“Two nights ago, I was approached by a young woman, a human, who asked me to meet her at the house of the Elgaun family-a manor on the outskirts of town,” Fflar said. “She claimed that she had proof that some among your folk were negotiating in bad faith. I agreed to come, and so when Ilsevele and the rest of our companions went to your banquet, I slipped away unseen to meet my mysterious friend.”
“I did not deal dishonestly with you,” Selkirk said stiffly.
Fflar shrugged. “I felt that I had to hear her out if there was any possibility that she had information about a plot against Ilsevele.”
“What happened after that?”
“When I arrived at Elgaun Manor, I was ambushed. Several drow were there, waiting for me. I managed to kill three of them and make my escape-though I caught a poisoned arrow for my trouble. I realized that I had been drawn away from Ilsevele, so I drank a flying potion and raced to the Sharburg as fast as I could. You know the rest.”
Selkirk rubbed his jaw. “I’ll have my men search the manor at once. Perhaps they’ll turn up something. Did this treacherous lady of yours give her name?”
“Yes,” said Fflar. “She called herself Terian.”
The human lord looked up sharply at the moon elf. “Terian? Short and slender, with long black hair and a face that would stop a man’s heart?”
“You know her?”
“I only met her once, a few tendays ago,” Selkirk said. “She was in the company of a noblewoman named Senda Dereth. I hadn’t heard of either of them before, which struck me as odd. I know most of the highborn folk of Sembia, Cormyr, and the Dales too, for that matter. Both ladies were speaking with Borstag Duncastle when I came upon them.”
“Who is Duncastle?” Ilsevele asked.
“A very wealthy merchant of the sort that we in Sembia call ‘lords,’ and a member of my country’s ruling council. He was the power who was behind Sembia’s involvement in this war.” Selkirk frowned, fixing his dark eyes on the scene in his memory. “Duncastle was found dead the day after the daemonfey openly revealed their strength and turned against our army in Battledale. His eyes had been cut out, and Terian was nowhere to be found.”
“You believe she killed him?” Fflar asked.
“She went alone to his tent, and his guards admitted no one else that night. I looked into the matter myself, because the murder of a powerful lord is certainly of interest to the Overmaster.” Selkirk stood up and began to pace, chewing his lip absently as he considered the puzzle. “I presumed that she had decamped after murdering Duncastle, but it seems that she has been skulking around since. I wonder what other sort of mischief she has been up to? For that matter, who is she really? And who is she working for?”
“She managed to slip a dozen drow assassins into the middle of your army,” Fflar pointed out. “Who would be able to persuade drow to take on such work?”
They fell silent, considering the question. Then Ilsevele spoke up. “I think you have been dealing with a daemonfey, Lord Selkirk,” she said. “Terian must be a fey’ri in Sarya Dlardrageth’s service. Some of them are shapechangers of great skill, after all. And Sarya would certainly be interested in making sure that negotiations between my father and your father never bore fruit.”
Selkirk stopped his pacing and looked hard at Ilsevele. “Damnation, but that fits,” he said. “How many other daemonfey spies have been whispering a word here and a word there in order to set my countrymen against Evermeet?”
Ilsevele fixed her bright green eyes on the human lord and said, “Lord Selkirk, you are not our enemy. Our enemy hides in Myth Drannor. Regardless of what you decide to do, my father is going to march on Sarya Dlardrageth and destroy her once and for all. Now, are you going to stand aside and let him do his work? Or do you want to continue as Sarya’s dupe a little longer?”
Fflar shot a quick look at Ilsevele, surprised by her forcefulness. Then he looked back to the human lord to gauge the effect of her words. Selkirk glared at Ilsevele, and his face flushed red. “You need not remind me of how Sembia found herself entangled in this whole disastrous enterprise. I do not like to be made a fool.”
“What are you going to do about it, then?” Fflar asked.
Selkirk took a deep breath. “You are free to go,” he said to the elves. “I will have your weapons and other belongings returned at once. But I have a favor to ask of you.”
“What is it?” Ilsevele asked.
“Take me to see your father. You trusted me enough to come to Tegal’s Mark, so I can trust him enough to go to Semberholme-or meet him on the road between here and there, I suppose, since he seems to be on his way here.” Selkirk grinned fiercely, and set his hand on the rapier hilt at his belt. “I think Sarya Dlardrageth has a few things to answer for.”
The forgotten city of Lorosfyr was terrible and magnificent at the same time. Araevin and his companions wandered along empty boulevards and past proud towers whose curiously squared doorways and windows stared down on them, black and forbidding. Two files of six swordwights each marched on either side of the small company, escorting them at all times. Cold, dead eyes sunk in faces of pallid flesh stared back at Araevin when he studied the creatures. The only sound they made was the soft creak of molded leather and rasp of green-pitted bronze as the dead warriors followed the travelers.
Araevin drew his cloak closer around his shoulders and paused to study the facade of a public building rising above them. It seemed to be a library, or perhaps a courthouse. He started toward the steps leading up to the dark doorway, but two of the swordwights moved to bar his path. With a shrug, Araevin turned away.
“Are you really going to accept Selydra’s invitation?” Nesterin asked him in a low voice.
Maresa scowled fiercely. “Tell me you’re not going to bed that spell-spinning vixen, Araevin!” the genasi hissed. “She’ll stick a knife in you or poison you or worse the minute you let down your guard. I can see it in her soulless black eyes!”
“I do not trust her any more than you do, Maresa,” the mage answered. He also kept his voice down. The swordwights did not appear to be listening in, but that didn’t mean it would be wise to speak too freely in their presence. “I accepted her offer because I was not ready to offend her by declining.”
“She seems to be interested in you, Araevin,” Nesterin offered. “I hesitate to suggest it, but perhaps if you played along, you might find a way through this impasse.”
“Or he might find that her bed is the most dangerous place in this city,” Maresa retorted. “Have you seen the way she looks at him? She hungers after Araevin, Nesterin. She has evil designs on him, I am sure of it.”
Araevin held up his hand, interrupting the conversation. “I think I have found what I am looking for,” he said.
They had reached a courtyard close to the edge of the abyss, with a tall citadel or palace overlooking it. The plaza was ringed by a colonnade of angular pillars, each scribed with the strict runic script of the long-dead city. Statues of forgotten heroes stood among the columns, each gazing sadly out toward the center of the court, where a great geometric mosaic of green, white, and purple tile gleamed in the dim light.
“What? What is it?” Donnor asked. The Lathanderite spoke over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the swordwights.
“One moment,” Araevin answered. He took a deep breath and examined the place, searching for any hint of secret enchantments or hidden wards. He could feel the whispers of old power in the place. Before him the mosaic glowed with the familiar hues of portal magic… strange and overly intricate to Araevin’s experience of such things, but a dormant portal nonetheless. He wove a spell of revealing, examining the magical doorway built into the tiled floor of the court. “I thought so.”