Final Gate

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

18 Eleasias, the Year of Lightning Storms

High magic blazed around Araevin like a mantle of white fire. Like heat rising from a blacksmith’s forge, the incandescent power enfolding him left the chamber around him shimmering and dancing. The spire itself seemed to tremble with each word of the kileaarna reithirgir.

“Araevin! We are running out of time!” Donnor had to shout to make himself heard over the roar of the mighty magic in the room.

“You must hold them off a little longer!” he managed to shout back at Donnor, trying not to let his friend’s warning distract him.

His companions fought a desperate skirmish to keep Malkizid’s servants out of the room, but Araevin could spare them none of his power. Attacking Malkizid’s elemental shield took all of his strength, and he feared that if he stopped to aid his comrades he would not be able to begin again.

Wielding lances of argent fire with his mind, he hammered at the defenses of the third shard. He struck at the orbiting boulders first, hurling them aside. The great spiked stones crushed masonry and shattered the tiles of the floor when they landed. Araevin risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that a pair of winged devils harried Nesterin and Maresa near the top of the stairwell. The next stone sphere that he tore out of Malkizid’s warding spell he sent hurtling at the flapping monsters, crushing one against the wall.

The spinning bands of fire he dealt with next, using the shield’s own waters to quench them. One by one he guided each arc of flame into collisions with the half-globe of shimmering water that revolved slowly around the center. Steam hissed and poured away from the elemental shield, giving Araevin a glimpse of the last defense-the vortex of wind. The furious cyclone sucked in the plumes of steam, growing cloudy as it did so. Lightning danced and crackled within.

“We could use your help, Araevin!” Maresa called.

The genasi fought with rapier in one hand and wand in the other, lunging forward to stab and slash, darting back to pummel her opponents with bright darts of magic. She was no mage, but she had skill enough to put a wand to good use. Unfortunately, more of Malkizid’s servants were pouring into the room.

“I almost have it!” he shouted back to her. “Donnor, can you block the stair?”

The Lathanderite had been fighting a few steps down out of Araevin’s sight, but he retreated back up into the chamber at the top of the spire. Black furrows raked his armor in at least two places, and his sword burned with furious white radiance. Seizing the golden sunburst of Lathander that hung around his neck, he raised it high and called out, “Lord of the Dawn, ward us from our foes!”

Hundreds of golden sparkles danced around the cleric, slowly beginning to grow larger and revolve around him. In the space of a moment, they flew and whirled too fast for the eye to follow, each one a spinning razor of golden light. With shrieks of anger, the infernal monsters trying to fight their way into the chamber recoiled, not before some had been slashed to ribbons by Donnor’s spell.

“Finish your work, Araevin!” the cleric shouted.

Araevin turned his attention back to the shield of winds, the last barrier in Malkizid’s elemental ward. Carefully he began to unbind the spell. The last shard hung in plain sight now, glowing softly with the proximity of its sister shards. He had only-

A font of ebon flame sprang up from the flagstones, almost directly beneath the floating shard. It blazed and danced in a shout of black power, and it took the shape of a tall, pale seraph as cold as marble. A seeping wound marked his forehead, dripping black blood.

“You believe you can defy me in my own citadel?” the pale lord snarled. “Your punishment will last a thousand years, fool!”

Araevin recoiled a step before the dark king’s vehemence. “Malkizid,” he murmured.

It seemed that the master of the tower had indeed returned. With a grimace of frustration, he allowed the kileaarna reithirgir to gutter out, not yet completed. He would need every ounce of his strength for the struggle to come.

The archdevil studied his face for a moment. “You must be Araevin Teshurr,” he observed. His voice was eerily beautiful, even in the depths of his anger. “I see that the telmiirkara neshyrr has left its mark on you. A shame, since I might have made something of you otherwise.” He bared his teeth in a feral grin, and the terrible wound across his brow began to gleam darkly.

“Strike, my friends!” Araevin cried.

