned a magical light in order to illuminate their path. More bones, splintered and crushed, glimmered in the yellow magelight, and a damp, musky scent hung in the chill air.

  “Damn,” whispered Grayth. “That’s a hill giant’s skull, or I’m a goblin. Are you sure this is the right cave, Araevin?”

  “I won’t be upset if you say no,” Maresa added. Araevin replied, “Sorry to say so, but yes.”

  He paused to examine the chamber. As had happened in the Forest of Wyrms, he was too close to sense the exact location of the next stone. They would have to find it the hard way. Several passageways burrowed off into the blackness, but they seemed somewhat small and contorted for anything large enough to make a meal of a giant. To his right, though, a V-shaped cleft seemed to go back into the rock for quite a distance, and a good-sized stream poured out of its bottom to run across the cavern floor and out into the gorge.

  “This way, I think.”

  One by one, they clambered up into the cleft, icy water running swiftly over their feet, and followed the subterranean streambed deeper into the caves. The way was difficult and wet. Though the stream was rarely deeper than mid-calf, the path was obstructed by numerous boulders and awkward shelves and columns of stone, and the stream descended sharply from above. They scaled several small cascades and chutes, until Araevin’s teeth chattered from the cold and his hands were numb.

  Forty or fifty yards from the entrance, they climbed up into a large, open cave. The air stank of old meat, and the smell was overpowering. Grayth drew his sword and carefully moved up out of the streambed, peering into the twisting galleries of stone that framed the chamber. Araevin followed the Lathanderite, glad to have a strong friend in heavy plate armor a few steps ahead of him. Ilsevele and Maresa brought up the rear, Ilsevele’s bow at the ready, Maresa carrying her rapier and crossbow. Clearly, something lived in the chamber at the top of the stream. More discarded bones lay scattered about, and more tellingly, rotten old wooden chests bursting with silver and gold coins stood haphazardly at the far end of the room. But there was no sign of the cavern’s denizen, though more of the small, halfling-sized tunnels led away from the room.

  “Is your gemstone here, Araevin?” asked Grayth.

  “It’s close,” the mage said. He kept his wand of disruption in hand, watching the shadows carefully, and moved over to investigate the hoard gathered in the dry end of the room. That at least spoke of intelligence. A dumb beast would not gather the gold of its victims.

  Ilsevele followed Araevin over to the treasure, lowering her bow, and said, “Let’s find the telkiira and get out of here before this thing comes home.”

  “Too late, heh!” croaked a horrible, rasping voice from the shadows. “Grimlight is home, heh!”

  Araevin and the others whirled at the sound, looking for whomever or whatever had spoken, but then, from one of the small tunnels, a brilliant stroke of lightning blasted out, spearing Ilsevele and Grayth. Ilsevele threw herself aside, somehow avoiding the terrible blast, but the bolt caught the Lathanderite dead center in his steel armor. Azure fingers of electricity crawled over the cleric, snapping and popping, as he jerked and thrashed, pinned in place by the lightning. Then it ended, and Grayth collapsed to the cavern floor, his limbs twitching and smoke rising from the joints in his armor.

  “Who is in Grimlight’s den? Must be Grimlight’s dinner, heh!”

  Something seemed to chuckle with a sly, throaty sound, and a huge, blunt snout appeared in the tunnel mouth. The creature slithered forth, revealing first a gaping, crocodilian maw, then a draconian face with two curling horns, and a long, powerful body covered in thick scales with pairs of small, clawed legs that it held folded close to its body as it crawled out of its tunnels.

  “What in all the screaming hells is that?” Maresa snarled.

  The genasi didn’t wait for an answer, but instead leveled her crossbow and loosed a bolt at the monster. Grimlight jerked its head aside with a surprisingly quick motion, and the quarrel glanced away from the thick scales above the creature’s eyes. Maresa swore and yanked back on her crossbow’s string, loading another quarrel.

  Araevin retreated three quick steps away from the huge creature, narrowly avoiding a great snap of its fang-filled jaws, and pointed the disruption wand at its head, barking out the command word. A tremendous shriek of sonic power burst from the wand, blasting a yard-wide ram of distorted air at Grimlight that hammered the monster like the club of a giant. But Grimlight recovered with startling speed and barreled straight at Araevin, hurling the mage headlong with a quick toss of its horned head. Araevin crashed into the hard rock of the cavern wall. Ribs cracked and his breath exploded from his mouth in a deep grunt.

  Ilsevele picked herself up from the floor and found her bow. Whispering the words of a fire spell, she ensorcelled her arrow and shot it at the scaled worm. The arrow kindled in flight and plunged deep into Grimlight’s side, a flaming bolt that set the monster to thrashing with such violence that its long, thick tail smashed foot-thick stalagmites to flinders.

  “Grimlight will eat you all!” the monster hissed in rage. “Room for man
y in Grimlight’s belly, yes, yes!”

  Ilsevele shot again, a pair of arrows that stuck in the thick scales of the monster’s face but did not penetrate deeply enough to inflict any serious injury. The arrows did succeed in attracting Grimlight’s undivided attention, though. The wyrm hissed so loudly that Araevin’s ears rang, and launched itself at the archer like a living battering ram, lunging across the cavern floor.

  Araevin managed to draw a breath deeply enough to speak a spell. He pointed his finger and fired a deadly green ray of disintegration at the huge creature. The terrible emerald beam chewed deeply into Grimlight’s flank, gouging out an awful wound for ten feet or more along the worm’s side. Black blood spewed from the injury, and Grimlight’s charge at Ilsevele faltered. The creature bucked and thrashed—incidentally knocking Grayth twenty feet across the cavern, as the cleric began to grope his way to his feet. It opened its jaws wide and blasted Araevin at point-blank range with a blue-white spear of lightning. The monster’s lightning breath hurled Araevin head-over-heels through the air, and he landed in the icy streambed and struck his head on stone. Bright white lights flared in his vision, and a great roaring sound filled his ears.

  I have to get up, he told himself.

  He seized on that simple thought with all the desperation of a drowning man and slowly rolled over onto his belly, pushing himself upright with arms that felt as weak and empty as burned-out cinders. He wiped away the blood streaming down his face and looked up, even though the cavern tilted crazily from side to side.

  Grayth, sword in hand, fended off Grimlight’s snapping jaws, slashing its snout and face with quick thrusts and cuts. Ilsevele danced back away from the monster, sinking arrow after arrow into its thrashing body while Maresa riddled its other flank with her own magic. Araevin groped about in the icy water for his holster of wands, and finally found it. He fumbled with a simple wand for conjuring magic bolts, and took aim at the long, deep wound his disintegration spell had carved from the monster’s side.