"Have I, Starbrow?" he said quietly. "Because if I have, I don't know how many more battles we can afford to win."
At the end of the day Seiveril summoned Araevin, Ilsevele, and their companions to the post he had picked out for his standard, a simple guardhouse close by the Sunset Gate. In peaceful times it had served as a watch-post and a place for a dozen or so of Evereska's soldiers to stand guard over the path leading from the West Cwm to the Vine Vale. It had come to serve as the center of a sprawling field hospital. Hundreds of wounded elves lay beneath light shelters quickly raised to protect them from the elements. Several strong companies of knights and mages stood guard in case the daemonfey decided to mount a raid against the wounded.
None of Araevin's companions had been seriously hurt, so they had spent their day combing the battlefield for elves whose lives might still be saved by a cleric's spells or a potion of healing, while standing guard against a resumption of the fight. But the daemonfey had retired all the way to the Sentinel Pass, hard pressed by Muirreste's cavalry and Vesilde Gaerth's Golden Star knights. They did not mount another attack, though Araevin suspected that they might try the gate again under cover of darkness, when the orcs were not exposed to the daylight they so detested.
They found Seiveril working among the wounded, Starbrow standing guard over him. As a powerful cleric of Corellon Larethian, Lord Miritar knew much of the healing arts. Even though he had long since exhausted any healing magic he could muster, he still used his knowledge and lore to do what he could for the wounded. Seiveril looked up from the injured wood elf he'd been tending and offered Araevin and Ilsevele a weary smile.
"Ah, there you are," he said. "I am glad to see that you're all in one piece. Too many of our folk have fallen today."
"How bad is it?" Araevin asked.
"More than we can bear," Seiveril said. He stood and showed them out of the shelter, leading the way as they walked back toward the stone watchpost. "So far we've counted over five hundred dead, and at least that many wounded seriously enough that they'll need a cleric's spells before they can fight again. And we lost some irreplaceable leaders, as well."
"Who fell?" Ilsevele asked, visibly steeling herself.
"Celeilol Fireheart died in the first rush, standing at the head of the Leuthilspar spearmen. He was hacked down by a band of orc berserkers. The bladesinger Hara-eth Echorn was slain by demon fire. Geren Festryth was torn apart by trolls." Seiveril sighed. "Jorildyn tells me that we lost almost twenty of our mages and spellsingers, and you well know that they are worth their weight in gold. And I just learned that Elvath Muirreste died an hour ago, pursuing the daemonfey horde on the shoulders of the Sentinel. I never imagined such a disaster."
They reached the small stone building, and Seiveril threw himself down on a plain wooden bench in the guard post, his head in his hands. The others followed. Araevin sank down with his back to the wall, too tired to stand any longer. He watched Seiveril, head bowed in grief, and glanced at Ilsevele and Grayth.
Grayth watched the elf commander, and took a breath.
"Each death is terrible," the human cleric said, "but you have not fought in vain, Lord Miritar. You repelled the daemonfey horde, and you inflicted grievous losses against them. Thousands of orcs and ogres and such lie dead in the Cwm, and we destroyed dozens and dozens of the demons and fiends who came against us. And you brought down many of the fey'ri, too. Your enemy is far less pleased with the day than you are."
"I've tried to explain that to him," Starbrow observed, standing with his shoulders to the doorframe. "Seiveril doesn't want to see it that way."
"All who died here, died because they answered my call!" Seiveril snapped, ire in his face. "I bear the responsibility for each of them. If I-"
"Did you summon the Evereskans to fight in their own defense?" Ilsevele interrupted. "Did you bring the daemonfey here? If you had not launched your crusade, Father, Evereska would even now lie under siege, surrounded by the whole of the daemonfey army. Warriors from Evermeet have laid down their lives to protect the innocents of Evereska. It is a terrible price, but our dead do not begrudge this victory. You should not either."
Starbrow looked at Seiveril, and stepped up to grip the elflord's shoulder with one hand.
"Seiveril," Starbrow said, "trust me when I say this: You did nothing wrong today. This is the cost of defending our homes and our lives from those who would take them from us. It's a hard cost, but the only thing more awful than a battle won is a battle lost. Give thanks for that much."
Sensing it was time for the subject to change, Araevin asked, "What did you want to speak to us about, Lord Seiveril?"
"I want to know more about this enemy," Seiveril said. "This is a war that is just beginning. I want to know where they came from, and why they're here. I suppose we've fought them to a stalemate today, and perhaps we may have the strength to drive them out of the Sentinel's pass and repel the daemonfey from Evereska. But even if we do that, I still don't know how to finish this war. What blow can I strike to mortally wound this foe? I am not content to chase the daemonfey into the wilds of the North and scatter their orc allies."
"How can I help you?" Araevin asked. "Whatever it is, I will do it."
"You know more about the daemonfey and their designs than anyone," said Seiveril. "I think that your telkiira are at the bottom of this mystery. Unravel the story of the lorestones, and you will learn something about the daemonfey that they are desperate to keep hidden from us. I want you to continue your quest for the next loregem, and find out what it is that they are hiding from us."
"Are you certain you do not need me here?" Araevin asked. "We've lost many wizards, and I can stand spell-for-spell against any sorcerer the fey'ri have revealed so far."
"Of course your spells would be useful, but no one else has studied these loregems, and I cannot stand the thought of abandoning them to the daemonfey. The telkiira are important, I know they are."
Araevin glanced at his companions. He met Ilsevele's eyes, and she offered a slight nod. He looked to Grayth, who shrugged in his heavy armor.
"If this is the deadliest blow we can strike against the daemonfey, I am all for it," the cleric said.
"What about you, Maresa?" Ilsevele asked. "You are under no obligation to stay with us."
The genasi crossed her arms, tossed her head, and replied, "I'm not likely to leave now, am I? I want to see how this turns out, or I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what in the Nine Hells was in that third gemstone."
"Rest for tonight in Evereska," said Seiveril, "and leave in the morning."
"But what if the daemonfey attack again?" Araevin asked.
"We'll hold them," Starbrow promised. "We will have to."
CHAPTER 14
1 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms
At the dawning of the day after the Battle of the Cwm, Araevin and his companions rode out of Evereska, heading north into the rugged heart of the Shaeradim. The third telkiira glimmered in Araevin's consciousness like a lingering daydream or a few notes of a familiar song that refused to be forgotten. When he closed his eyes, he could sense the gemstone, feeling its direction and closeness just as he might feel the sun on his face with his eyes closed and know whether it was a bright or cloudy day. From Evereska it lay north and somewhat west, and based on his experience in following the second telkiira's pull from Waterdeep to the Forest of Wyrms, he knew it was far off.