Farthest Reach

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

21 Kythorn, the Year of Lightning Storms

Jorin Kell Harthan led Araevin and his friends along the forest road for a day and a half more, leaving the circle of standing stones thirty miles behind them. It was hard to gauge the passage of time in Sildeyuir; the subtle darkening and lightening of the sky was no substitute for a true sunrise or sunset, and the hours simply had a way of slipping away. Araevin would find his mind turning to some thought or another as they traveled, only to come to himself with a start only to realize that miles had passed by under his feet while his mind was occupied. He began to wonder whether the great magic that had created this world beyond the world had also altered the flow of time in the place-but of course, he could not really test that without returning to the Yuirwood and Aglarond to find out how long he had been away.

On two more occasions they encountered strange creatures abroad in the woodland. The first time they met a wheeling, darting flight of great dragonflies whose gemlike bodies glowed in soft emerald and sapphire hues beneath the trees. Each insect was better than a foot long, which caused no small consternation on the part of Donnor’s horse, but the glittering swarm seemed merely curious about them, following the company for a time as they filled the air with whirring wing beats and soft light. On the second occasion, they sighted another one of the blue-black worm creatures crossing their path a couple of hundred yards ahead. It flew through the air on slick, gleaming wings, its spiraling motion twisting its flight into a strange aerial weave as it went. But the monster did not sight them, and simply continued on its way.

As the dimming hour approached and the skies began to darken again, they finally emerged from the great band of forest through which they had walked, finding themselves on the edge of a long stretch of low, rolling hills, crowned with waving silver grasses beneath the stars. There another large stone circle stood, which Jorin examined with great interest.

“I think I know where this place is,” he told Araevin. “Distance here correlates to distance in the Yuirwood. We’ve come more than forty miles to the south, as much as directions mean anything here.”

“Do you know where to find the star elves?”

Jorin nodded. “If I remember right, there is a citadel about ten miles in that direction.” He pointed over the bare, starlit hills. “It lies on the far side of this clear space.”

They made camp for the darkest hours within the circle of standing stones. Araevin could not detect any wakeful spells or magic within the circle, but he sensed old and powerful wards around the ring, and he judged them as good a defense as his own spells. He composed himself for Reverie, sitting cross-legged at the foot of a great stone with his back to the cold, smooth granite, and drifted off into strange dreams.

“Araevin.”

He roused to full wakefulness with a start, and found Ilsevele touching his shoulder.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A rider approaches. Two more of those dark creatures pursue him.”

Araevin climbed to his feet. Donnor Kerth stood beside one of the outer stones, murmuring calming words to the hitched packhorse and looking back along the forest path they’d recently passed. Ilsevele stooped to wake Jorin and Maresa next, while Araevin joined the big human by the stone. He followed Donnor’s gaze and spied the rider, galloping along the path. The trail ran alongside the stone circle for a time before doubling back, so they had an excellent opportunity to watch the fellow as he raced past them perhaps three hundred yards downhill, appearing and vanishing as he passed behind trees and steeper embankments along the trail. At that distance, he was little more than a glimmering white figure, tiny and distant, but Araevin quickly spied the flying monsters that followed him, twisting their way through the air above the trees… and gaining on their quarry.

“He’ll pass close by in just a minute or two,” Donnor said. “What do we do?”

“Hail him and make ready to stand against the flying creatures,” Araevin replied.

He didn’t know who or what the rider was, but he didn’t like the looks of the sorcerous worm-monsters at all, and he was not about to abandon anyone to them. Besides, the longer he watched, the more certain he was that the rider was an elf.

Donnor nodded. He drew his broadsword and pressed himself against the stone next to him, trying to stay out of sight. Ilsevele took up a position against another stone, her bow of red yew in her hands, and Maresa joined her. Jorin drew his own swords and slid down the slope a little to a boulder closer to the trail, crouching low to keep out of sight. Araevin took a moment to whisper the words of a spell of shielding, and waited.

