Forsaken House

CHAPTER 9

14 Ches, the Year of Lightning Storms

They found a small thicket a spearcast from the tower, and led the horses inside the bramble patch. Araevin wove an illusory shelter to conceal the horses as best he could, just in case a dragon happened by.

"All right," he said. "I suppose it's as good as we can do here."

"I don't like the idea of leaving the horses here alone," Grayth said. "If something hungry comes along, they'd be in a hard spot. Should we post a watch out here?"

"Who?" countered Maresa. "If something hungry comes along, our sentry would be in a hard spot, too."

"I think I agree with Grayth," Araevin replied as he studied the sun-dappled forest. It seemed difficult to believe that it might prove dangerous, but there was a sense of menace in the air that he didn't like. It was nothing he could put his finger on, just a single note of warning in his heart that told him to be careful, to be thorough. "I'm not worried about the horses so much as the forest. I don't like the idea of being inside that tower with no idea of what might be skulking around out here."

"I'll stand guard," Brant offered. "I can keep an eye on the horses and the tower door at the same time. If you need me inside, you can simply shout."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Ilsevele asked.

"Well, I'd rather go in with the rest of you, but someone needs to do it." The young swordsman shrugged and looked around. "That looks like a good spot."

He trudged over to the enormous wreck of a fallen redwood, and settled himself against the moss-covered log. They left him there, and advanced on the ruin. Before they entered, Araevin cast a spell to sniff out any traces of magic in the old tower or its surroundings, while Grayth murmured a prayer to Lathander and searched for signs of evil. The others waited as the elf mage and the human cleric studied the ruins together.

"I sense no evil," Grayth said finally. "But if there are hidden chambers inside or below the ground, I wouldn't sense them from here."

"There is old magic here," Araevin said. "Old protective wards. Some have likely failed, but others may still remain functional. We will have to be careful."

"Can you dispel them?" Maresa asked.

"Possibly, but I hesitate to use such a spell until I know we need it. If I have to study my spellbooks again it would take hours." Araevin allowed his divination spell to fade. He checked his bandolier of components, and made sure his wands were holstered at his hip. Finally he loosened Moonrill in its sheath on his left hip. "All right. Let me cast some protective spells on the rest of you, in case we run into trouble."

He produced a pinch of granite dust and powdered diamond, and sprinkled it over Grayth, Maresa, and Ilsevele in turn. Murmuring the words of a potent defensive spell, he armored their flesh against physical blows. Then he cast a spell that provided all of them with the ability to see in the darkness. After that, Grayth blessed each of them with prayers sacred to Lathander, to protect them all against acid in case they encountered the horrible corrosive breath of a green dragon. With their spells in place, the small band advanced to the empty doorway in the stone house adjoining the tower, and one by one slipped inside.

The house itself was large, and likely had been quite comfortable and strong in its day. The wooden flooring was weak and rotten. Grayth, with his human weight and heavy armor, had to move with care, but the elves and the genasi were light enough to stand on it without worry. Large holes gaped in the roof overhead, and moldy heaps of fallen beams and broken shakes lay beneath each collapse. Rotten old chairs still stood around a sturdy table in the center of the first room, in front of an empty stone fireplace. The whole place was somewhat dank and musty.

"There can't be any magic that's too deadly in here," Maresa laughed. "There's a bird's nest in the rafters. Come on, let's see what's in the tower proper."

"Do you still sense the other stone?" Ilsevele asked Araevin.

"Yes," he answered, "but it is so close I cannot tell exactly where it is. All I know for certain is that it is here somewhere."

Araevin and the others followed Maresa through the empty rooms of the old house, looking in on old kitchens and disused bedchambers before they found the doorway leading into the base of the round tower at the house's far end.

Maresa studied it, and started to lean in to look around in the next chamber. A brilliant blue sigil glowed brightly above the doorway, and a sheet of coruscating azure lightning crackled across the doorway. Maresa yelped and hurled herself forward, rolling through the archway as the magical electricity snapped and popped around her. Smoke and sparks showered from the rotten wood of the lintel, and the stink of burning stone filled the air. "Maresa!" Ilsevele cried.

