Final Gate (40 page)

“Which way from here, Mother?” Xhalph rumbled. “Vesryn is right. We must decide swiftly. This place is disintegrating around us.”

“I can see that!” Sarya snapped.

She studied the Waymeet’s maze of portals and corridors with a fearsome scowl. She knew several doors that might lead to useful destinations, but something had happened to the ancient mythal only moments after she and her small entourage had emerged from the door leading back to Myth Drannor. All around her, portals were growing unstable. Some remained open continuously, others surged and closed unpredictably, and still more were guttering out into dull gray uselessness. Malkizid’s work? she wondered. Or the work of the palebloods?

“We need a place where our enemies will not follow,” she said aloud, “a place where we can rebuild our strength in secret. We must hide for now, and in time we will embark on a new campaign against the usurpers of our birthright-a campaign of stealth, subterfuge, and deceit. The next time we move against the palebloods, we will do so in secret. For now, we must survive.” If skulking and hiding was all that she could do, then she would do it as well as she could.

“What of the refuge beneath Lothen?” Xhalph said. “Our enemies do not know of it.”

“It strikes me as dangerously close to the wood elves of the High Forest, Lord Xhalph,” Vesryn Aelorothi offered. “The palebloods will certainly use divination magic to sniff us out. It might be better to hide somewhere far away.”

Xhalph did not often stand for correction from one of their lessers, but in this case he did not rebuke the vulturelike fey’ri spymaster. Even he had realized that sheer fury and bloodlust might not be the way to victory any longer. “The Abyss? I doubt the palebloods would follow us there.”

Sarya shook her head. “I will not go to the Abyss in defeat. I have no wish to beg protection from a demon lord.” There were some who might offer her refuge, but she would not allow herself to be made into a vassal again. She thought about it for a moment more and made her decision. “We will seek out a portal to some remote part of Faerun … Chult, perhaps, or maybe the lands beyond the Unapproachable East. Come; we will find a speaking stone and make the Gatekeeper show us a suitable portal.” And if they happened to encounter Malkizid, why, she might demand an accounting from the archdevil.

She unfurled her wings and leaped into the air, soaring easily over the mazelike arrangement of corridors and walls that made up the Waymeet. She spied the cluster of higher towers and spars that marked the center of the device, and banked in that direction. Below her, she spied several dead mezzoloths, sprawled out in one of the main boulevards of the place. What is going on in this place? she wondered. Is Malkizid at war with some other infernal power?

“There has been fighting here,” Xhalph said. “Those yugoloths have not been dead long.”

The actinic flash of a lightning-spell close by threw a harsh white glare across the Waymeet’s towers and columns, followed an instant later by a sharp crack of thunder. Apparently, the fighting was not yet over. Sarya would have ignored it and continued on her way, but as it happened, her chosen course was leading her toward the place where the lightning had flashed.

“It’s the master specking stone,” she hissed.

“Allow me, Lady Sarya,” one of the fey’ri warriors said. “I will spy it out and see who is there.”

“Very well,” she agreed. “Be swift, and do not allow yourself to be seen.”

The warrior murmured a spell to cloak himself in invisibility and hurried off toward the center of the complex. Sarya alighted on a high spar to await his report. The Waymeet rumbled with a deep, ominous groan, and not far off one of the high spires lost its footing and toppled over slowly, crashing to the ground with the shriek of twisting iron and the shrill sound of shattering glass. More portals flickered and went dark.

“I do not think we will be able to return to this place once we depart,” Vesryn said quietly.

“It suits me for now,” Sarya replied. “Presently, no one will be able to follow us through this place. That may turn to our advantage.”

She heard the beat of unseen wings, and her warrior returned. He allowed his invisibility to fade. “It is the paleblood mage, Lady Sarya,” he reported.

“Araevin Teshurr?”

“Yes. He has several companions with him—a human, a half-breed, an elf of a kindred I do not recognize, and some other planetouched woman. They are in the square of the master speaking stone, as you said. They just drove off a small number of yugoloths and baatezu.”

“The mage must have damaged the Waymeet,” Sarya breathed. Malkizid had told her that he had gotten his hands on a shard of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal. Was that sufficient to explain the destruction of the mythal around her? Or, for that matter, was that how the palebloods had dealt with her defenses at Myth Drannor?

“There is something more, my queen,” the warrior said. “The mage, the strange elf, and the half-breed all are wounded. The strange elf and the half-breed can’t walk without help. They are heading that way”—he pointed, indicating a course at right angles to Sarya’s—”making for a portal.”

Sarya glanced at her small company. She had eight who could fight, including the vrocks. Araevin had half as many, and two of them were hurt. She might not be able to undo what he had done to her mythal’s defenses at Myth Drannor, but she could make sure that he paid for the trouble he had caused her.

“Then it seems we have one more enemy to deal with before we abandon this place,” she said “Lead the way, my warrior. Araevin Teshurr is mine.”

*****

The battle for Myth Drannor had broken down into a hundred fierce skirmishes. Bands of elves, Dalesfolk, and Sembians hunted the streets, searching out the surviving fey’ri and infernal monsters summoned by Sarya

Dlardrageth. Many of those had vanished with the Araevin’s reduction of the mythal, but some still remained, creatures that had been brought to Faerun through means other than the mythal. Ilsevele did not intend to allow any of those to escape, if she could help it.