He heard the sharp thrumming of bowstrings, and arrows flashed at Malkizid. The archdevil parried one with a quick motion of his black sword, and simply stopped the others with his outstretched hand. Araevin wove his hands together and intoned the words of a powerful spell, conjuring a spellchain of green energy around Malkizid. The links settled closer to the archdevil, but Malkizid countered and shifted the spellchain away. In the blink of an eye it appeared around Jorin Kell Harthan, who was approaching the archdevil with his swords in his hands. The Aglarondan cried out in dismay and stumbled to the floor as Araevin’s spellchain ensnared him instead.

“You are a fool if you think you can defeat me with your spells,” Malkizid gloated. “Who do you think taught Saelethil Dlardrageth his lore? I tutored the Vyshaanti archmages when the world was young! You are not their equal.”

Araevin ignored Malkizid’s boasting and started on another spell, seeking something that the archdevil could not deflect. But Malkizid simply stared at Araevin. The brand above the archdevil’s brow burst into black flame. It demanded Araevin’s attention, and when the sun elf’s eye fell on the brand Malkizid’s towering malevolence and will struck him like a physical blow. Lines of fire seemed to burn themselves into Araevin’s face as he stood transfixed by the archdevil’s terrible visage. He felt his friends behind him fighting their own silent struggles against Malkizid’s black stare.

Behind him, Nesterin cried out, “Corellon, it burns!”

“Corellon himself placed that mark on my brow, elf,” Malkizid hissed. “You quail so after only an instant of the torment I have endured for twenty thousand years?”

Araevin ground his teeth and fought down the pain. He tried to grope his way toward a spell, any spell, but it was impossible. The grip of Malkizid’s terrible will was simply too strong. He looked up at the third shard of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal, spinning slowly within its cocoon of shrieking wind.

So close! he thought. So close!

The archdevil stalked closer, shifting his grip on his ebon blade. Behind Araevin, Donnor let out a grunt of agony-but then the human stumbled through the verses of a holy prayer and invoked a ring of golden light. The light washed over Araevin harmlessly, but seared Malkizid’s marble flesh and left a great smoking scar across the archdevil’s torso.

Malkizid roared in anger and staggered back several steps. He wheeled around, fixing his attention on the Tethyrian.

“Insolent dog!” he snarled-and the terrible burning brand that filled Araevin’s eyes vanished.

Gasping for breath, Araevin slumped to his knees. He could feel blood streaming from his wounded face, but the awful power that had held him motionless was gone. Fight it off! he railed at himself. I must do something before he destroys us all.

“The ondreier ysele,” he murmured. The Word of Potency… a comparatively simple high magic spell that added strength to lesser spells. From his knees, Araevin focused his mind and will and fanned the embers of power burning in his soul. Shining like a silver beacon, he shouted out the Word of Potency. The spire top rocked with its raw might.

“No!” Malkizid whirled back on him, raising his taloned hand to counter what followed.

But Araevin had judged his moment right, catching the archdevil at the exact moment his attention had been fixed on Donnor. Before Malkizid could raise a defense against the Word of Potency, Araevin struck again with a spell of integument. The Branded King vanished in an instant, hurled headlong into a dimensional prison that glittered once in the air where he had stood before fading out of view.

Nesterin stared in amazement. “You defeated him, Araevin!”

“No,” Araevin gasped. “The dimensional maze will restrain him for only a few moments. We must be gone from this place before he returns.”

He looked up at the shard, still waiting overhead, and tried to find the strength for a spell to deal with the remaining fragments of Malkizid’s elemental shield. Think, Araevin! Think! he exhorted himself. There had to be a way.

Maresa looked over to Araevin. “Can you get it?” she asked. Red blood ran down her snow-white features from angry cuts across her face, but she was still on her feet.

“I don’t have a spell to overcome the last shield.”

The genasi glanced up at the shard, and frowned. “Only the wind remains?”

“Yes, I unbound the rest of the spell.” Araevin staggered to his feet, still furiously searching for some way to deal with the elemental shield. If he couldn’t come up with anything, they would have to retreat and try again later… but Malkizid would be waiting for them next time.

