The moon elf looked up. “You did that?”
Araevin nodded. “Yes. Sarya’s defenses simply emptied my mind of readied spells. They didn’t damage my ability to study and memorize more.”
“That’s a relief, then,” the moon elf said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Araevin replied. He focused his attention on the selukiira again, and began furiously memorizing spell after spell, rebuilding his repertoire from nothing. He felt as if his mind were humming with arcane energy, a sensation that he had become so accustomed to in centuries of practicing magecraft that he could not begin to guess when he might have stopped noticing it.
“How long will you need to ready your spells?”
“An hour, perhaps two,” said Araevin. “Then we will see about getting out of here.”
Sarya Dlardrageth stood by a ruined wall near the city’s old Burial Glen, and studied her handiwork with the mythal-weave. The dark bronze strands of her crafting drifted past her outstretched fingers, winding in and among the invisible golden net that comprised the city’s ancient magic field.
“Here,” she said. “He was here when the mythal’s defenses struck him.”
Xhalph waited nearby, towering over her. The daemonfey prince stood well over eight feet tall, with four powerfully muscled arms and just the slightest canine cast to his features-both inherited from his demonic father.
“The sun elf mage?” he asked. “The one who marred your weaving at Myth Glaurach?”
“Yes,” Sarya hissed.
In her long life she had learned to hate many adversaries, to nurse smoldering anger and cold fury for years upon years, but rarely had she been dealt such a reverse as Araevin Teshurr had dealt her in the heart of her own citadel. The very notion that he had somehow followed her to her new lair and had attempted to evict her from yet another mythal was enough to fill her with a wrath so hot and bitter than even Xhalph shied from meeting her eyes.
“Araevin was here,” she went on, “and he attempted to take this mythal from me, too.” She allowed herself a cold smile. “But my new defenses were more than he expected. I was ready for him this time. If I read the mythal right, he received a nasty little surprise when he started plucking at my threads.”
“Do you think he knows we are here?”
Sarya’s smile faded at once. “It is almost a certainty,” she admitted. “I want him caught before he carries word of our presence back to his friend Seiveril Miritar and the rest of Evermeet’s knights and mages.”
Xhalph glanced around the wooded glade. “Our fey’ri and baatezu have been scouring the area for hours, and the only sign they’ve turned up is a dead gelugon about half a mile from here. He has had ample opportunity to escape by now.”
“My mythal trap drained him of most, if not all, of his magic,” Sarya said. “Without his spells, he must flee on foot or hide somewhere until his magic returns. In either case, we can still catch him.” She looked up at Xhalph, and lightly leaped into the air, snapping her leathery wings until she hovered ten feet above him. “Take charge of the pursuit, Xhalph! Spare no effort to prevent the mage’s escape.”
The daemonfey swordsman bowed his head, and sprang into the air, arrowing off into the woods, calling for the fey’ri who attended him. Sarya wheeled and flew in the opposite direction, back to Castle Cormanthor. While she certainly hoped that Araevin was lying powerless and vulnerable somewhere nearby, it was clearly foolish to simply hope that he would be caught before he carried word of her tampering in Myth Drannor to her enemies. She would have to presume that he had already escaped, and that Seiveril Miritar and all who stood with him would soon learn of her new retreat.
She needed to speak to Malkizid.
Alighting on a high balcony, Sarya passed a pair of fey’ri who stood guard there. The proud daemonfey warriors knelt and spread their wings as she passed, grounding their long-headed spears in salute. She swept by them into the hallway beyond, and quickly made her way to the chamber of the mythal stone.
With the ease of long practice, Sarya whispered the words of a spell and woke the mythal’s magic to her hand.
“Malkizid!” she called out. “Answer me! I would speak with you.”
Her words reverberated in the dense magical fields dancing around the mythal stone. Then she felt Malkizid’s presence in the conduit, as the devil-prince responded to her call.
“I am here, Sarya,” he said in his melodious voice. “What is it you desire?”
“The mage Araevin Teshurr has visited us here,” she said.
“Ah! Did the spell trap I showed you snare him?”
“He triggered it, but he apparently made his escape on foot before my warriors could catch him. But it did empty him of spells, and he was completely unable to tamper with my mythal-weaving here.”
Even though she could not see him, she felt Malkizid nodding in satisfaction on the other side of the conduit.
“Good, good. You see what we can do when we combine my knowledge of these things with your special heritage and talent for sorcery?”
“Do not patronize me, Malkizid,” Sarya snapped. She paced anxiously in front of the stone, her tail twitching from side to side. She had had little use for confined spaces since escaping from her prison beneath old Ascalhorn three years ago, and even though the mythal chamber beneath the castle’s great hall was large and spacious, she still did not care for it. “If Araevin has discovered me here, he will certainly carry word to Evermeet’s army and anyone else who cares to listen.”
The devil-prince fell silent a moment.
“You fear Evermeet’s army will pursue you even here,” he said at last.
“Twice now I have been denied the realm that is mine to rule-once in ancient Siluvanede, and a second time at Myth Glaurach. This city is the seat of my third realm, Malkizid, and here I will raise a mighty kingdom indeed. All I need is time, time to master more of your mythal spells, time to build my armies again.”
“You need not fear that possibility, Sarya,” said the demon-prince. “With the right mythal spells, you could stand a siege of centuries within Myth Drannor’s ruins.”
Sarya stopped her pacing and turned to face the mythal stone through which Malkizid spoke, even though she knew that he was not physically present.
“I have spent ages uncounted buried in traps and prisons! I am not going to simply sit within these crumbling ruins and allow my enemies to contain me here forever.”
“Then you must destroy Evermeet’s army. Since you cannot reach them where they are now, perhaps matters will turn to your advantage if they place themselves within your reach here.” Malkizid paused a moment, then asked, “Are you certain that Evermeet is your only foe? What of the Jaelre or Auzkovyn drow? Or the human lands near this city?”
Sarya barked in bitter laughter. “The drow have not seen fit to show themselves yet, and I doubt they will do so. Vesryn Aelorothi tells me that some demonic nemesis has all but harried them from the old Elven Court entirely. As for the humans… the humans have dreaded these woods for a thousand years or more. Why, the memories alone of old Cormanthyr have been sufficient to keep them from expanding into the forest.”
“A kingdom stands on four pillars, Sarya: magic, steel, coin, and allies. You can do without one pillar, but your realm will not survive long if you lack two or more. Here you have magical power, and soon an army to be reckoned with, when we bring more of my infernal warriors to your banner-under the terms of our existing bargain, of course. What of the other two pillars?”
“Commerce is for humans,” Sarya growled. “But allies… allies could be useful. Unfortunately, the nearest orcs or ogres of any number are in the lands of Thar, across the Moonsea.”