"Depart!" she demanded in Elvish, her clear voice strangely high and distant, as if she were speaking from far away. "Depart, fiends! I will not suffer you to pass this chamber."
In answer two of the fey'ri drew out wands of bronze and blasted the ghostly sorceress with crimson darts of magical power. The sorceress's features twisted with a cry of dismay, and her substance seemed to boil away from the holes punched by the fey'ri spells. She countered by seizing one of the wand-wielders in a viselike grip of unseen force and hurling him against the wall, leaving him crumpled across the chamber. At the same time she chanted out a piercing melody of her own, her arms weaving in the gestures of a spell, and she threw a charging mezzoloth screaming back into its native hells.
A second mezzoloth stalked close and rammed its brazen trident through the center of the ghost's torso, but the infernal weapon passed through her ethereal substance without so much as a ripple. She turned on the creature and wove a spiraling spell chain around it that sliced deep into its evil flesh, slowly cutting it to pieces. But the fey'ri with the wand struck again, riddling her with more of the crimson darts, while another fey'ri warrior-one with a sword glowing with enchantment-darted close to slash at her, tearing great rents in her misty form.
Araevin took half a step forward, intending to help her in some way, but Nurthel set a hand on his shoulder.
"Oh, no," the fey'ri captain said. "You are not to interfere."
He wove a spell of his own and hurled a crackling azure lance of magical force at the ghost, driving a bolt of arcane power through the center of her form.
The ghost wailed in deathless agony, transfixed by Nurthel's spell, her substance fraying away from the wound. She fixed her dissipating gaze on Araevin.
"Do not lead them any farther," she whispered. "Do not let them do this!"
"We do not intend to give him much choice in the matter," Nurthel laughed.
He drew back his spell lance, and rammed it through the center of the ghost's forehead. There was a great, silent burst of spectral energy, blindingly bright, and the ghost discorporated into streamers of mist and vapor that faded to nothing. The fey'ri laughed as he allowed his spell to end, subsuming the crackling lance back into his hand.
"How long has she waited here to turn us away, only to fail in her duty at the end?" Nurthel said. "It seems almost tragic, doesn't it?"
Araevin refused to answer. He was under no compulsion to reply to rhetorical questions. Nurthel folded his arms and looked him in the face.
"Well? What now?"
"There is a portal in the far wall. Touching it will transport one directly to the chamber of the selukiira, which is a sealed sphere of stone some distance beneath our feet. I must first wake it by casting a special spell.'' Araevin hesitated, but Sarya's spell forced him to continue. "If you, or any creature with evil intent, touches the portal, you will be destroyed."
"Could that be dispelled?"
"It would be difficult, and you would deactivate the portal, so that you could no longer reach the selukiira chamber safely," Araevin admitted. "As your demon ally demonstrated, teleporting here is dangerous."
"That does present a problem," Nurthel said. "Fortunately, we have you, so I need not test my intentions against the standards set by the ancient paleblood wizard who built this place, or settle for excavating my way to the Nightstar. You will go get the Nightstar for me. Can you do that?"
"Yes," Araevin admitted, though it turned his stomach to say it.
"And what if the selukiira's touch destroys you?"
"The device would take possession of my body. It would likely seek to return itself to your hands."
"I like the sound of that," Nurthel said. "You have caused me no end of trouble over the last few months, even when you were unwittingly doing our work. I can think of no fitter end for you." The fey'ri studied him closely, and asked, "Do you know of any reason why I would not want to send you to retrieve the Nightstar?" "No."
"Very well, then. Show me this portal."
Araevin led Nurthel across the mist-filled hall, flanked by the surviving demons and fey'ri. With all the power of his will and heart he tried again to throw off Sarya's spell and regain his freedom, but for all his effort his feet still carried him forward without hesitation, and his hands remained shackled behind him. Evidently the potential hazard of the selukiira was simply not immediate enough to give him the chance to overthrow the spell of dominion. On the wall opposite the stairway, a large design of silver inlaid in the stone depicted Selune and the diamondlike Tears trailing behind it.
"I must have my hands free to use the portal and retrieve the Nightstar," Araevin said.
Nurthel undid his bonds, watching carefully for any sign that Sarya's compulsion was weakening.
"You will use the portal to reach the selukiira chamber," the fey'ri said. "You will then take the Nightstar and bring it back here to me. Do not do anything except what I have instructed you to do. If something prevents you from accomplishing this task, you will return immediately for further instructions. Now go."
Araevin longed to rub his wrists and shake the stiffness from his arms, but the fey'ri's orders left him no latitude even for so simple an act. He chanted the words of the secret spell taught him by the three telkiira, the only spell that could awaken the portal. The silver diagram inlaid in the stone woke to life, glowing with white fire. Then he reached out and touched three of the Tears, avoiding the silver stars that would have triggered all manner of deadly spells. He felt the ancient magic awake beneath his fingers and snatch him away from the silver hall.
Seiveril stood in the silent grove, eyes closed, his face tilted up to the sky, and listened for Corellon Larethian's whispers in his heart. The wooded hillside was a remote place indeed, old and wild, a small outpost of the strange and ancient Forgotten Forest that lay two days' march behind him. The trees were gnarled and stooped like senescent men, tangled with beards and hoary coats of moss, and somewhere deep in their old black hearts they dreamed of days when their fathers stood wakeful and alert across all of northern Faerun, a single unbroken forest. Not even the elves were welcome beneath their branches.
Seiveril felt the warm glow of other elf minds nearby, the Seldarine knights and clerics of Vesilde Gaerth's Golden Star order. As the soldiers best equipped with the magic needed to fight off demonic assaults, the knights of the Golden Star never strayed far from Seiveril's banner, guarding him within a ring of holy steel and powerful protective prayers. He didn't like the idea that he required an elite guard, not when Gaerth's troops could have been gainfully employed in the close pursuit of the daemonfey, but he recognized the necessity. In the six days that the crusade had been following the retreating daemonfey army his foes had made no attempt to launch any more decapitating attacks against his standard like the one in the Western Cwm, but just because they hadn't done it so far didn't mean the daemonfey might not try it at any time.
The sun elf lord stilled his mind and looked past the nearby auras of his friends and allies, seeking the great golden presence of Corellon's will. When he felt himself calm and still again, Seiveril began to pray in earnest, reciting the spell prayers he had readied for the day. Every day since the battle in the cwm, as his host had descended the Rillvale on the heels of the horde of orcs and demons and harried them into the wild and empty lands north and west of Evereska, Seiveril had set aside an hour to wrestle with his foes, seeking to divine their secrets and their plans. Sometimes he succeeded, gaining glimpses of the daemonfey array or the ruined old city that served as their citadel. More often the spellcasters of the daemonfey horde succeeded in deflecting his divinations, blinding his magical sight. And so, while company after company of archers, swordsmen, and cavalry hurried northward on the grass-grown roadway along which the daemonfey fled, Seiveril struggled to see what would happen next and understand what he had to do.