She started forward, but Araevin caught her arm.

"Wait!" he warned. "The sigil is not discharged."

Araevin hurriedly worked a counterspell, striking the glowing blue symbol from its place above the door. The hissing sheet of lightning guttered once and failed, leaving bright spots dancing in their eyes and acrid smoke drifting in the air. The instant the curtain of sparks collapsed, Ilsevele darted into the tower room, an arrow nocked on her bow. Araevin and Grayth started to follow, but a massive iron fist smashed into the doorway in front of them, crushing stone and blocking the way. The hulking arm drew back, replaced by a blank-eyed visage of the same black metal. The thing turned away from them and moved ponderously in pursuit of Maresa and Ilsevele.

"Damnation! That's an iron golem!" Grayth snarled. He glanced at Araevin. "Do you have any spells that can hurt it?"

Araevin quickly reviewed the spells he had stored in his mind, trying to imagine what might damage a hulking automaton of iron.

"Not really," he answered.

"Well, that's unfortunate," said the priest. "Guess I'll have to do it the hard way."

Grayth leaped into the room and aimed a powerful two-handed cut at the towering golem's knee. Holy steel clanged against animated iron with a terrible sound, and sparks flew from Grayth's blade, but all he achieved was a thin crease in the side of the construct's leg. The hulking machine pivoted and smashed its fists down at the Lathanderite, but Grayth backed away across the uneven floor, choosing to avoid the golem's terrible punches rather than try to parry them.

Now we know why the dragons haven't bothered with this place, Araevin thought grimly.

He followed Grayth into the room more carefully. The tower's ground floor was a large, round room with a sagging ceiling twenty feet overhead. The stairs leading to the upper stories were long gone, but rotten posts still stuck out of the sockets in the stone walls, circling the room as they led up. Once the chamber might have been some sort of workroom or laboratory. Old workbenches stood against the walls, and dusty old glassware was being smashed and broken at a furious rate by the attacking golem.

Maresa levitated in the air near the high ceiling, her white hair streaming around her as she hurled magical darts one after the other into the golem, which ignored them.

Ilsevele crouched atop a table, bow in hand. She took careful aim and fired a pair of arrows into the golem's back. One glanced off the thing's thick iron skin, but the other punctured a hole in the creature. The golem boomed and grated, its joints screeching like a rusted gate as it turned to face the latest attack.

"Maresa!" Araevin called. "Forget those spells, they can't hurt the creature."

"What do you want me to do?" the genasi snarled in frustration. "My rapier wouldn't even dent that thing!"

"Distract it from Ilsevele. She has arrows that can pierce it, but we have to keep it away from her."

"Distract it? How?" the genasi muttered, but she moved over to the wall and dislodged a large, loose stone from the wall. She grunted with effort, but managed to maintain her levitation spell and drift back over the iron golem before releasing the heavy stone. "Here, try this, you rust bucket!"

The block dropped ten feet and caught the golem square on the top of its head with a tremendous crash! before tumbling off its shoulder and cracking the flagstone floor. The golem staggered in its tracks, its head marred by a large dent, but the construct simply steadied itself and looked up at the genasi drifting overhead.

Araevin crouched in the doorway, thinking hard. He knew a little about golems. The living statues were common enough as defenses in wizards' towers and magical fortresses. Tower Reilloch possessed a small number of the devices, hidden in various places. Golems were built to be immune to most magic, but some spells could affect them, if in unexpected ways. Magical rust would be the best way to attack a golem of iron, but he had no such spells.

What other elements might serve? he thought furiously. Cold might make it brittle; fire was unlikely to trouble it much. Lightning? A creature made of iron couldn't possibly avoid a lightning bolt…

"Grayth! Back off a bit," he called.

