Farthest Reach

CHAPTER SIX

21 Mirtul, the Year of Lightning Storms

“Lord Seiveril Miritar, Your Highness,” the major domo announced, ringing her ceremonial staff once on the stone floor.

Seiveril inclined his head to acknowledge the courtesy, and strode into the Dome of Stars amid the golden glow of the fading daylight. The dark marble of the floor caught the pale rose sky and mirrored its serried colors, so that the council table drifted in the darkness between gold-glowing floor and brilliant sky, a white ship adrift in the shadows between the two. Seiveril almost hesitated to set foot on the floor before him, as if he might disturb the sky’s reflection with a careless step, but he continued without a pause and approached the high table where he had sat in council for so many years.

Amlaruil greeted him with a cool smile. The queen wore a silver gown, and her face shone like moonlight in the shadows.

“Welcome, Lord Miritar,” she said. “We did not expect you this evening; what brings you before us?”

“I am afraid something has come up, my queen,” Seiveril replied. He halted two paces before the outswept arms of the council and bowed to Amlaruil. “I must conclude my business here in Evermeet and return to Faerun immediately.”

Amlaruil met his eyes, and her brow creased. “What news from Faerun, my friend?” she asked.

“I have received a sending from Lord Vesilde Gaerth, Your Highness. He tells me that a hidden portal network has been found under Myth Glaurach, portals through which Sarya Dlardrageth’s army may have made their escape.”

“Portals?” said Keryth Blackhelm. The stern-faced marshal frowned. “Why, the daemonfey might be anywhere by now!”

“The portals are being searched even as we speak. Rest assured I will not give up until we have destroyed the daemonfey root and branch,” said Seiveril.

“The daemonfey have been defeated, have they not?” Ammisyll Veldann asked. “How much longer will you persist in this interminable folly, Miritar? While you chase after ghosts and garrison gloomy old ruins, Evermeet itself remains vulnerable to attack!”

“Clearly, Evermeet was vulnerable to attack before I called for my Crusade,” Seiveril replied. “My efforts in Faerun are your best defense, Lady Veldann.”

Veldann scowled and began to frame a response, but Amlaruil interceded.

“The Dlardrageths are the enemies of all the elf race,” she said. “I will pray to the Seldarine for your success.” The queen did not glance at Ammisyll Veldann, but the highborn sun elf frowned and subsided, leaning back in her seat. Instead, Amlaruil studied Seiveril. “Have you given more thought to Lady Durothil’s proposal, Lord Miritar?”

Seiveril glanced up at the pale sky overhead. An empty chair stood at the foot of the left-hand side of the table, opposite the seat occupied by the high admiral.

It would be easy to take my place there, he thought. I would certainly wield power at least equal to the power I held as Lord of Elion-perhaps even more, since I would hold a high office indeed, with no one within three thousand miles to countermand my commands. I could do a great deal of good, if I chose to take that seat.

But how long would that good last? he wondered. Evermeet might set a shining example for the young human lands of Faerun to follow, but ultimately Evermeet is a refuge, a retreat. All the troubles that were foremost in his mind-the daemonfey, the phaerimm, the assaults on Evermeet, even the fall of the realms of Eaerlann and Cormanthor hundreds of years ago-seemed inextricably linked with the pattern of Retreat and flight that had been established for a dozen elf generations.

The empty seat at the table was inviting. It was familiar, comfortable. And it might undo everything he had accomplished so far.

“Lady Durothil’s suggestion has great merit,” he finally said. “I wholeheartedly endorse the notion of appointing a minister or a marshal to sit on this council and speak for those of the People who remain in Faerun. But I respectfully decline to hold any such office, or to answer to anyone who does.”

“I don’t understand,” Keryth Blackhelm growled. “You tell us to raise up a councilor for the east, and you say you will pay no heed to him? What is the point?”

“If I accepted the seat you offer, I would be honor-bound to answer to Evermeet’s authority and conform my actions to the will of the throne and the council. I do not have confidence in this body’s ability to take the actions I deem necessary in Faerun. Therefore I must decline to be so bound.”

“Isn’t it arrogant of you to decide that you, in the solitude of your own heart, are better suited to make such decisions than anyone else?” High Admiral Elsydar asked.

“Perhaps, but I have work that is not yet done in Faerun,” Seiveril said. “I will remain until I know that I have done all that I can, and I will not let Evermeet’s isolationists to tell me otherwise.”

“Wander around in Faerun’s dying forests as long as you like, Miritar,” Ammisyll Veldann hissed, “but send home the sons and daughters of Evermeet you have inveigled with your promises of glory!”