Maresa spread her arms wide, and lifted herself into the air. Without a moment’s hesitation, the genasi levitated herself toward the sphere of shrieking, howling wind. Araevin stared in horror.

“Maresa, no!” he cried. “It will tear you to pieces!”

She ignored him and flew straight into the spinning gray globe. Araevin cringed, expecting to see her flung out of the elemental shield-but instead the winds seemed to simply part around her. Her long white air streamed softly behind her head as it always did, seemingly unaffected by the hurricane raging around her. She reached out and seized the last shard of the crystal, and just as swiftly dropped back down through the sphere of wind. She alighted next to Araevin, and extended the shard to him.

“Can we go now?” Maresa asked.

“How did you-?”

“I’m a genasi, you idiot, a daughter of the elemental air.” Maresa looked over to the place where Malkizid had vanished. The dimensional prison was becoming visible again, brightening as it returned to reality. The archdevil would return in mere heartbeats. “If you have a way to get us all out of here, this would be a good time.”

Araevin set his astonishment aside for later. “Quickly, join hands!” he told the others.

Nesterin and Donnor helped Jorin, who had been mauled by the errant spellchain, to Araevin’s side. Taking Maresa’s hand and Donnor’s hand in his own, Araevin chanted the words of a planewalking spell. Even though he was numb and cold with fatigue, he reached into the deepest wellsprings of his strength and found the willpower to finish the spell.

The last thing he saw of the spire top was Malkizid emerging from the dimensional prison, his face contorted in pure fury. Then the Branded King’s fortress vanished into silver, silent mist.

The last rays of sunset painted the walls of Sarya’s throne chamber a brilliant red-gold. Two days had passed since the defeat in the Vale of Lost Voices, and the weather had turned clear and warm again.

She stood facing the window, looking out over the tree-shaded ruins of the ancient city. She had first walked the streets of this place more than five millennia ago, when Arcorar, the Great Forest, was the name of the realm. She could still make out the faint suggestions of that old city, even though it had evolved over many centuries into Myth Drannor before meeting its end.

“The fey’ri are here, Mother,” Xhalph said quietly.

She nodded and turned away from the view. Mardeiym Reithel and Vesryn Aelorothi had survived the battle in the vale, so she still had her general and her spymaster. But the bladesinger Jasrya Aelorothi was dead, killed by some human archer’s lucky shot. Hundreds more of her fey’ri had died fighting against the guardians of the vale. Her legion had been reduced to no more than five hundred strong.

She studied her subjects for a moment. Mardeiym and Vesryn returned her gaze without expression, while Alysir Ursequarra’s eyes burned with a fierce anger barely kept in check. The half-dozen remaining House lords did not meet her eyes.

“What news, Vesryn?” Sarya asked the vulture-featured sorcerer. “Have our guests arrived yet?”

“The armies of Evermeet and Sembia have encircled the city, my queen,” Vesryn Aelorothi reported. “They are preparing fortifications to besiege us.”

“I am not concerned,” Sarya replied. She paced back to the window, leaving her back to her subjects. “The mythal protects us. I can destroy any paleblood or human who sets foot in Myth Drannor. Miritar and his human allies can bark and bay in the forest outside our walls for a hundred years.”

“Then what was the purpose of fighting in the vale of Lost Voices?” Alysir Ursequarra demanded from behind her. “What advantage did you seek by abandoning the defenses of this city in order to meet our enemies so far beyond our walls? And how could you fail to anticipate that the guardian spirits of the vale would side with Seiveril Miritar?”

Sarya ceased her pacing and eyed the fey’ri over her shoulder. “I have always thought it foolish to teach my subjects to guard their thoughts in my presence,” she said in a cold voice. “However, it is equally unwise to tolerate insolence. I rule here, Lady Alysir, and you exceed my tolerance.”

Alysir Ursequarra threw back her head in defiance and set her hand on the hilt of her sword. “I only speak what all here think, Sarya Dlardrageth. If you believe that you can extinguish our doubts by destroying me, then you should do so. Otherwise, I demand answers.”

“In that case, I choose to destroy you,” Sarya said.