The rider rounded the bend close by the ring of standing stones and spurred his mount-a fine dappled-gray destrier, stretching out its long legs with an easy grace that belied the speed of its run-up the hillside, following the trail as it wound past the old menhirs. The flying monsters shifted their own course and climbed over the trees, cutting the corner against their quarry. Araevin decided that he’d waited long enough. He stepped out from behind the stones and waved at the rider.

“Here!” he cried. “Into the standing stones!”

A momentary astonishment crossed the rider’s face, but he wasted no time at all. He wrenched the reins to the left and took his horse scrambling up the steep, grassy hillside. He was indeed an elf, though not of any kindred Araevin knew. He had skin as pale and fair as a moon elf’s, but his hair was a pale gold that didn’t often appear among the teu Tel’Quessir. He wore a gray cloak over a shirt of gleaming mithral mail and a quilted white doublet lavishly embroidered with gold thread.

“Beware the nilshai!” he called in Elvish. “They are fearsome sorcerers!”

The winged worm-monsters did not miss the rider’s change of course. They veered toward the hilltop ring and arrowed through the air. One of them whistled and piped loudly, twisting its limbs in a strange fashion, and a sizzling green orb of acid appeared before it. With a flick of its long torso, the monster hurled the acid ball at the company sheltering among the stones.

Great glowing gouts of emerald fire exploded around Araevin and his friends, searing flesh and burning foul, smoking holes in cloaks and clothing, but the stones served as good cover-Araevin ducked under the spattering acid, and he saw Ilsevele throw herself forward out of the ring, escaping the worst of the blast. She rolled upright and fired three quick arrows at the nearest of the monsters. One shivered to pieces in midair, broken on some invisible shield of magic the worm had raised, but two others pierced its long, serpentine torso. It fluttered and twisted, its weird whistling taking on a shriller note.

Araevin incanted the words of a potent lightning spell, and blasted up at the two creatures with an eye-searing bolt of blue-white. One darted aside, but the wounded one could not escape. The bolt burned it badly, bringing it spinning to the ground, smoke streaming from charred patches on its hide. Donnor and Jorin charged it at once, blades bared, but the monster had fight in it yet-it pulled the Lathanderian’s feet out from under him with one swift jerk of its curling tail, and at the same time it enmeshed Jorin in a gleaming black spell-web of freezing shadows. Jorin’s charge came to a stumbling halt ten feet short of the creature.

“Damn it!” he snarled, gasping with the bitter chill that snared him. “I can’t get to it!”

Araevin turned his attention back to the nilshai that remained airborne, and managed to quickly parry the monster’s next spell, batting the alien magic aside with a quick countering spell. He exchanged two more spells and counter spells with the monster in the next few heartbeats, again astonished by the speed with which the nilshai worked its magic while continuously weaving and dodging against Ilsevele’s rain of deadly arrows.

On the hillside below him, Donnor gained his feet again and approached the wounded nilshai more cautiously. The monster lunged at him, battering at his shield with powerful blows of its whipping tentacles, but Donnor slashed it twice with his broadsword, weaving a glittering cage of steel with his blade. The nilshai recoiled from the human knight-and Maresa lunged in from behind it, fixing her rapier in the center of its torso between two of its three wings. The monster leaped and bucked, carrying Maresa’s rapier from her hand and knocking her to the ground. It shrieked a single high, harsh note, then drew into a tight coil on the ground and lay still.

Maresa rolled to her feet, and grinned fiercely. “This one’s done!” she called.

Araevin parried another spell from the one that remained, but then the creature managed to slip a spell through by virtue of its uncanny quickness, trapping him in a bitter, freezing fog of silver mist. He fumbled with his disruption wand with fingers that were suddenly stiff and numb, and fought to utter the words of a dismissing spell, but then he heard a high, clear voice ringing behind him. A brilliant white arc of magic swept out of the old stone ring and lanced upward to blast the remaining nilshai, scouring the monster’s dark flesh with silver power.

Araevin struggled to look over his shoulder to see what had happened, and he saw the elf they had rescued standing within the stones and singing, hands clenched at his sides, eyes fixed on the winged horror overhead.