As the cleric backed away, Araevin leveled his lightning wand at the golem and barked out the command word. With a roar like the tearing of an enormous sheet, the brilliant bolt slammed into the golem's chest. Arcs of electricity danced over its body. The golem lurched awkwardly and toppled backward, crushing a rotten old workbench, but it immediately climbed to its feet again.

Grayth chose that moment to dart in at the creature's back, ramming the point of his sword at a joint in the device's armor. The golem whirled on him and knocked the Lathanderite flying with one backhand blow of its mighty fist, but Grayth bounced back to his feet almost instantly. Araevin's protective spell had absorbed most of the blow for him. He started circling in more carefully. Meanwhile, Ilsevele shifted a few feet back, calmly sighted on the same joint that Grayth had pried open, and sent two more arrows deep into the constructs back. Sparks showered in its innards, and the golem stumbled to one knee. Abruptly it belched out a great cloud of horrible green gas, flooding the room with fumes.

Maresa was safe above the cloud, but Ilsevele threw a hand over her face and turned to scramble up the old sockets of the vanished staircase, leaping lightly from post to post as she climbed up and out of the bilious green vapors.

Araevin retreated back through the archway calling, "Grayth! Get out of there!"

The cleric stumbled out of the mist, coughing and gagging. He managed to get through the archway before falling to all fours, his sword clattering to the ground beside him. Blood flecked his beard, and his face and hands smoked with the awful vapor. Araevin hurried to his side, but Grayth waved him off.

"Check on the others," he gasped, "I will be fine."

He fumbled for his holy symbol and began to rasp the words of a healing prayer.

Araevin nodded and turned back to the doorway. He could hear the golem's great limbs creaking and scraping as it moved, but the thing was still hidden in the middle of its own poisonous mist.

"Ilsevele," Araevin said, "Maresa… are you hurt?"

"No, but we can't see the damned thing!" Maresa called back.

I may not be able to affect it directly with my spells, Araevin thought, but I can certainly do something about that.

He quickly pronounced the words of a wind spell, and blew the green vapors away from the golem. Maresa and Ilsevele huddled together at the place where the old stairs had met the floor above, the genasi holding the spellarcher steady in her precarious perch.

"That's better," Ilsevele said.

She laid an arrow across her bow and drew it back as far as she could before sending it down into the golem again. The arrow caught it in the back of the neck, sinking down deep into its iron chest. The automaton sparked and smoked, its arms jerked up and down, and it fell face-forward to the ground and didn't move again.

Araevin sighed in relief. He looked behind him, where Grayth stood unsteadily but had stopped coughing blood. The cleric plodded up to stand beside him, gazing at the wrecked golem on the floor of the tower room.

"Just like old times," he said. "Lathander grant that there aren't any more of those around."

"I'm sure it will be something worse," Araevin replied. He clapped the human on his broad shoulders. "Thanks, old friend."

"It was nothing," Grayth said, and he coughed hard, eyes watering, one mailed hand kneading his armored chest. "Your lady did all the hard work with her archery," he rasped. "I don't know if we could have beat that thing without her. Now let's find your gemstone and get out of here before we learn what else this place has in store for us."

Nurthel Floshin hurried into Sarya Dlardrageth's con-jury, wings trailing behind him like a great black cloak. His remaining eye glowed green with avarice and purpose, and his infernal golden mail gleamed in the lurid firelight Sarya favored in her chambers. He halted just inside the door and bowed before his queen.

"You sent for me, my lady?" he rumbled.

Restlessly, the demon-sired sorceress circled the chamber. The conjury was a vaulted stone room deep in the catacombs beneath the grand mage's palace. Five thousand years of imprisonment had left Sarya with a distaste for dungeons and deep vaults, and she therefore visited her conjury for only the most important of work.

"Lord Floshin, you would be well advised to answer with more alacrity when next I call for you," she hissed.

"I apologize, Lady Sarya. I was involved in working spells of sending to dispatch your orders to our spies in Yartar and Everlund."