“Each elf who followed me into Faerun is free to return to Evermeet whenever he or she chooses,” Seiveril said, standing as straight as a fine blade. “I compelled no one to follow me to Faerun, and I will not allow you to compel anyone to return, Veldann. If I have to, I will found a realm of my own to prevent it.”

The council fell silent for a moment, astonished. Even Amlaruil’s eyes widened.

The queen said, “Seiveril, think of the People who follow you. You are not the only one who must accept the consequences of your crusade.”

“By what authority?” snapped Selsharra Durothil. “By what authority do you name yourself a king, Seiveril Miritar? Where is your realm?”

“By what authority?” Seiveril repeated. “By the authority of each elf who chooses to follow me, Lady Durothil. I claim no crown. All who remain with me shall have a voice in choosing who we name as our lord and how we do so.”

He looked at each of the councilors and went on, “As far as our realm… how many of our lands lie empty now? Who would argue with me if I raised a city in the High Moor, where Miyeritar once was? Or the wild lands west of Tun, where the towers of Shantel Othreier stood? The Border Forest, where once the sylvan realm of Rystallwood lay? Or the Elven Court, or Cormanthor itself?” He paused, and said again, “Why not Cormanthor itself?”

Seiveril looked up at the sky overhead, where the first stars were beginning to glimmer in the darkening sky.

Corellon, guide me, he prayed silently. Hold me to the course you have set for me.

Then he turned his back on the council, and strode from the Dome of Stars, leaving Evermeet behind him.

The portal near the Burial Glen failed to work, as Araevin knew it would. The spells that had powered the device for centuries were designed to allow intermittent functioning only-once used, the portal could not work again for hours. He knew a spell or two that might suspend that particular property and allow the instantaneous use of the gate, but with all his spells drained, he did not have a chance of opening it.

“I am sorry,” he told his companions. “We can’t escape through this portal. It will be hours before it opens again.”

“Damn! Why build a magical door that’s nothing more than a dead stone most of the time?” Maresa snarled.

“Among other things, it makes a portal much harder to sneak an army through,” Araevin answered. “We’ll have to wait for it to activate again.”

“We certainly can’t wait here,” Starbrow growled. The moon elf looked around the clearing, his hand on Keryvian’s hilt. “Let’s keep moving. There’s a lot of forest to hide in, and maybe we can circle back in a few hours to try it again.”

“Agreed. The farther we are from this place, the better,” Araevin said. If she were in Myth Drannor, Sarya would certainly have sensed his attempt to manipulate her mythal defenses and the pounce of her spell trap. He couldn’t believe that she would not order her fey’ri to hunt him down, especially if she knew that her trap had drained away all his spells. “Starbrow, you know this place. Take the lead.”

The moon elf nodded curtly and set off at once, leading the small party away from the portal clearing along a small footpath. Ilsevele followed behind him, her bow in her hand, and Araevin trotted behind her, his disruption wand clenched in one fist. He was fairly sure that the wand would still work for him-wands didn’t draw on any spells held in the mind, they simply contained spells of their own that any competent mage could make use of. It was a good weapon, and he had two more wands at his belt with equally destructive spells. But he normally held dozens of spells in his mind, many of which were significantly more powerful than any he could build into a wand. Without the power and versatility of his normal repertoire, he was in no position to invite a battle against Sarya’s fey’ri or any of their infernal allies.

How did she do it? Araevin wondered. If she knew a spell to secure the mythal-weave from another mage’s examination or touch, why didn’t she guard the mythal at Myth Glaurach in the same manner? He could only think of three possible answers: Sarya Dlardrageth was simply careless at Myth Glaurach, which seemed scarcely credible; there was something different about Myth Drannor’s mythal; or Sarya Dlardrageth had learned something new about mythalcraft in the relatively short time since he had bested her at Myth Glaurach.

But she doesn’t have the Nightstar. Where could she have learned the necessary spells? Is there another selukiira she might have access to? Or… did Sarya find a tutor? Araevin’s frown deepened, and he rubbed at the gemstone in his chest.

“This way,” Starbrow said. He turned from the path, striking off into the forests. He slid down a leaf-covered slope, muddy and wet with the spring, and splashed across a small stream at the bottom of the dell. But before they scrambled up the far side of the stream bank, Araevin sensed a terrible, icy cold in the air, and a crawling wrongness that turned his stomach.