The winged worm hissed and tried to climb out of the reach of the arcing magic, but then a pair of arrows from Ilsevele brought it down. Its wings folded in midair and it dropped to the ground like a stone. The rider held his song for one more moment then allowed the eldritch music to fade. He leaned against a menhir in fatigue.

Araevin finally managed to shake off the clinging silver fog that had numbed him. He turned to Jorin and dispelled the shadow-web with a quick word and motion of his hand, then looked at his companions.

“Is anybody hurt?” he asked.

“Singed a little from that acid, but I’m fine,” Ilsevele answered. She looked down at her side, where a handful of holes in her tunic still smoked.

“I can tend to that,” Donnor said. He picked his way back up the hillside and began to chant a healing prayer to Lathander, holding his hand over Ilsevele’s side.

The rider straightened and turned to face Araevin. “I don’t know how you came to be here, sir, but I am indebted to you,” he said. His Elvish was a little strange to Araevin’s ear, due in no small part to the remarkable voice the fellow possessed, a rich tenor in which every word held music. “I am Nesterin of House Deirr, and I believe that I owe you my life.”

“I am Araevin Teshurr of Evermeet. This is my betrothed, Lady Ilsevele Miritar. Our companions Maresa Rost of Waterdeep, Dawnmaster Donnor Kerth of the Temple of Lathander, and our guide Jorin Kell Harthan of Aglarond.”

“I am pleased to meet all of you, especially considering the circumstances.” Nesterin bowed to each of them. “Might I ask what brings your company to Sildeyuir? We rarely see folk of other races here.”

“I guided them here,” Jorin said, stepping forward.

“You are of the Yuir?”

Jorin nodded. “I am. They have an errand of some importance. The Simbul’s apprentice decided that they needed to speak with the star elves.”

Nesterin studied Araevin and his companions more closely.

“Very well,” he said at length. “The masters of the Yuirwood do not lightly give strangers their trust, and I am indebted to you all in any event. My home is only a few miles away. I would be greatly pleased if you would allow me to offer you the hospitality of House Deirr.”

The First Lord’s Tower gleamed in the sunset, tall and slender as a sword blade over the center of Hillsfar. The evening was warm and still, and the lamplighters hurried through the streets to perform their duties as the city’s bustle and commerce guttered out for the day. A whisper of magic danced in the air, and Sarya Dlardrageth and Xhalph appeared on a balcony amid a dull thump of displaced air.

As before, Sarya and Xhalph wore their human guises. She glanced at the balcony around them, and nodded in approval. As promised, Maalthiir had left it bare of any awkward spells or arcane defenses so that she or her messengers could simply teleport directly to his home. There was even an iced ewer of wine by the door leading into the tower. Sarya approved; the less she had to see of the human squalor surrounding Maalthiir’s tower, the better.

Two Red Plume guards stood nearby, straightening to attention and smoothing the surprise from their faces.

“I see we’re expected,” Xhalph noted.

Sarya looked at the nearer of the guards. “You, there-tell your master that Lady Senda and Lord Alphon are here, and desire a few words with him.”

She went over to the table and poured herself a goblet of wine, first taking a moment to work a minor spell to reveal any poisons that might be waiting for her.

The Red Plume muttered a word of assent, and ducked through the door leading into the tower proper. He returned a few minutes later with a short, burly human warrior in fine court clothes. The fellow dressed like a dandy, but his eyes glittered coldly within deep, dark sockets.

“Lady Senda,” he said, bowing obsequiously. “I am Hardil Gearas, High Warden of the First Lord’s Tower. If you’ll follow me, I will lead you to Lord Maalthiir.”

“Of course,” Sarya purred.

The high warden bowed, and led her into the tower. They proceeded through sparsely furnished hallways of polished stone, eventually reaching a conservatory of modest size that seemed like it had seen little use. Though the harps and recorders in their fine glass cases showed not a hint of dust on them, the whole chamber seemed too carefully arranged for actual recitals. Besides, Sarya doubted that Maalthiir was much given to music, let alone practicing or performing himself.

