“Consider the effect that Evereska’s mythal had against the phaerimm a couple of years ago, once the city’s high mages repaired it. Certainly the daemonfey army didn’t attempt to enter the mythal during their attack two months ago, but they probably just didn’t have the opportunity.”
The battle mage looked at Araevin, his face troubled, and asked, “Does Sarya have sufficient skill and ability to do that with the mythal?”
“I don’t know,” Araevin replied. “I don’t believe she has the ability to sculpt the mythal as she pleases, at least not yet. But a month ago I was able to best her at Myth Glaurach, and three days ago I could not do so at Myth Drannor. Either she was simply careless the first time I attemped to contest her access to a mythal-something that doesn’t really seem to be in her nature-or she has learned something new about mythalcraft in a very short time. That possibility terrifies me.”
“I don’t care for the idea of marching our army into Sarya’s mythal and hoping for the best,” Jorildyn said.
“Nor do I.”
Araevin narrowed his eyes, thinking. The magical might and lore of the Crusade was formidable indeed, but would it be enough if things came to a battle for Myth Drannor?
He set aside the question for a time, as he and Jorildyn charted out the other portals from the mountain fortress. First they blocked the trapped portal and marked it as such, so that there would be no mistakes while moving soldiers through. Then they examined the other two functioning portals. One led to a sunlit glen in a warm, southerly forest, with thick moss hanging from the trees and the humming of countless insects in the air. The other opened into a ruined wood elven watchtower, a great tree that had once been a living fortress. Araevin guessed that that portal likely opened in the forests of the Great Dale, though none of the other wizards assisting in the task knew for certain.
Within hours of their return, Seiveril summoned all the captains of the Crusade to his headquarters: Jorildyn, master of the battle mages; Edraele Muirreste, the captain who had succeeded the fallen Elvath Muirreste as leader of the Silver Guard of Elion; Ferryl Nimersyl, commander of the Moon Knights of Sehanine Moonbow; Daeron Sunlance, ranking Eagle Knight of the small company of aerial warriors; and Rhaellen Darthammel, the Blade-Major of Evereska, who led a stout company of Evereskan Vale Guards in order to repay the warriors of Evermeet for their stand on Evereska’s behalf. They were joined by Keldith Oericel, who had taken over as leader of the infantry of Leuthilspar after Celleilol Fireheart’s death at the Battle of the Cwm. A dozen lesser captains from smaller companies, orders, clans, houses, and societies came as well, each the leader of anywhere from a couple of dozen to a few hundred elf warriors. Finally, Seiveril also invited a score of the most prominent heroes and champions. Even though they led no companies of soldiers, powerful wizards and noted bladesingers wielded great influence over the opinions of many warriors in the Crusade.
The commanders and heroes filled the great hall of Myth Glaurach’s ruined library, gathered together beneath soft lanternlight. The night was clear, cold, and breezy, with stars glimmering above the roofless white ruins, and a constant cool murmur of wind in the branches of the surrounding forest. Araevin and his companions stood near an open arch leading out to the overgrown balcony beyond.
When the leaders of the Crusade stood assembled, Seiveril strode to the front of the room and climbed three steps up the remains of the grand staircase that had once swept down into the room from the missing upper floors.
“Welcome, friends,” he began. “I have summoned you here because our next campaign is at hand. As you have no doubt heard by now, we have learned that the daemonfey legion has retreated to the ruins of Myth Drannor in ancient Cormanthor. I propose to bring our might against the Dlardrageths there, and finish the daemonfey once and for all.
“You may wonder how we will get to the forests of Cormanthor from the ruins of Myth Glaurach without months of difficult and dangerous marches. There is a simple answer: We will pursue the daemonfey through the same portal network they used to make their escape. We cannot follow them into Myth Drannor itself-that last portal has been destroyed-but, thanks to the efforts of Mage Araevin Teshurr and his companions, we can move our army swiftly and safely to Semberholme, which is only a hundred miles or so from our destination.
“My friends, I hold no one here sworn to join me in Cormanthor. You and your warriors came to Faerun to defend Evereska and the High Forest from invasion, and we have succeeded in doing that. But I want you to consider the question of whether we should content ourselves with having defeated one daemonfey attack, or should seek to eradicate forever the threat they pose to realms of the People here in Faerun, as well as Evermeet itself-for we should not forget that this war began when the daemonfey attacked Tower Reilloch.”
“Leuthilspar is with you, Seiveril!” called the moon elf Keldith Oericel. “We will not allow the daemonfey to escape unpunished!”
Seiveril conceded a hard, thin smile, and nodded toward Keldith. “Do not be too quick to answer, my friends,” he cautioned the others. “You must lay this choice before all who serve under your banner. I asked Evermeet’s warriors to follow me to Evereska, but I will not take them farther without asking again.”
“I, for one, do not like to leave a job half-done,” said a sun elf swordsman that Araevin didn’t know by name. “You have my answer, Seiveril.”
“For those who choose to follow me to Cormanthor, then, I have another question to ask you,” Seiveril said, raising his hands to still any more outbursts. “So far you have regarded this campaign as a Crusade, a war against the daemonfey. I want you to consider this: Are we engaged in a Crusade, or a Return? For myself, this is my Return. I will remain in Faerun, even after the daemonfey are defeated, and seek to rebuild a realm on this shore that will prove strong enough to prevent threats such as House Dlardrageth from rising unchallenged for generations to come.”
The assembled captains and heroes looked to one another, as if to confirm that they had heard Seiveril’s words right. Some shouted out their approval, raising fists and bared blades in the air. Some remained silent and thoughtful, weighing the meaning of Seiveril’s words. Others were openly troubled, frowning or whispering to their neighbors.
“Has the queen given her blessing to this?” called a bladesinger who stood near Araevin.
“The Council of Evermeet frankly opposes it,” Seiveril said, “but Amlaruil has not forbidden me from asking you-each of you-whether you would consider aiding me in rebuilding a lasting elven presence in Faerun.”
“Where will you raise this realm?” asked the Eagle Knight Daeron Sunlance. “Here, in Myth Glaurach?”
“If it proves the wisest course, then yes, I will come back to Myth Glaurach to found a realm here,” Seiveril said. “But first we have unfinished business with the daemonfey in Cormanthor. Once we have driven them out of our fathers’ lands, we might find that old Cormanthyr is the place to which we will Return.”
“What of the humans? Their kingdoms surround Cormanthor. They may fight to keep us from our ancient homelands,” Sunlance said.
“We would be better neighbors than the daemonfey, wouldn’t we?” More than one elf laughed at Seiveril’s words. The sun elf lord raised his arms again. “As I said before, I ask for no one to swear allegiance to a new realm tonight. The Crusade has work to do before the Return can truly begin. But I hold this dream in my heart, my friends, and it is long past time for me to share this vision with you, in the hopes that it will kindle the same passion and determination in your hearts that it has kindled in mine.