Nurthel Floshin had served as Sarya's spymaster for almost five years, and continued to do so even after she had broken open Nar Kerymhoarth. He had been one of the first fey'ri she had gathered to her side on regaining her freedom, and he was far more familiar with the shape of things in the North than the ancient fey'ri warriors who made up her new armies.

"Ah. I might forgive you for that, then." Sarya's ceaseless prowling slowed a step. She glanced at her fey'ri servant, and moved over to a black silk shroud that covered some unseen furnishing in her conjury. "How go your efforts to locate the mage with the telkiira?"

Nurthel watched Sarya with interest. The shrouded object was something he hadn't seen before, and he was more than a little curious about it. Sarya didn't care to set foot in the conjury without good reason. On the other hand it was likely that Sarya would explain it in her own time. He quelled his curiosity and answered her question.

"Twice I have scried him briefly, but each time he has succeeded in blocking my divinations. I have dispatched two fey'ri to find him, but we are still so few in number, I did not dare send more. Just now I directed our agent in Yartar to retain the services of a certain merchant's guild, whose true trade involves dealing in information and dispensing with unwanted rivals. I have promised them a handsome sum if they locate this fellow for me."

"And what results have you achieved with all that effort?"

"I believe he is traveling on the Trade Way, heading south from Waterdeep. He is riding with four companions, including a high-ranking cleric of Lathander. I infer that he is in the process of traveling to the second stone, but I do not yet know where that is or how soon he might reach it."

Sarya trailed a hand over the black shroud and said, "That is not good enough. He might find the second and third telkiira before we find him! You must redouble your efforts, Nurthel. But perhaps I have failed to provide you with the proper implements for the task."

Sarya drew aside the silken shroud, and allowed it to fall to the floor, revealing a great crystal orb resting in a heavy iron stand. The device glimmered with «a weird emerald light deep in its countless facets.

"What is it?" Nurthel asked softly.

"A telthukiilir, a High Seeing Orb-one of the many useful treasures we recovered from the depths of Nar Kerymhoarth when we freed the fey'ri legion. This is an artifact of ancient Aryvandaar itself, buried for thousands of years in that dolorous citadel."

"A crystal ball?"

"Not quite. Crystal balls are useful enough, but they are easily blocked by those who know rudimentary defenses against scrying. The telthukiilir is a much more powerful instrument. You will find it capable of piercing all but the most powerful of barriers your opponent may raise. But you must use it with care, since its most powerful abilities consume its magic at a prodigious rate. The orb will require a long time to restore its power after defeating the defenses of a knowledgeable enemy." Sarya invited Nurthel with a languid gesture. "Try it now, if you like. I would do so myself, but you have seen this fellow. You will find him more quickly and easily than I would."

Nurthel moved up to stand before the orb. He reached out a hand to pass above the great crystal sphere, and he felt the restless surging of its magic beneath his fingertips. He whispered a few arcane words, and called to mind the face of the sun elf mage he sought.

"Show me the elf who carries the telkiira of Kaeledhin," he said.

The orb glimmered, as emerald energy spiraled deep below its surface. It grew transparent in the center, and Nurthel leaned closer, peering into the orb. Sarya watched him, her arms folded. In the orb an image formed of an old vine-covered tower in a great forest. The picture reeled and blurred, as if the orb was moving closer to it, then it steadied again. Nurthel gazed on the bronzed features of his nemesis from Tower Reilloch. Distantly he heard the sounds of battle, and he realized that the mage and his friends were engaged in a fight against some unseen peril.

"I see him!" he snarled.

"Good. Study the surroundings, fix them in your mind, then gather your company and summon your demonic allies. But remember, I want him alive. He can lead us to the last of the stones."

"He may prove difficult to coerce."

Sarya laughed and said, "Do not underestimate my powers of coercion, Lord Floshin! I am certain we will be able to persuade him to help us."