He looked back up the short hillside they’d just descended. A pair of nightmarish monsters bounded down after them. They were a pale bluish-white in color, the hue of dead flesh, and they were big-each easily the size of an ogre, with insectile features, clacking mandibles, and long, lashing tails studded with terrible barbs. They carried great spears of black iron frosted with supernatural cold.

“Behind us!” he cried. “Ice devils!”

The devils hissed and clicked at each other, slowing and spreading apart as they realized their quarry had been brought to bay. Araevin and his companions turned to face them.

“We have to kill them,” Starbrow said. “Don’t let them teleport away, or they’ll be back with more of their kind in a matter of moments.”

“Right,” said Ilsevele.

Her hands blurred and her bow sang its deadly song, thrumming deeply. A silver arrow struck the first devil just above its cold, faceted eye, splintering against its chitinous hide, and a second arrow stuck in the tender joint between its armored torso and its bony arm.

The two fiends halted, gathering their infernal power. Araevin started to shout a warning, but even as he drew breath the monsters let loose with a terrible, scathing blast of unearthly cold. The stream iced over at once, and tree and fern alike turned white and died under the deadly frost.

Araevin ducked down under his cloak, hoping its enchantments would help protect him. Cold so fierce that it felt like a white-hot poker seared his hands, his feet, and soaked through his cloak, wrenching away his breath and burning in his nose and mouth. He heard Ilsevele cry out in pain. Then the cold eased, and he threw off his cloak, shaking off a mantle of deadly white hoarfrost as he stood again.

The whole hillside was white and frozen from the ice devils’ wintry blasts. The monsters stalked forward, iron spears smoking with cold. Before him, at the bottom of the dell, Filsaelene stood frozen. She had been in midstream when the devils attacked, and the ice on the creek held her immobilized at the knee.

“I’m stuck!” she cried.

Araevin leveled his disruption wand at the nearest of the two devils and barked out the command word. A bolt of azure energy, shimmering and crackling, lanced out from the wand to knock the devil off its feet. The second devil approached Filsaelene, who stooped down to smash the edge of her shield against the ice covering the creek, trying to free her feet from the ice. But then Maresa suddenly slipped out from behind a tree, leveled her crossbow, and shot the ice devil in the side of its thick neck. Blue-black gore spattered the frost-covered ground, and the monster whirled on her, moving with impossible speed for something so large and powerful. Maresa yelped and gave ground, ducking back into a young stand of alders and trying to keep as many of the slender white trees as possible between her and the devil.

“Is there a good way to kill these things?” Maresa called.

“Holy weapons!” Filsaelene replied. “You need a holy weapon to really hurt them!”

“Anything else?” the genasi demanded.

The ice devil stalked closer and rammed the point of its black spear through the trees, missing Maresa by a hand’s breadth.

Araevin blasted that devil with his wand, staggering it for a moment, then he risked a quick glance back at Ilsevele. He found her fumbling to pick up her bow again with frozen hands. Starbrow knelt by her, trying to help.

“I can’t shoot!” she said.

The first devil regained its feet and charged at Filsaelene, who finally managed to pull her feet free of the ice. She parried the first strike of its spear with her shield, twisted out of the way of the second, but then the monster’s barbed tail came sweeping in fast and low, lashing her across her knees. Her feet flew out from under her, and Filsaelene fell on her back in the icy stream, her sword clattering out of her grasp. The monster straddled her, one clawed foot on either side of her torso, and raised its great black spear in both hands.

Then Starbrow came dashing down the slope, Keryvian alight in his hands. The sword gleamed in one perfect arc that took off the ice devil’s leg at the knee. The creature let out a high-pitched, whistling shriek, and toppled into the creek, even as it slashed and gouged at Starbrow. The big moon elf followed the monster to the ground, blocking its claws and mandibles with lightning-swift parries. Then he set one foot on its chest and rammed Keryvian’s point through the monster’s mandibles, pinning its head to the streambed. Keryvian’s pure white fire flashed from the ice devil’s eyes. The thing shuddered once and lay still.

The second ice devil whirled at the cry of the first, and abandoned Maresa to rush toward the others. But when Starbrow killed its companion, the ice devil halted, its eyes glittering with cold malice. It abruptly vanished, teleporting away.

“Damn,” Starbrow said. “It’s gone for help!”

“Quickly, then. We must be away from here before it returns!” Araevin replied. He turned and helped Ilsevele to her feet, shivering at the icy touch of her flesh. “Can you walk?” he asked her.

She winced with pain, but nodded. “Yes. Let’s go.”

