“As for the vale guardians, they have been quiescent for months. So long as we did not despoil the tombs-and you may recall that I gave exacting orders that no tombs were to be broken-they should have had no reason to trouble us. It seems clear now that Seiveril Miritar had some way to rouse the guardians against us, but we did not suspect that he could do any such thing.” Sarya stretched her wings out with a sharp snapping motion, and folded them tightly to her back. “I remind you that this is war. We must be audacious, inventive, and resourceful. We set out half a year ago to avenge the wrongs of five thousand years and shake the foundations of the world. Did you think it would be easy?”
“We are with you, my queen,” Mardeiym Reithel replied. He struck his fist to his breastplate and bowed his head. The remaining fey’ri lords followed the general’s example, murmuring promises of loyalty and lowering their heads before her.
Sarya did not doubt that some at least harbored doubts much like Alysir Ursequarra’s, but for the moment she chose to accept their words of fealty. If some of them had to be bent to her will through the fear of her wrath, so be it. She did not govern by their consent and she did not care to weaken her power over them by acceding to ultimatums.
“Mardeiym, I want you to mount a vigilant guard over the city,” she said. “I have arranged the mythal to severely chastise any of our enemies who set foot in Myth Drannor, but I do not rule out the possibility that clever infiltrators may find a way to worm through the mythal’s defenses. As for the rest of you, remember what you have seen today. I trust I will not have to repeat that lesson. Now leave me.”
The lords and ladies of the fey’ri bowed again to her, and departed. Sarya refrained from pacing anxiously until they left. The audience chamber she had chosen for herself in Castle Cormanthor was too small. She could not stand confinement of any sort.
Her fey’ri were decimated, her enemies were allied against her, the drow had abandoned her cause, her city was beleaguered… but she was not yet beaten. Myth Drannor was an unassailable fortress beneath her mythal weaving.
“I will teach the palebloods the cost of defiance,” she muttered angrily. “They will rue the day they set themselves against me!”
“Ah, now that is the proper spirit.” Malkizid’s golden voice preceded the archdevil as a font of flickering black fire sprang up in one corner of the chamber. The dancing flame took on a roughly manlike shape, roiling and shifting, and it condensed all at once into the familiar form of the Branded King. “Truly, the Dlardrageths are made of stern stuff.”
Sarya turned on the handsome archdevil, cold hate smoldering in her green eyes. “My determination owes nothing to you, Malkizid! You abandoned the field at the height of the battle. We might have won the day if you had not fled!”
Malkizid offered a slight shrug. “I discovered that I had matters to attend to in my own domain, Sarya.” He set one hand on the arm of Sarya’s throne, and smiled to himself as if amused by her anger. “Have you perchance recovered the shard of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal from Nar Kerymhoarth yet?”
Sarya frowned. Malkizid had made no mention of the shard in months. What had brought it to his mind now? “I sent a small company of fey’ri to search for it, but they fell afoul of the serpent folk lairing in the undamaged levels.”
“Send another company immediately,” the archdevil said. “Make sure that they do not fail, Sarya. That shard has become important again.”
“Why is that?”
Malkizid narrowed his eyes, perhaps measuring her distinct lack of deference. Sarya hoped that he understood how precarious his hold over her was. But the Branded King set it aside without comment, at least for the moment. “The mage Araevin Teshurr seeks to reassemble the Gatekeeper’s Crystal. That is a weapon we do not wish to see in Seiveril Miritar’s hands.”
“He could destroy this city’s mythal,” Sarya said with a scowl. That was far and away her best deterrent against attack in Myth Drannor. If the mythal fell, the palebloods and their humans could storm the city. The monstrous denizens of the ruins would exact a price, of course, but she did not have sufficient fey’ri warriors or enslaved demons and devils to feel confident of repelling such an attack. “Has he found any shards yet?”
“One at least, possibly two,” Malkizid answered. “I think it wise to make certain that he does not recover the remaining shards.”
“I will put it in Teryani Ealoeth’s hands. She has been most anxious to make amends for her failure to turn the Sembians against Evermeet’s army.” Sarya tapped her chin. “Yes, she should do. I will dispatch her tonight.”
“Tell me the moment she finds the shard in Nar Kerymhoarth,” Malkizid said. He offered her a mocking half-bow and slid back down into the shadows again.
Sarya stood still, looking at the place where Malkizid had made his exit. The Gatekeeper’s Crystal was a powerful weapon indeed. Perhaps, if Teryani found the shard for her, she would no longer need Malkizid. Frowning in thought, she strode to the chamber door.
“Erraichal!” she called. “Have your Talons bring Teryani Ealoeth here at once.”
The captain of her guard bowed once. “As you command, my queen,” he said.
Araevin and his companions rode into the Crusade’s new encampment on the outskirts of Myth Drannor late in the afternoon. It was a warm, clear summer day, with a cloudless sky overhead, which had made the hard ride a little easier. It had taken them almost three days to catch up to the army of Evermeet, riding from the sacred forests of Semberholme more than a hundred miles to the south. It was the closest to Myth Drannor that Araevin could manage with his planewalking spell.
He asked the way to Seiveril’s headquarters and was directed to the ruins of an old elven manor, hidden in a deeply forested hollow. Scores of elf knights and archers stood guard over the place, vigilantly scanning the skies and the shadows of the woods. Alongside the elves stood no small number of Dalesfolk-Deepingdalesfolk and a handful of Riders from Mistledale, if Araevin judged the heraldry right. He also saw a few Sembian banners standing next to the Crusade’s own pennants, and shook his head.
I should have known that Ilsevele would succeed at anything she set her mind to, he reflected.
The guards standing watch over Seiveril’s quarters recognized Araevin at once. “Mage Teshurr, you have returned!” one of the Knights of the Golden Star exclaimed. The fellow hurried up to take the horse’s bit, while other elves did the same for Jorin, Nesterin, Donnor, and Maresa. “I think Lord Miritar will be glad to see you.”
Araevin recognized the knight, a passing acquaintance from his days in the Queen’s Guard long ago. “I thank you, Vessen,” he answered. He swung himself down from his horse, while his friends followed suit. None were too proud to knead fists in their backs or wince as they walked off the effects of the long ride. Donnor and Jorin were the best horsemen of them all, but even the Tethyrian and the Aglarondan were saddle-sore. “Can you take me to Lord Miritar?”
“Of course,” the sun elf replied. “This way.”
Araevin and his friends followed Vessen into the old manor. The roof had long ago collapsed, leaving the place open to the sky, but the elves had fashioned a simple canopy of light canvas to serve as a shelter against rain and cleaned the dirt and debris of centuries from the place. The warrior led them to a room that had once been a spacious banquet hall. Seiveril waited there, along with Ilsevele, Starbrow, and Theremen Ulath of Deepingdale.