The forested hillsides above Elion glittered with the soft light of a thousand lanterns, looking for all the world like fireflies in a summer field. The night was cool but not cold, with a patchy silver overcast through which broad swaths of stars glittered. Seiveril stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing up from Seamist's green arbor at the growing army encamped about his seat. Each day more elves came, and more elves, so that the scattered camps of a hundred different bands, companies, clans, societies, and orders filled the hills above the Miritar palace.

"So many," he murmured. "So many. How can I hope to put them in some kind of order quickly enough to aid Evereska?"

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you sent your voice ringing over all of Evermeet, calling us to your banner," said Vesilde Gaerth.

Short and wiry, even by elf standards, the sun elf knight seemed like a stern-mannered youth barely out of childhood, not the Knight-Commander of the Golden Star. He waited with Seiveril for the rest of the Council of Captains. Each captain led one of the largest contingents within the gathering crusade. Over the past few days Seiveril had drafted them into service as an impromptu staff and command structure. In the case of Vesilde Gaerth, he commanded the Golden Star, one of the militant orders associated with the temple of Corellon Larethian. Vesilde Gaerth personally led more than five hundred clerics, knights, templars, and temple guards in Seiveril's crusade.

"What did you expect from your reckless speech, Lord Seiveril?" Vesilde continued. "You have no idea the trouble you have caused within the faith."

Seiveril nodded, silently accepting the rebuke. Vesilde Gaerth was an old friend and ally within the hierarchy of Corellon's faithful. Seiveril had hoped that the clerics and temple soldiers of his own faith would hear his call, and a great number did. But an equal number, mostly from the southern and western districts where the Durothils and Veldanns were strong, had chosen not to come. In fact, he'd heard just that morning that a Highmeet of the Star-grove had been called, so that the chief elders of Corellon's temple might consider whether Seiveril's actions could be sanctioned by the faith. More than a few of Corellon's priests were sun elves of old and conservative families, and Seiveril suspected that they might seek to remove him from his position in the clergy.

"Those words were not entirely my own, Lord Gaerth," Seiveril replied. "Corellon's hand was on my shoulder."

"So you say, old friend, and I believe you. But many who stand high in Corellon's faith are not so certain. Some openly wonder whether you are indeed speaking as the Seldarine command or simply claiming so in order to realize your own private ambitions."

"Ambitions? What ambitions?" Seiveril demanded. "What could I possibly hope to gain by resigning from the council and leaving Evermeet?"

"Well, for a start, you might succeed and return a hero. Everyone knows that you are high in Amlaruil's favor. I think that the Durothils fear that you are maneuvering to present House Miritar as a successor to House Moon-flower, should Amlaruil pass to Arvandor without leaving a Moonflower heir. The gods know that few indeed of the Moonflower children still live."

Seiveril shook his head in disgust and said, "When someone desires one thing above all others, she cannot believe that another person might not want it. Of course Lady Durothil thinks I'm maneuvering for the throne. She is wrong, you know."

"We are a passionate race, Seiveril. An elf's heart knows heights of glory and depths of despair that few other races can understand. You have given the People of Evermeet a great cause, a purpose suited to their longing, You should not be surprised that your words have taken root in many hearts, for good or ill."

A soft call came through the cool night air, "Lord Seiveril? The other captains are here."

"Excellent, Thilesin," Seiveril answered. "Please ask them to join us."

Seiveril waited while the younger cleric showed the other crusade leaders into the arbor. Thilesin was a priestess of middle rank in Corellon's Grove, the circle of clergy that Seiveril had led until a few days before. Like many others among the Grove, she had chosen to join Seiveril's quest. Somber and studious, Thilesin had proven to be indispensable as an aide-de-camp and adjutant. The quiet sun elf accompanied the other commanders into the arbor, and took up a position standing to one side, waiting for orders and decisions to record.