She whirled on the fey’ri and hissed the words to a dreadful necromancy. The fey’ri drew her sword and leaped for Sarya, conjuring a spell of her own to fling at her queen-but Sarya’s spell proved the quicker. In mid-leap a fierce midnight flame erupted from Alysir’s mouth, her eyes, even her finely scaled flesh. Her spell drowned in the horrible crackling darkness that consumed her, feeding on her body as if she were made of tinder.

The rebellious fey’ri crashed to the stone floor at Sarya’s feet, screaming black fire. She found the sheer willpower and determination to claw herself two paces closer, while the awful black flames devoured her alive. Sarya smiled coldly and took a step back, remaining just out of Alysir’s reach. The ebon flames were quite dangerous, after all, and could easily spread. In a few moments there was nothing left of Alysir Ursequarra but a charred skeleton encased in blackened mail.

Sarya extinguished the flames with a single curt gesture and returned her attention to the fey’ri lords that remained. “Does anyone else wish to question my authority?” she asked. None of the others spoke up. They simply waited in silence.

“As it so happens, I had several compelling reasons to try Miritar’s strength in the vale,” she continued. “First, the open terrain favored us greatly. We worked great destruction with the advantage of the skies in the early hours of the battle. Second, I did not care to allow myself to fall under siege here. Permitting Miritar to reach Myth Drannor struck me as something that might be seen as weakness in the lands surrounding Cormanthor, even if I felt confident that he could not storm the city in the face of my control over the mythal.

“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.

The silver-haired elflord strode up and gripped Araevin’s arm with a fierce smile. “Well met, Araevin! You are exactly the person I was hoping to see.”

“I did not expect to find you on the doorstep of Myth Drannor. Nor did I expect to find the Sembians fighting at your side.” He turned to Ilsevele. “It seems that Ilsevele’s mission must have met with some success.”

Ilsevele dropped her gaze when he looked at her. “Lord Selkirk of the Sembia had the sense to see that the daemonfey were enemies to all of us. I had little to do with that.”

Araevin released Seiveril’s hand and moved to embrace his betrothed. She returned the gesture without looking into his face, and gave him a light kiss on his cheek before disentangling herself from his arms. The mage stopped in surprise and frowned. Had they quarreled that badly when they parted in Deepingdale? She did not seem angry, though. She seemed… resigned.

A cold ache knotted the center of his chest. “Ilsevele, what is wrong?” he asked softly.

“We will speak later,” she answered, just as softly. “I am glad to see that you have returned safely, though.” Then she moved past him to embrace Maresa, and warmly greeted Donnor, Jorin, and Nesterin. Araevin stared after her, then made himself turn and offer his hand to Starbrow, who stood nearby.

“Welcome back, Araevin.” The moon elf gave him an oddly strained smile. “Did you find what you were after?”

“I did,” Araevin replied. “I have much to tell you-all of you. But first, I’d like to know how you ended up here. When I set out the Crusade was defending Semberholme. Now you are besieging Myth Drannor. I have only been away for a month.”

“Understandable,” Seiveril said. He indicated several lightly built divans that were arranged around a small table to one side of the room. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. We will trade tales.”

They passed some time exchanging news. First Seiveril and Ilsevele told the story of the defense of Semberholme, the embassy to Miklos Selkirk in Tegal’s Mark, the daemonfey plot to turn the Crusade against the Sembians, and the eventual alliance. Seiveril went on to describe the Battle of the Vale, and the victory over the fey’ri and their demonic allies.

“It was not without cost, I fear. We lost many warriors, and the Dalesfolk and Sembians lost even more. I am afraid that Ferryl Nimersyl and most of the Moon Knights perished, along with your colleague Jorildyn.”

“Jorildyn is dead?” Araevin sighed. They’d studied together at Tower Reilloch for twenty years or more. He would miss the taciturn half-elf. “How did it happen?”

“He was killed by the archdevil Malkizid.”

“Malkizid?” Maresa interrupted. “He was here?”

Seiveril and Starbrow nodded. “Yes, he took the field against us in the Battle of the Vale. But he suddenly abandoned the daemonfey army.”