She composed herself for a lengthy wait, but Maalthiir swept into the room almost on her heels, his four pallid swordsmen a pace behind him, and another pair of Red Plumes following. The first lord was dressed in a scarlet coat emblazoned with a Draconic emblem, and he carried his dark iron dragon claw scepter in his hand. He paused in the doorway to study Sarya, and something less than humor creased his stern features.

“Lady Sarya,” he said. “To what do I owe this unexpected call?”

“Lord Maalthiir.” Sarya kept her voice neutral, and did not lower her gaze an inch from Maalthiir’s dark eyes. “I am concerned by the progress of our campaign in Cormanthor, and I hoped you might be able to reassure me.”

“I am widely regarded as the very font of optimism,” Maalthiir rasped. “What specifically concerns you, Lady Sarya?”

“Evermeet’s army has marched west a hundred miles in the last three days, in order to meet Fzoul’s Zhentarim army descending on Shadowdale,” Xhalph answered. “We have dispatched several messengers instructing you to bring the Red Plume army north of Mistledale westward, so that you and Fzoul might combine and effect the destruction of the elven army. Yet Hillsfar’s army has not yet moved.”

Maalthiir’s eyes flashed, but he kept his temper in check. “Of course. I have not ordered them to march.”

Xhalph squared his shoulders, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat, but Sarya set a hand on his arm and silenced him. She folded her arms and paced across the room, finding the space confining and small.

“This is an excellent opportunity to destroy the elven army, Maalthiir,” she said. “Your Sembian friends have led Seiveril Miritar to leave a good quarter of his strength sitting in Mistledale. Between your Red Plumes, the Zhentilar, and my own warriors, we can crush Miritar. However, if you do not move, you will expose Fzoul to defeat in detail.”

“Lady Sarya,” Maalthiir said, “that is exactly what I intend. It would suit my purposes very well indeed if Evermeet and Zhentil Keep were to maul each other in Shadowdale. Therefore I see no reason to send help to Fzoul Chembryl.”

“I do not care about your petty little spats with Fzoul!” Sarya hissed. “I will not allow your machinations to upset my opportunity to destroy Miritar. Betray Fzoul later if you like, but today I need your army in Shadowdale, and you will not delay an hour longer.”

Maalthiir measured Sarya for a long moment, making no reply. His coterie of dead-eyed swordsmen stood unmoving at his side.

“I am not your servant, Sarya,” he said. “In fact, I see no reason to continue our association. Should Evermeet and Zhentil Keep fight to exhaustion in Shadowdale, my Red Plumes and Duncastle’s Sembians will be the only powers left in the Dales. I see no reason to share that prize with a hellspawned harpy such as yourself.”

“You treacherous dog,” Sarya snarled. “You have no idea of the might I have gathered at Myth Drannor. I will destroy you for your perfidy!”

“You would be better advised to save your strength for Evermeet’s army,” Hardil Gearas sneered.

“If you will not take the field against Evermeet, then I will,” Sarya promised. “I will crush Miritar with my own power, Maalthiir, and I will use Fzoul Chembryl to destroy you!”

She snapped out the words of a teleportation spell, reaching out to take Xhalph’s arm. But to her astonishment, nothing happened; the spell simply failed, leaving her standing in the middle of Maalthiir’s conservatory.

“The chamber is warded against teleportation,” Maalthiir observed. He smiled, a hard and cheerless expression that did not touch his eyes. “I have no idea whether you can even begin to make good on your threats, Sarya, but as I have said before, I take few chances. Prudence would dictate that I not allow you to leave this room alive.”

With a curt gesture of his dragon-clawed scepter, Maalthiir vanished from sight, and the swordsmen swept out their blades as one. Sarya bared her fangs and crooked her hands to cast a spell-but an instant later she was battered by a whole array of deadly magic, as Maalthiir suddenly reappeared, surrounded in a shimmering spell-shield. A scintillating blast of vibrant colors embraced her in magical destruction, sending sheets of crimson fire racing over her body, while at the same time a sinister black ray struck her over the heart like a spear of ice, draining life and power from her, and a dancing sword of emerald green energy appeared above her head and slashed at her with dizzying speed. Xhalph was struck by a yellow ray that sent crackling yellow lightning racing over his body, charring and stabbing him.

