“And if we didn’t have your valiant swordsmen to keep Sarya’s demons from teleporting into the midst of our archers, we would have fared poorly too,” Seiveril answered. It was a little bit of an exaggeration-the Sembians had needed the elves’ aid more than the elves had needed the Sembians’ help-but it was reasonably true. If Sarya had been able to concentrate all her forces against the Crusade alone, with no human allies on the field, she might have succeeded in breaking Evermeet’s army.
Selkirk gave a soft snort, understanding perfectly well who had helped whom. But he accepted the remark. “So what do we do now? I didn’t expect the daemonfey to draw back at the end of the day.”
“I don’t understand it, either,” Seiveril said. “We are at the end of our strength, and Sarya’s demons have ten times our stamina. Why aren’t they attacking now, when we are at our weakest?”
Starbrow limped up beside him. A fey’ri dart thrown from high overhead had pierced his foot in the last stand of the evening. With so many others in dire need of the clerics’ attention, the moon elf had declined to have it healed, and settled for washing and binding it as best he could.
“The fey’ri are mortal enough,” Fflar said. “They tire just like we do. If I had to guess, I’d say they withdrew to recover their strength. It doesn’t make sense for Sarya to send the demons and devils at us piecemeal. She’ll wait until the fey’ri and their drow allies are ready to resume the fight.”
“There are demons prowling all over the vale in the dark,” Seiveril observed.
“I can hear them,” Starbrow replied. “But if we keep a guard up, I think we won’t see another concerted attack until the fey’ri are ready.”
“When will that be?” Selkirk asked.
Starbrow shrugged. “Assuming they’ll recover their strength faster than we will, maybe three bells?”
Miklos Selkirk frowned. “Three bells won’t be enough for my men, not with half on watch. But I suppose it’s better than nothing. I’ll go give the order.” He offered a stiff bow-apparently, even the suave Sembian lord was at the end of his strength-and withdrew.
Seiveril watched him go and returned his attention to the darkened vale before him. “We seem stalemated, Starbrow. We can defend ourselves against the daemonfey attacks when we stand and hold our ground, but when we move, the fey’ri and their demons savage us. Sarya’s forces are simply much more maneuverable than ours.”
“The way you defeat a foe more mobile than you are is to make him defend something that doesn’t move. The Army of Darkness pinned down the Akh Velar by striking for Myth Drannor. They made us fight the stand-up battle that favored numbers and ferocity over skill and mobility.”
“Yes, but if we ignore the fey’ri and strike north, I fear that they would lay waste to the lands behind us. We might be able to get along with what we can carry on our backs, but I doubt the Sembians could march for long without their supply train. And dividing our forces would invite Sarya to concentrate against one or the other.”
Starbrow rubbed his jaw, thinking. “Is there some other way we could counter the daemonfey advantage?” he wondered aloud.
The elflord considered the question. “What if we could contest their mastery of the sky?”
Starbrow looked at him sharply. “You have something in mind?”
“I think I do. You and I have an errand in the vale, Starbrow.”
The moon elf nodded. “Better speak to Vesilde, then. I don’t think the daemonfey will attack for a while, but if they do, the Crusade will need a commander.”
They hurried back to the banner, Starbrow keeping up well enough despite his injured foot. Seiveril found Vesilde Gaerth and told the knight-commander to take charge of the Crusade’s defenses while resting as many warriors as he could. Then he searched out Jorildyn, the battle-mage who led the Crusade’s spellcasters-there might be a need for arcane magic where Seiveril intended to go.
As Seiveril was waiting for Vesilde and Jorildyn to set the Crusade’s defenses in order, Ilsevele rode up on her gray destrier. She and Edraele Muirreste had managed to reform the Silver Guard of Elion as a reserve again, and the swift cavalry waited a few hundred yards behind the standard.
“Felael sent word that you are leaving the camp without your guards, Father,” she said. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
Seiveril glanced at Felael Springleap, who made a point of looking elsewhere. Felael had had a hard enough day already with trying to keep Seiveril from getting killed. Seiveril supposed he did not blame the wood elf too much for asking Ilsevele to have a word with him.
“We will not need to ride very far,” said Seiveril, “and I hope we will not be gone for long. Besides, I’ll have Starbrow and Jorildyn with me.”
“So that all the leaders of the Crusade can be killed at the same time if Sarya’s demons find you?”
“The fewer with me, the better,” Seiveril said. “Besides, I have a feeling that the Seldarine may favor us this evening.”
Ilsevele narrowed her eyes. “Where are you going, Father?”
Seiveril started to dismiss her question, but then he checked himself. She did not know it, but she had as much right to be with him as any of the others. “Now that I think on it, I want you to come with us, Ilsevele. This is something that you should see.”
Seiveril, Starbrow, and Jorildyn found horses and mounted quietly. Seiveril took a moment to murmur a prayer for swiftness and stealth, weaving the magic of the Seldarine over their small band. Then the four of them rode away from the standard, heading north and west in the darkness.
Since most of the day’s fighting had taken place around the elven and Sembian standards, within four hundred yards they had passed out of the battleground proper. Though the smell of smoke still hung heavily in the air, the vale grew silent and almost peaceful as they rode deeper in. They began to pass isolated markers of white stone, each covered in faded Elvish script that seemed to shine with a silver radiance when the moonlight glimmered through the overcast and smoke.
“These are burial markers,” Ilsevele whispered.
“Yes. For many centuries, the People of Cormanthyr laid their dead to rest here. Long ago there was a battle lost in this place, and many warriors fell. Since that time it has been hallowed ground.”
“It seems strange that the daemonfey would choose this place to fight.”
“They probably revel in desecrating it,” Seiveril said harshly.
They rode on in silence for a time. Whether his intuition had come from Corellon’s mind or they had simply proven lucky, they ran into none of the Dlardrageth minions during their ride.
Finally, Seiveril spied a small structure of pale marble gleaming in the moonlight. It was a windowless rotunda of sorts, half-sunk into the loam of the vale amid a small copse of trees. A single door of dark iron barred its entrance.
“Ah, we are here,” Seiveril breathed.
“What is this place?” Jorildyn asked.
“This is the ancient crypt of House Miritar. Many of my forebears-and yours too, Ilsevele-rest here.” Seiveril dismounted, and faced the old monument. “I have not been here in more than two hundred years. A long time by any measure, I suppose.” He was pleased to see that the tomb had weathered well in the passing centuries. Old enchantments had been laid on the place long ago to protect it.
“Why have we come here, Seiveril?” Jorildyn asked.
“Sarya Dlardrageth has shown a talent for employing ancient secrets against us. I think it is time that we returned the favor. There is help for us here.”
The battle-mage nodded slowly in understanding. “I don’t understand why you didn’t summon the guardians of the vale last night,” he murmured. “We could have used the help.”
“I dared not do so until I had given them a chance to witness the valor of the Sembians,” Seiveril answered. “Many of the warriors sleeping here regarded the humans as enemies during their living days. I was afraid that the guardians might not be able or willing to treat Selkirk and his men as allies. But the Sembians fought and died alongside elf warriors today, Jorildyn. And most of them did so with courage equal to our own. I think that will count for a lot in the judgment of the Vale guardians.”