“I think that was Araevin’s doing,” Nesterin said. The star elf shook his head. “We wondered where the master of the house was. Now we know.”

“You were in Malkizid’s domain?” Seiveril asked. His brows rose in surprise. “What in the world were you doing there?”

“I suppose that now we should share our story,” Araevin answered. He took a deep breath, and went on to describe their own travels-the expedition to the Nameless Dungeon, the passage to the Waymeet, the long dark quest in the blackness of Lorosfyr, and finally the perilous journey across the Barrens of Doom and Despair. When he finished, he produced the Gatekeeper’s Crystal, complete with all three shards joined to make a three-pointed star. “The daemonfey know that I have at least one shard of this device now. They must suspect that I might have all three… though Sarya and Malkizid may not know how much the Gatekeeper aided us.”

“Please excuse my ignorance, Araevin,” Theremen Ulath said, “but now that you have recovered this device, what is it for?”

“I believe I can dismiss the mythal wards barring you from Myth Drannor.”

Seiveril drew in his breath. “You can breach the daemonfey spells? How long will it take you?”

“Give me a short time to prepare, and I could attempt it this evening,” Araevin said.

“The sooner, the better,” Seiveril answered. “We should-”

“I don’t agree, Seiveril.” Starbrow held up his hand, interrupting the elflord. “We should assault the city the moment the mythal’s defenses fall. Why allow the daemonfey any time at all to improvise other defenses or organize a retreat? Better to wait until we are ready to exploit Araevin’s magic by storming Myth Drannor the instant Sarya’s defenses fall.”

Seiveril frowned with impatience, but he nodded. “I concede the point. The heavier our strike, the fewer will escape. At first light, then?” He looked over to Araevin. “Does that suit you?”

Araevin grimaced. “The longer we wait, the more that can go wrong. But I’ll wait until you are ready.”

“Very well. I must advise Lord Selkirk of our plans. Please excuse me. Araevin, I’m sure that Felael or Vessen can have your horses looked after and find you and your companions a place to rest somewhere nearby.” The elflord stood and took his leave. Vesilde Gaerth and Theremen Ulath departed with him. They would have a long night’s work ahead of them.

Starbrow lingered for a moment, but he left too after Ilsevele looked up at him and gave him a nod. Now what was that about? Araevin wondered.

“Mage Teshurr?” The sun elf Vessen appeared in the hall shortly after Seiveril left. “We’ve looked after your horses. I can show you to a place to rest, if you like.”

Araevin faced his companions. “Go on ahead. I’ll find you shortly.”

“I can’t promise that we’ll save you any supper,” Maresa jibed. She poked him once in the ribs then she, Donnor, Jorin, and Nesterin followed Vessen through a different doorway in the old ruin. Araevin watched them leave then turned back to Ilsevele. She still sat on one of the divans, looking down at her hands in her lap. Her hair, a dark copper-red in the shadows of the hall, was gathered in a long braid over her shoulder.

They remained there in silence for some time. Araevin stood gazing on her, and she did not look up at him. Finally he decided that he could not stand it any longer. “Ilsevele,” he murmured. “Why-?” And he stopped, unable to ask the questions that were in his heart. Instead he said, “I did not realize you were so angry with me. I am sorry if I have hurt you.”

She sighed and met his eyes when he spoke. “I am not angry with you, Araevin. I am sad, but I’m not angry.”

A sudden cold certainty descended over him. “You are breaking our betrothal.”

“I am.”

“I know we have walked different roads in the last few years, Ilsevele, but I still hope to mend that.” He waved his hand at the ruined manor and the darkening woods outside. “This will pass. We will have the rest of our lives to make things right.”

“I do not think so. There is something more I must tell you, Araevin. You are not the only one in my heart.” Ilsevele did not allow herself to look away from him. “I did not mean for it to happen. It has only become clear to me in the last few tendays. But I know that I cannot remain betrothed to you while my thoughts dwell on another.”