He froze time to cast all those spells! Sarya realized. The sudden assault filled her with anger beyond measure. The fires burning on her skin troubled her not at all. She was the daughter of a balor lord, and no flame could harm her, magical or otherwise. But the other spells were dangerous.

With a savage snarl, Sarya conjured an orb of hell-tainted fire and detonated it in her hands, scouring the whole room with the sinister flames. The cabinets exploded in shards of hot glass, and the Red Plumes were virtually incinerated before they even took a step. But Hardil Gearas threw himself into a corner and survived, and Maalthiir’s swordsmen, while scorched badly, did not even break stride or show the slightest reaction to the clinging hellfire that burned on them. Maalthiir himself stood unharmed, protected by his spell-shields.

“You will have to do better than that, Sarya,” he called.

Xhalph abandoned his magical guise with a roar of rage, instantly gaining two full feet in height as his scarlet-scaled form appeared. He leaped straight for Maalthiir, sweeping his swords out in one quick motion, but two of the pale swordsmen interposed themselves with uncanny swiftness. The daemonfey lord tried to simply bull his way through the unearthly guards, but their sword points darted and stabbed, drawing blood at thigh, hip, and shoulder before Xhalph even began his first parry. The daemonfey swordsman whipped around to confront one of the pair and drove four swords into the fellow at once, ripping the blades free with a shout of bloodlust-but nothing except strange black mist came from the wounds, and despite being almost ripped apart, the pale swordsman made no sound. He only staggered a bit with the force of the blows, and came on again, moving a little slower and more awkwardly as slashed tendons and rent muscle failed him.

Sarya found the other two swordsmen closing on her, while the blazing blade of green energy slashed and darted at her face. She quickly backstepped and managed to dispel the emerald sword before it did more than give her a couple of shallow cuts, but while she did that, Maalthiir intoned another spell, hurling a deadly blast of scathing cold at her. The thin white beam grazed her left arm and turned a solid foot of her forearm white and dead. Sarya screeched in pain, and nearly died on the sword point of the first of Maalthiir’s strange guardsmen to reach her.

Maalthiir cannot be beaten here and now, she realized. The First Lord’s Tower was the heart of his domain, and he had prepared for a fight, while she had not. As much as she longed to rip the human dog to pieces with her own talons, she risked destruction with every moment she remained.

“Xhalph!” she shouted. “The window!”

Xhalph wheeled away from his antagonists at once, and hurled his heavy form at the row of narrow windows along the wall. They were not large enough to permit him to pass, but Xhalph’s strength was immense, and he was caught up in the fullness of his wrath; nothing could stand in his way. Lowering his shoulder, he battered the lintel with such force that he sent a shower of masonry out of the tower’s side and burst through into clear air.

Sarya darted after her son, abandoning her human appearance in midstep. Swords slashed and hissed through the air only a step behind her, and Maalthiir’s last spell-a great, golden hand of magical energy that tried to snatch her out of the air-faltered and broke against the power of her demonic heritage, fizzling into nothingness. She spread her dark wings wide and soared away from the tower.

“I will tear him to pieces with my naked claws!” Xhalph bellowed, hovering in the air. “I will feed his entrails to rutterkin while he watches!”

“Yes, but not today,” Sarya snapped.

She caught hold of Xhalph’s hand and barked out another teleport spell. In the space of an icy instant, they hovered in the air above the green vastness of Cormanthor, with Hillsfar’s spires and towers dimly visible in the warm haze far to the north and east. Sarya glared at the distant city, her eyes glowing red with pure hate.

“I should have known better than to try to find a use for stinking humans,” she muttered. “Maalthiir thinks he is strong enough to defy me? He will learn otherwise. I will teach the humans to fear the wrath of House Dlardrageth!”