They scrambled up the other side of the dell, and ran at their best speed through the woods beyond, following Starbrow as he dashed ahead. He led them for several hundred yards, through tall groves of magnificent trees that resembled nothing so much as the pillars of a great cathedral above a floor of green ferns, into tangled thickets and past old ruined walls and roads, before they reached a small shrine or chapel half-hidden by the hillside it was built against.

“In here,” Starbrow said. “I think we’ll be safe.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ilsevele asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to stay out in the woods, where we can try to keep ahead of the pursuit? If they track us to this place, we’ll be cornered.”

“The fey’ri have wings,” Starbrow answered. “If they find us in the open, we won’t be able to outrun them. Hiding is probably our best option. And if I remember right…” The moon elf warrior moved into the ruined shrine, and studied the floor carefully.

“Whatever you’re doing, do it quickly! The fey’ri are coming,” Maresa hissed. She flattened herself beside the door, watching the path along which they’d just come. “There are at least a dozen of them back there.”

Starbrow swept aside a small bare patch, then knelt to flip up a flagstone and open a hidden catch. Behind the altar, a hidden door slid open.

“Into the passage,” he said, and stood aside to motion Araevin, Ilsevele, and Filsaelene through. Maresa followed, hurrying across the chapel, and Starbrow stepped in and slid the door closed.

The chamber beyond was absolutely lightless, but then Filsaelene spoke the words of a minor prayer and summoned up a magical light. Araevin looked around and saw that they were in a natural cave hidden within the hillside. A small pool of clear, still water lay in the center of the cave, and soft moss that glowed faintly blue-green covered the floor. “What is this place?” he asked.

“A secret refuge, hidden beneath the shrine of Sehanine Moonbow. There are a few such places scattered around Myth Drannor and its outskirts,” Starbrow said. “Once they were also guarded by spells designed to keep them concealed, even against magic, but I don’t know if those work any longer. The moss has healing properties, if you are hurt.”

He set Keryvian down on the ground, and lowered himself to the moss, stretching out as if on a bed.

“How did you ever find this place?” Ilsevele asked. She sank down onto the mossy floor nearby.

Starbrow shrugged and looked over to Araevin. “How long before we can use that portal to return to Myth Glaurach?”

“Several hours, I think,” Araevin replied. “Of course, Sarya may be guarding it now. For that matter, we’ll have to figure out a way to reach it without fighting our way through her entire legion.”

“Can you prepare any spells that would help us reach the portal unseen?” Filsaelene asked.

“Not until I rest. Then, I could ready the invisibility spell again,” Araevin said. He frowned, and added, “That is, assuming that I can commit spells to my mind at all. I think that Sarya’s trap only depleted my mind of the spells I knew at the moment, but if she somehow drew out my ability to cast spells at all…”

“Aillesel Seldarie,” Ilsevele breathed. “Araevin, I didn’t realize how the mythal had affected you.”

“Well, we will cross that bridge when we come to it, as my human friends say.” Araevin looked over to Starbrow. “If we were thinking of hiding here for several hours to allow the portal to recharge, we might as well remain here long enough for me to prepare spells, if I can. It will make things much easier if we have trouble getting back to the portal glade.”

They settled down to rest from their exertions, lying quietly in the moss-filled cave. Filsaelene used her spells to heal the worst of their injuries, though her healing spells could do nothing for Araevin’s magic. Stilling his thoughts to silence, Araevin stretched out and let himself drift into Reverie, trying very hard not to dwell on what would happen if he found he could not wield magic. While he composed himself to rest, he listened to his companions conversing in low voices.

“When did you explore this place, Starbrow?” Ilsevele asked the moon elf.

“A long time ago.”

“It can’t be that long ago. You’re not more than a hundred and fifty or so, are you?”

“That’s about right,” Starbrow said.

“That is certainly long by my standards,” Maresa observed. “Because you elves live so damned long, you have no idea of the value of time.”

Ilsevele smiled in the dim light. “That might be true, but I note that Starbrow here hasn’t answered my question. You’ve said before that you were from Cormanthor, but where exactly?”

“I thought the elves abandoned this place,” Maresa said, surprised.

“For the most part, we did,” Filsaelene told her. “Certainly no elves live near Myth Drannor any longer. But there are still a few small elven settlements in different places in this forest. Cormanthor stretches from the Thunder Peaks to the Dragon Reach, and from Cormyr to the Moonsea. It’s a big forest.”

“How did you come to meet my father?” Ilsevele asked. “Until he embarked on this crusade against the daemonfey, I never knew him to have visited Cormanthor.”