“I–I do not understand.” Araevin took two numb steps to the divan and sat down stiffly beside her. “How could your heart turn from me in a single season, Ilsevele? Did you feel this way when we walked together into Sildeyuir? When we passed the days of spring together in Silverymoon?”

“My heart did not turn from you, Araevin, yours turned from me.” She looked away from him, and a tear ran down her cheek. “The passion that moves you now leaves no room for mortal love. You are no longer Tel’Quessir, but something more. When you remade yourself for high magic in the shadows of Sildeyuir, you left behind the communion of the People. I cannot sense your feelings, I cannot speak to you without words. If I close my eyes, I feel your presence as a blazing fire… but your heart is closed to me. And you cannot even see this for yourself.”

“Ilsevele…” he said.

He started to tell her that it was not true, that he simply had not been paying attention, but he realized that she was right. He hadn’t spent much time around many other elves since coming back from Sildeyuir, so he had not noticed the distance he truly felt. The communion elves shared with each other, the bond that tethered the hearts of the People together, was almost entirely lost to him. He felt as if he were hundreds of miles from Ilsevele, sensing her presence only as a dimly glowing ember, when he should have felt her sorrow and her fear for him as strongly as anything in his own heart.

You will count this a great gift for now, yet you will also know regret. This was the price of the eladrin’s kiss.

Ilsevele looked up to his eyes again. “I felt this moment approaching for a long time, Araevin. It is not simply your… transformation into a high mage. I believe that we have been following different paths for a long time now.”

He gazed at her in silence for a while. Finally he said, “We have been promised to each other for almost twenty years.”

“The custom of our people,” she said, with a wistful smile. “But I think if we were ever going to marry, it should have been long before now. We lost the passion, the wonder, of our first years together. It vanished into… familiarity. I served the queen in Leuthilspar, and you returned to your studies in Tower Reilloch, and our thoughts, our hearts, turned to the things that kept us apart.” She reached out and took his hand. His golden skin was faintly luminous in the gathering dusk. “When I first began to harbor doubts, I regarded our long betrothal as a mistake. I thought that if we had married sooner, we would not have had so long to grow apart. But now I see the wisdom of the custom. Better to find out whether a marriage can stand the centuries we are given before the vows are spoken.”

He frowned, considering her words. That first summer in the woods and glades of Elion… nothing had mattered to either of them except the moments they could spend alone. In the years since, they had found glimmers of that memory, but nothing that ever equaled it. Had he asked for her hand in marriage because he sensed that distance growing and hoped to overcome it? Or was it simply a matter of doing what was expected of him?

Still caught up in that thought, he asked, “Who is he, Ilsevele?”

Now she looked away. “Starbrow,” she said. “I know it is sudden. I do not know what to make of it myself.”

Araevin closed his eyes. At least it was not anything she had tried to conceal from him. After all, she had only met the moon elf a few months ago. He was reasonably sure that even in their first travels with Starbrow, when they had explored the daemonfey portals beneath Myth Glaurach, nothing more than friendship had passed between them.

“At least I am in good company,” he muttered to himself. “I hope you find happiness with him, Ilsevele. You deserve it.”

“I think you mean that, Araevin. And I thank you for it.”

He sat in silence for a while, his hand in hers. It was not just the change brought upon him by the telmiirkara neshyrr. She was right. They had started to grow apart years ago. There was a moment only a few months ago when he brought Ilsevele to Faerun for her first time, and the wonder of the wide lands in her eyes rekindled something of their old passion. But it seemed that had been little more than a glimpse of a memory.

“I should not have stayed in Reilloch all those years,” he murmured.

“I do not believe that,” she said. “You have done what you were intended to do, Araevin. You have become a high mage. And who can say what might have happened this year if you had not?”

He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes. She was beautiful in the moonlight, and his heart ached with a deep, hot hurt. But he could not say that she was wrong.

“You will always be dear to me,” he said.

“And you to me,” she answered. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. “I hope you can forgive me, Araevin.”

He essayed a sad smile of his own. “I hope I can forgive myself,” he managed.

Then they both stood, and found their way out into the warm night.