As he had promised, Nesterin Deirr led Araevin and his companions toward his home. They walked over silver-grassed hilltops beneath the open, starry sky, leading the star elf’s mount and Donnor’s packhorse. As they walked, Nesterin questioned them about their presence in Sildeyuir and their travels in the realm-though he was fairly courteous and indirect about it, so much so that Araevin doubted whether any of his companions other than Ilsevele noticed that they were being skillfully interrogated as they walked.

Araevin decided to turn the tables on their host after Nesterin succeeded in drawing out of Maresa a good account of their meeting with the Simbul’s apprentice and their journey through the Yuirwood. As the company fell silent for a moment, he asked, “What were those monsters you were fleeing from, Nesterin? We saw several others like them in the forest.”

“They are the nilshai, and as you have seen, they are formidable sorcerers. They haunt the lonelier stretches of our forests.” The handsome star elf glanced toward the dim line of trees, a dark tide washing against the hills by starlight, miles behind them. “It does not surprise me that you met them on your way here. They have been trying to poison our realm for many years now, loosing monsters in our forests and pulling the outlying reaches of Sildeyuir into their own sinister realm.”

“Where do they come from? What do they want with you?” Ilsevele asked.

Nesterin shook his head. “We do not know. Some of our sages say that the nilshai are creatures of the Ethereal Plane, the spectral reality that infuses all the rest of existence. But Sildeyuir was disjoined from the Ethereal when our mages created this domain long ago. I cannot fathom why they would go to such lengths to bore gates into this realm, when the daylight world that you all come from is far more accessible to them.”

“These things are even closer to our world than they are to yours?” Maresa asked. She shook her head. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“What business did you have in the forest we passed through?” Ilsevele asked Nesterin. “It seemed to be wild and desolate. You are the first person we’ve seen since crossing over from Aglarond.”

The star elf was slow to answer. Araevin glanced over his shoulder at Nesterin, who was leading his horse as he walked alongside the rest of the company. The mage wondered for a moment whether Nesterin intended to keep his errand a secret, but it seemed that the star elf was simply organizing his thoughts.

“I had ridden out to the seat of House Aerilpe, where my cousin Leissera has lived for many years,” Nesterin began. “It is a strong tower far to the south, overlooking the Shimmersea that marks the bounds of our kingdom in that direction. The nilshai have always been strong in that region, and their taint has filled vast tracts of the forest there with strange and dangerous creatures-things like plants or great funguses, but alive and hungry, and monsters to suit.

“I followed a road I thought to be safe to Aerilpe, but a few miles from the tower I found that the nilshai had been busy since last I passed that way. The forests were choked with creeping, groping tendrils and pallid, eyeless beasts that hunted in the shadows. And the very realm itself seemed to be, well… fraying. Sluggish streams or rivers of bright gray dust sliced through the landscape, and as I struggled to find my way through to Tower Aerilpe, the damnable stuff would close in behind me, trying to surround and trap me.

“In any event, I managed to find my way through to Aerilpe, but I found the tower utterly abandoned. Everything seemed as it should be-furnishings stood where last they had been used, clothes still filled the chests and drawers, food still lay almost fresh in the kitchens-but there was not a sign of another living soul. I lingered no more than an hour in that place, because it was simply so unnerving to be alone amid such silence, then I set out at once for home.

“I decided to try a different road on my return-the path that led past the old gate ring two days’ walk behind you. The nilshai caught my trail, though, and they pursued me closely for the better part of a day.” Nesterin glanced over at Ilsevele, and shrugged. “So there is my tale, Lady Ilsevele. A great House of our people has vanished, the distant reaches of my world seem to be coming undone, and I cannot explain why or how.”

They walked on in silence for a while longer, and they crested another low hilltop. Before them on a high knoll overlooking a shining river stood an elegant tower of pale white stone. It was ringed by a tall, sturdy wall, and its lower galleries and bastions were carved from the dark gray granite of its natural footing. Dozens of softly glowing lamps gleamed in its windows and treetops.

“My home,” Nesterin said. He glanced to Araevin and the others. “No one who has battled the nilshai will come to harm here, my friends, but I must warn you: Few who aren’t star elves have ever walked in Sildeyuir. You will be asked to give an account of yourself, and you may be required to accept a geas or enchantment to ensure that you will guard our secrets well. I will speak on your behalf, but I cannot say how our lord will rule in your case.”