Starbrow remained silent for a long time. “You will have to ask your father about that,” he finally said. “It’s not a question for me to answer.”

“Now what does that mean?” Ilsevele asked, rather sharply.

“Ask your father,” Starbrow said again. Then he fell silent, and said no more.

Araevin finally stirred fully from his Reverie some hours later, and felt surprisingly refreshed. He ran his fingers over the blue moss of the cavern floor, and wondered what kind of healing magic the folk of Myth Drannor had imbued in it long ago. He found Starbrow sitting with his back to the wall, watching the secret door that led back out to the chapel. Ilsevele and Filsaelene were deep in their own Reveries, and Maresa was simply asleep, snoring softly.

Lying still, he closed his eyes and touched the Nightstar embedded in his chest, seeking the spells the selukiira stored as ably as his own spellbooks. He chose a simple spell of minor telekinesis first, the sort of thing that almost any apprentice could master, and concentrated on it until its mystic symbology and invocations were pressed into his mind, like a melody he could not get out of his head.

Then he sat up, moved his hands in the appropriate gestures, and muttered the words of the simple spell. To his great relief, he felt the magic, soft and familiar, streaming through his mind and his fingertips, as he picked up a small stone and carefully moved it over to drop into Starbrow’s lap.

The moon elf looked up. “You did that?”

Araevin nodded. “Yes. Sarya’s defenses simply emptied my mind of readied spells. They didn’t damage my ability to study and memorize more.”

“That’s a relief, then,” the moon elf said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Araevin replied. He focused his attention on the selukiira again, and began furiously memorizing spell after spell, rebuilding his repertoire from nothing. He felt as if his mind were humming with arcane energy, a sensation that he had become so accustomed to in centuries of practicing magecraft that he could not begin to guess when he might have stopped noticing it.

“How long will you need to ready your spells?”

“An hour, perhaps two,” said Araevin. “Then we will see about getting out of here.”

Sarya Dlardrageth stood by a ruined wall near the city’s old Burial Glen, and studied her handiwork with the mythal-weave. The dark bronze strands of her crafting drifted past her outstretched fingers, winding in and among the invisible golden net that comprised the city’s ancient magic field.

“Here,” she said. “He was here when the mythal’s defenses struck him.”

Xhalph waited nearby, towering over her. The daemonfey prince stood well over eight feet tall, with four powerfully muscled arms and just the slightest canine cast to his features-both inherited from his demonic father.

“The sun elf mage?” he asked. “The one who marred your weaving at Myth Glaurach?”

“Yes,” Sarya hissed.

In her long life she had learned to hate many adversaries, to nurse smoldering anger and cold fury for years upon years, but rarely had she been dealt such a reverse as Araevin Teshurr had dealt her in the heart of her own citadel. The very notion that he had somehow followed her to her new lair and had attempted to evict her from yet another mythal was enough to fill her with a wrath so hot and bitter than even Xhalph shied from meeting her eyes.

“Araevin was here,” she went on, “and he attempted to take this mythal from me, too.” She allowed herself a cold smile. “But my new defenses were more than he expected. I was ready for him this time. If I read the mythal right, he received a nasty little surprise when he started plucking at my threads.”

“Do you think he knows we are here?”

Sarya’s smile faded at once. “It is almost a certainty,” she admitted. “I want him caught before he carries word of our presence back to his friend Seiveril Miritar and the rest of Evermeet’s knights and mages.”

Xhalph glanced around the wooded glade. “Our fey’ri and baatezu have been scouring the area for hours, and the only sign they’ve turned up is a dead gelugon about half a mile from here. He has had ample opportunity to escape by now.”

“My mythal trap drained him of most, if not all, of his magic,” Sarya said. “Without his spells, he must flee on foot or hide somewhere until his magic returns. In either case, we can still catch him.” She looked up at Xhalph, and lightly leaped into the air, snapping her leathery wings until she hovered ten feet above him. “Take charge of the pursuit, Xhalph! Spare no effort to prevent the mage’s escape.”

The daemonfey swordsman bowed his head, and sprang into the air, arrowing off into the woods, calling for the fey’ri who attended him. Sarya wheeled and flew in the opposite direction, back to Castle Cormanthor. While she certainly hoped that Araevin was lying powerless and vulnerable somewhere nearby, it was clearly foolish to simply hope that he would be caught before he carried word of her tampering in Myth Drannor to her enemies. She would have to presume that he had already escaped, and that Seiveril Miritar and all who stood with him would soon learn of her new retreat.