Seiveril studied his circle of captains. The first was Lord Elvath Muirreste, a tall, strong moon elf with pale skin and hair dark as shadow. He had formerly served as the leader of Elion's Silver Guard, the legion Seiveril was expected to muster and maintain on Evermeet's northerly coasts to defend the isle. Each of the high lords of the realm governing the isle's districts were required to do the same, supplementing the royal army with their own troops. Lord Muirreste served as Seiveril's marshal and captain, supervising the forces that owed loyalty to the Miritar family. Seiveril could not take the entirety of the Silver Guard with him, of course. He had promised Amlaruil that he would not compromise the safety of the realm. But the Silver Guard contingent comprised a company of knights, two of lighter cavalry, and three of infantry, totaling almost nine hundred uniformed knights and soldiers.

Jerreda Starcloak, the Green Lady of the wood elves, had been the first of the captains to arrive in Elion. Her wood elves filled the air with off-color songs and ribald jests as they trotted and gamboled along, roughhousing and boasting to each other. They did not make even the slightest attempt to form any sort of companies or march in any particular order. Each wood elf simply marched at whatever pace he and his friends enjoyed. But Jerreda Starcloak brought not two hundred, as she had promised in the Dome of Stars, but fully five hundred and fifty of the best archers, scouts, and forest-wise folk in Evermeet.

Mage Jorildyn, the fourth of Seiveril's captains, was one of the surviving mages of Tower Reilloch. A half-elf with a heavy and powerful build that seemed more suited to a swordsman than a wizard, he was in fact a very talented evoker and battle-mage who had fought alongside elven armies on many previous occasions. His beard was streaked with gray, belying his human blood, and his manner was blunt to a fault, though few dared sneer at his mixed heritage. Jorildyn represented the arcanists of the gathering army, almost a hundred mages, bladesing-ers, spellsingers, and spellarchers, not a few of whom had followed him from Tower Reilloch. The Circle of Reilloch Domayr needed little urging to consider a counterblow against the daemonfey and their demonic allies.

"Well, we all seem to be here," Seiveril began. "Thilesin, how stand our numbers so far?"

Thilesin consulted a small book she kept with her at all times and said, "The Moon Knights of the Temple of Sehanine Moonbow marched in an hour before sunset. They are only eighty strong, but they are all clerics and skilled swordsmen, and I understand all have some skill at healing magic. Earlier today a flight of Eagle Knights appeared."

"Yes, I saw them," Seiveril said. "I spoke with their captain."

The Eagle Knights were only thirty strong, but each was mounted on a giant eagle. They were invaluable as aerial scouts and would serve well against any flying enemies the army met. Seiveril wished dearly for a hundred more, but the Eagle Knights were indispensable to Evermeet's defenses, and he could not ask for any more to join his cause without straining his promise to Amlaruil.

"Also, Lord Celeilol Fireheart of Leuthilspar sent word that he will be here tomorrow afternoon. He is leading a company of spearmen in mail."

"I don't think I've ever heard of him," Seiveril said. He glanced at the others, who shrugged back at him. "How many in his company?"

"He reports two hundred and fifty. By my best count, that brings us to just over five thousand warriors, plus at least two thousand more in armorers, engineers, drivers, and other such folk."

"The Moon Knights are under the command of Ferryl Nimersyl?"

"Yes, Lord Seiveril."

"Please invite him to our captains' council, then. He has a sound mind and I know he fought well in Nime-sin's war."Seiveril paused to organize his thoughts. He would have to be careful about asking too many captains to attend his councils, but it would be difficult to limit his invitations without offending any who weren't asked to come.

"How about the individuals?" he asked.

Thilesin grimaced and replied, "It's very hard to get a count, Lord Seiveril. They show up by ones or twos and simply set up a camp wherever they like. I have arranged for my assistants to establish a station where all who come to join can sign up, and give us a name at least. Based on our rolls, which are incomplete, I'd say we have almost three thousand volunteers who aren't a part of any company or society."

"That could be fifteen companies of infantry," Elvath Muirreste observed. "How can we equip them all?"