Maresa scowled. “I’ll be damned if I let you put a geas on me. Why shouldn’t we just walk away now?”

Nesterin shrugged. “You saved my life today; you should know what awaits you. Araevin and Ilsevele, as Ar Tel’Quessir, have little to worry about. Nor does Jorin, though his judgment in bringing you here may be questioned. But you and the Dawnmaster have no elf blood, and are not known to us. If you choose to depart now, I must tell my lord that you are abroad in Sildeyuir, and he may very well decide that you are not to be allowed to wander about the realm.”

Donnor Kerth’s brow furrowed deeply, but the Lathanderian did not speak. Maresa, on the other hand, stopped dead in her tracks.

“I don’t like jails,” she said.

Ilsevele turned to her and set her hand on Maresa’s arm. “I promise you, Maresa, whatever they would do to you, they must do to me as well.”

Maresa looked up to Ilsevele, and after a moment she snorted and shook her head. “You’ve got too much trust for any ten people, Ilsevele, do you know that?” She shrugged off Ilsevele’s hand and started down the path again. “All right, then, let’s see what Nesterin’s folk make of us.”

They followed the path down the silvered slopes of the grassy hillside, crossed the river on a bridge of luminous stone, and came up to the mithral gates of the tower. There half a dozen elf warriors in knee-length hauberks of white-scaled armor stood guard, armed with long halberds and slender bows.

“Welcome back, Nesterin,” the captain of the gate guard said, but her eyes were fixed on Araevin and his companions. She searched for words, evidently more than a little surprised. Finally she frowned and said, “I see you have been far a field in the last few days. Who are these people?”

“I did not find them; they found me,” Nesterin answered. “They slew two nilshai and saved my life in the process.”

“Two nilshai?” The captain glanced at Araevin again before looking back at Nesterin. “I will tell Lord Tessaernil of your return, and inform him that you have brought guests back to the tower.”

“Good,” said Nesterin. “They have a strange tale to share, and I have much to tell him of what I found at Tower Aerilpe. We will be in the high hall.”

The captain sent a messenger off into the tower, and detailed two guards to attend to Nesterin’s graceful destrier and Donnor’s warhorse. Ilsevele flicked her eyes to Araevin, and the mage immediately grasped her unspoken thought-the gate guards treated Nesterin with an air of deference. Their host was an elf of some importance, one of the masters of the House.

“This way, my friends.”

Nesterin gathered up Araevin’s company and led them into the tower proper. It was a comfortable elven palace, though quite strongly built-more a citadel than a home, really, with high, well-made walls of stone. It was large enough to be home to a hundred or more people, but Araevin quickly formed the impression that substantially fewer folk than that lived in Tower Deirr. They passed other elves only at odd intervals, and the echoing halls and corridors seemed too perfect and bare to have been lived in much.

Nesterin showed them into a small banquet room at the top of a winding flight of steps that ascended the rocky pedestal of the tower’s hilltop.

“Please, lay down your packs, doff your cloaks, and make yourselves comfortable,” he said. “I will send for refreshments for you.”

“Thank you,” Araevin murmured.

He shrugged his backpack from his shoulders and rested his staff by the door. The others followed suit. In the space of a few minutes they were dining on platters of fruit and warm bread. Nesterin joined in as well, with an apologetic smile.

“I fear that I haven’t eaten in a couple of days,” he said between bites. “I left Aerilpe in a hurry, as you might imagine.”

As they ate, a tall, lordly star elf dressed in elegant robes appeared at the hall’s door. Araevin sensed a deep and studious mastery of the Art in the elflord, a strength of spirit that reminded him of the might of Evermeet’s own high mages. He had eyes of pure jet, with not a hint of iris, and his elegant features seemed to be graven with the weight of long care. His long white hair was bound by a platinum circlet at the brow, and hung loose to his collarbone and the nape of his neck.