She needed to speak to Malkizid.

Alighting on a high balcony, Sarya passed a pair of fey’ri who stood guard there. The proud daemonfey warriors knelt and spread their wings as she passed, grounding their long-headed spears in salute. She swept by them into the hallway beyond, and quickly made her way to the chamber of the mythal stone.

With the ease of long practice, Sarya whispered the words of a spell and woke the mythal’s magic to her hand.

“Malkizid!” she called out. “Answer me! I would speak with you.”

Her words reverberated in the dense magical fields dancing around the mythal stone. Then she felt Malkizid’s presence in the conduit, as the devil-prince responded to her call.

“I am here, Sarya,” he said in his melodious voice. “What is it you desire?”

“The mage Araevin Teshurr has visited us here,” she said.

“Ah! Did the spell trap I showed you snare him?”

“He triggered it, but he apparently made his escape on foot before my warriors could catch him. But it did empty him of spells, and he was completely unable to tamper with my mythal-weaving here.”

Even though she could not see him, she felt Malkizid nodding in satisfaction on the other side of the conduit.

“Good, good. You see what we can do when we combine my knowledge of these things with your special heritage and talent for sorcery?”

“Do not patronize me, Malkizid,” Sarya snapped. She paced anxiously in front of the stone, her tail twitching from side to side. She had had little use for confined spaces since escaping from her prison beneath old Ascalhorn three years ago, and even though the mythal chamber beneath the castle’s great hall was large and spacious, she still did not care for it. “If Araevin has discovered me here, he will certainly carry word to Evermeet’s army and anyone else who cares to listen.”

The devil-prince fell silent a moment.

“You fear Evermeet’s army will pursue you even here,” he said at last.

“Twice now I have been denied the realm that is mine to rule-once in ancient Siluvanede, and a second time at Myth Glaurach. This city is the seat of my third realm, Malkizid, and here I will raise a mighty kingdom indeed. All I need is time, time to master more of your mythal spells, time to build my armies again.”

“You need not fear that possibility, Sarya,” said the demon-prince. “With the right mythal spells, you could stand a siege of centuries within Myth Drannor’s ruins.”

Sarya stopped her pacing and turned to face the mythal stone through which Malkizid spoke, even though she knew that he was not physically present.

“I have spent ages uncounted buried in traps and prisons! I am not going to simply sit within these crumbling ruins and allow my enemies to contain me here forever.”

“Then you must destroy Evermeet’s army. Since you cannot reach them where they are now, perhaps matters will turn to your advantage if they place themselves within your reach here.” Malkizid paused a moment, then asked, “Are you certain that Evermeet is your only foe? What of the Jaelre or Auzkovyn drow? Or the human lands near this city?”

Sarya barked in bitter laughter. “The drow have not seen fit to show themselves yet, and I doubt they will do so. Vesryn Aelorothi tells me that some demonic nemesis has all but harried them from the old Elven Court entirely. As for the humans… the humans have dreaded these woods for a thousand years or more. Why, the memories alone of old Cormanthyr have been sufficient to keep them from expanding into the forest.”

“A kingdom stands on four pillars, Sarya: magic, steel, coin, and allies. You can do without one pillar, but your realm will not survive long if you lack two or more. Here you have magical power, and soon an army to be reckoned with, when we bring more of my infernal warriors to your banner-under the terms of our existing bargain, of course. What of the other two pillars?”

“Commerce is for humans,” Sarya growled. “But allies… allies could be useful. Unfortunately, the nearest orcs or ogres of any number are in the lands of Thar, across the Moonsea.”

“I was speaking of the human powers that surround this forest. Or even the drow, for that matter.”

Sarya turned slowly to gaze into the aura of dancing golden light.

“I have no use for the drow,” she said. She was inclined to discount the rest of Malkizid’s suggestion, too, yet there was something in the archdevil’s words, wasn’t there? Even if she had no use for the humans, she certainly did not want to see Evermeet’s army ally with any of those powers against her. “But the humans… Sembia or Zhentil Keep have no interest in seeing Evermeet’s army in Cormanthor, do they? Perhaps these enemies could be turned against each other. But what would you gain from such a development, I wonder?”

“Your success is my success, Sarya Dlardrageth. You are the ally I have needed for five thousand years, the missing pillar in my kingdom. And I am the missing pillar in your new realm.” Sarya felt the archdevil’s keen hunger and ambition glinting through the mythal almost as if she were gazing into his eyes. “I have waited a long time for my freedom. You can help me gain it.”