"More to the point, how do we organize them into companies?" Seiveril asked. "I have no idea what to do with so many."

"Best to divide them among the companies we already have, I think," said Muirreste. "It would seem to be impossible to organize and equip new companies before we march, let alone train them for battle. Any we cannot place with a real company, we should send back home."

"Do not turn away anyone whose heart is full of courage, Seiveril," Jerreda Starcloak said. "Yes, we must do something to put these fellows in order, but they are willing, and they are waiting to be led. Marching and heeding orders can be taught, but determination and courage are harder to teach. If you give them the chance, they will storm a dragon's lair for you."

Seiveril replied, "For many of them, it is simply the passion of youth. They think they are signing on for the adventure — of their age, and they can't stand the thought of missing it."

"Yes, for many of our volunteers that is true," Jerreda said, "but I think you might do well to walk among the camps tonight and see who has answered your call, Lord Seiveril. They come from all over Evermeet. Many are soldiers of the Queen's Guard who resigned their positions to serve in your army. Others are huntsmen of the Silver Hills. We have dozens of noted swordsmen and archers; bladesingers, spellsingers, and spellarchers; and whole Towers full of mages. They might serve to leaven the rest."

"That many?" Seiveril asked. He thought hard. In truth, he wanted to do exactly as Jerreda suggested, and go among the newcomers, greet them, speak with them, find out who might be skilled or experienced enough to serve as a leader for the rest, but he dared not. There were much more dangerous problems demanding his attention. "All right, this is what we will do. Muirreste, Gaerth, I want you to select one third of your officers and sergeants to leave your companies and serve as leadership cadres for five new companies each, to be organized from our unattached volunteers. Make sure you pick some good and capable leaders for this duty. You will be promoting them, after all. Have the cadre commanders figure out how to build their new companies from our volunteers. In the meantime, you may go among the volunteers and see if any of them would serve to replace the captains and officers you will be losing."

"Lord Seiveril, I don't know if I can spare that many good officers," Knight-Commander Gaerth said.

"Lord Gaerth, you and Muirreste have the largest, most well organized contingents here. If anyone can spare seasoned commanders, it's the Silver Guard and the Knights of the Golden Star." Seiveril offered a stern smile and added, "I don't want to leave anyone behind who wants to go, and I can't have them organize their own companies. You will have to help them."

"We will do our best," the sun elf knight capitulated with a grimace.

"My thanks," Seiveril replied. He glanced at each of his principal officers again, and offered a rueful smile. "I know it is difficult, but time is pressing. Since we were not permitted to bring Evermeet's army to aid our kinsfolk in Faerun, we must build the best force we can in the shortest time. I want to send at least some of our strength through the elfgates to Evereska in two days' time. Now, do we have any other pressing business?"

"I fear so," said the mage Jorildyn. "Tell me, Lord Seiveril, have you decided which elfgates you wish to use to move the army to Faerun?"

"There's a gate to Evereska about ten miles from here," Seiveril replied. "I understand it can be held open for several hours at a time, long enough for quite a few troops to march through."

"I think we should put it under a strong guard."

Seiveril looked sharply at the mage and asked, "Why?"

"It occurs to me that your crusade could be easily defeated or delayed if it proved impossible to move to Faerun when you would like. If you were forced to use a gate that led to some place hundreds of miles from the fight, you might conclude that you could never get there in time. There are powerful families on the council who feel that you flouted their will by arranging your voluntary crusade. They might be willing to return the favor by denying you the means to leave the isle where and when you wish."

"You think matters are that serious?" Seiveril asked with a frown.

The heavy-shouldered mage replied, "Are you confident they are not, Lord Seiveril?"

The nobleman studied his chief mage, conscious of the eyes of the other captains on him.

"Lord Gaerth,' he said, "have your troops provide a guard over the elfgates we intend to use. Mage Jorildyn, assign a few of your spellcasters to assist him. We may have no cause for such measures, but perhaps it would be better to deter any trouble of this sort than to find out we were wrong."