“Jaressyr told me you’d returned, Nesterin,” he said, his voice inflectionless. “I see that you have company.”

Nesterin stood and bowed. “Lord Tessaernil,” he said. “May I present Araevin Teshurr and Ilsevele Miritar of Evermeet, Maresa Rost of Waterdeep, Donnor Kerth of the church of Lathander, and Jorin Kell Harthan of the Yuir? My friends, this is Lord Tessaernil Deirr, my mother’s elder brother and the master of this House.”

The star elf lord nodded gravely to them. “I have heard that you aided Nesterin in a desperate hour. You have my thanks for that. I want to hear what brings you to our land, but first-I did not expect you back so soon, Nesterin. Is everything well at Aerilpe?”

The younger elf frowned, and shook his head. “No, my lord, I fear that it is not.” He quickly recounted the tale he had told Araevin and his friends, and went on to tell how he had encountered the company in the old stone ring at the edge of the hills as he fled from the nilshai. “These travelers may very well have saved my life,” he finished. “The nilshai pursuing me were more than I would have cared to face alone, and they were close to overtaking me when Araevin and his friends intervened.”

“We would have done the same for anyone in your circumstances,” Donnor Kerth said gruffly. “How could we have stood by and done nothing?”

Jorin looked to the two star elves and spoke. “My lords, I hope you will forgive my curiosity,” he said. “I visited Sildeyuir once, many years ago. I do not recall meeting such dangerous and fell creatures abroad in your realm. Have these monsters always been here?”

“They have been getting much worse of late,” Tessaernil admitted. His habitual frown deepened until his face seemed almost empty of hope. “There are portions of the realm that have been drawn almost completely into their influence. We are not a warlike people, but it is clear that we face a threat that we cannot hide from any longer. If the nilshai have learned how to assault our Towers, we face a dark and desperate battle indeed.” He sighed, and turned to face Araevin. “Now, sir, you have already seen and heard more of this realm than I would like. I must ask: What brings you to Sildeyuir? Who are you, and what do you want here?”

“I am in search of knowledge that has been lost in the world outside your realm,” Araevin said. “I hope that it still exists here, though.”

“Knowledge?” Tessaernil folded his arms. “What sort of knowledge?”

“Thousands of years ago, a star elf mage named Morthil lived among the elves of Arcorar,” Araevin answered. “He helped the grand mage of that realm to defeat an ancient evil. I have reason to believe that Morthil returned to his homeland with magical lore that he removed from the enemies of Arcorar. I need to find out if anything of what Morthil removed from Arcorar still survives.”

“There must be some reason you have come all the way to Sildeyuir in search of this old lore,” Tessaernil observed. “What do you need with it?”

“I need it to defeat the enemies that Morthil once fought,” Araevin said. “They are called the daemonfey, and they are an abominable House of sun elves who consorted with demons long ago.”

He decided that Tessaernil was not an elf to be trifled with, and chose to tell him the story of events since Dlardrageth’s return as completely and openly as he could.

When the tale was told, Nesterin and Tessaernil stood in silence for a long moment. The older lord finally moved to a seat at the head of the table and sat down heavily, his gaze troubled and distant.

“First Nesterin’s tale, and now this,” he murmured. “It has been a long time since I heard two such stories in the same day. We keep abreast of doings in Aglarond and the Yuirwood, but news of the wars and perils of the distant corners of Faerun rarely find its way to our realm.”

Araevin paused, steeling his nerve to ask the question. “I perceive that you are skilled with the Art, Lord Tessaernil. Do you know of magical lore brought out of Arcorar to Sildeyuir? Have you heard the name of Morthil before?”

Tessaernil looked up at Araevin, his dark eyes unreadable. “I know that name,” he said. “And I think I know where you might recover at least a remnant of Morthil’s ancient lore. But you will find that it is a dark and difficult journey, son of Evermeet. Morthil’s old tower lies in the farthest reach of our realm, in the borderlands where things have been slipping away into strangeness for many years now. Even if the place has not vanished entirely, I do not see how you can get there without passing into the domain of the nilshai. Few indeed return from that journey.”