At noon she found a few moments of quiet and allowed herself to grieve for her father. He knew it was going to happen, she reflected. He understood the designs of the Seldarine, and he did not shy from the part he was given. The only thing that kept her heart from breaking was the thought that her father did not regret the time of his death … and he was once again with Ilyyela, whom he had loved for three hundred years. How could she begrudge him that reunion?

A rustle of armor brought her back to the streets of Myth Drannor. She looked up as Vesilde Gaerth, the slightly built warrior who led the Knights of the Golden Star, leaned against the ivy-covered wall beside her.

“You do not need to go on today,” he said softly. “Stay by your father, Ilsevele. We can finish this for you and allow you to grieve.”

“I know,” she said. “But I feel that I must finish Father’s work here, Vesilde. I will grieve for him later.”

“Have you given thought to what follows this victory?” the elf knight asked.

“You have been my father’s second throughout this war, Vesilde. It is up to you. You command the Crusade.”

“I may have been Seiveril’s second, Ilsevele, but I am not his heir. You are House Miritar now.” Vesilde knelt beside her and took her hands in his. “This war ends today. The Crusade has accomplished its purpose; the daemonfey are broken. What will tomorrow bring?”

“We must make sure that Sarya Dlardrageth and any fey’ri who escaped are found and dealt with.”

“You misunderstand me. After today, I trust we will deal with the daemonfey.” The slight sun elf shook his hair out of his eyes. “I was speaking of what follows our victory over the daemonfey. Your father had a vision of what might take root here, Ilsevele. To him, this was not just a Crusade against the Dlardrageths. This was the Return, a homecoming to the ancient lands of our people. With his death, will that vision still come to be?”

She frowned, studying the lush green forests that had grown over the city. The day was growing warm, warmer than it would ever be on a summer day in Evermeet, even though the season was fading toward fall.

“I think I will stay for a time,” she finally said. “If nothing else, I want to be certain that no enemies arise in our ancient lands again. I suppose there will be others who feel the same.”

“But I do not, Ilsevele. Evermeet is my home. I followed your father here out of my love for him, and my desire to see justice done for the murders at Tower Reilloch.” Vesilde frowned, searching her face. “I suppose what I am trying to say is this: If you believe in your father’s Return, you must take up his banner. You must look after those of our People who hope to make Cormanthor their home again, you must treat with the human of these lands, and you must make sure that our foes are defeated and driven out of Cormanthor. That is what your father asked of you when he asked you to finish what he had started.”

She stared at the knight-commander in horror. “I don’t even know where to begin with that, Vesilde. Even if I did, would anyone follow me? My father was the one who stirred the hearts of thousands with his words and his courage.”

“And those words need a new voice now, Ilsevele. I can think of none better than yours.” Vesilde straightened up and offered his hand to her. “As far as how to begin, well, we have unfinished work here today, as you have said. Perhaps you should begin with that.”

Ilsevele took his hand, and stood up. She did not know if she could lead the Crusade … but she did know that her father’s dream, his words, had stirred her heart too. If she was the best hope for that dream to continue, then she would honor him by making sure it was not forgotten.

“We need to speak with Selkirk and the Sembians,” she said, thinking out loud. “He needs to know of my father’s death, and we must determine the best way to finish off the daemonfey.”

Vesilde nodded. “I will have him summoned at once, Lady Miritar.”

“Thank you, Vesilde,” she said. She turned away from him and wrapped her arms around herself. She had much to think about.

Selkirk and his personal guard arrived soon. Dressed in his resplendent half-plate of black and gold, Selkirk carried a double-bitted battle-axe in his steel gauntlets. “Ilsevele!” he called. He strode up to Ilsevele and doffed his helmet. His face was streaked with sweat and dust. “I just heard about your father. I am truly sorry for your loss. He was a remarkable man.”

“Thank you, Lord Selkirk. I know that he thought well of you, too.” Ilsevele brushed her hand across her eyes, unashamed of the tears that gathered there. She would mourn her father properly, in time, but today she meant to finish the work he had started. That was the best way to honor him, and to give meaning to his death.

“Where did it happen?” Selkirk asked, his voice soft.

“The steps of Castle Cormanthor, not far from here. He was struck down by Xhalph Dlardrageth, the daemonfey prince.” Ilsevele’s voice shook, but she continued. “He lies in the Castle’s main hall now, with Felael and the rest of his guards keeping watch over him.”

“And the daemonfey?”

“Xhalph and Sarya fled. Starbrow and Jerreda pursued them.” A bleak tide of fear for the warrior who had won her heart threatened to overcome Ilsevele. She bit her lip, determined to see the rest of the day through before giving into grief and dread. He will return, she told herself. No one else she had ever seen matched his skill, and he had not gone after the daemonfey alone. It was foolish to let fear of what might happen to paralyze her. “Our scouts believe they went through a portal in the castle. When I am sure that we have matters in hand here, I will follow him.”

“Of course,” Selkirk said. He looked at the old ruins around them. A tall shadowtop grew right in the center of what must have once been the common room of an inn, spearing through the long-vanished roof to spread its branches more than a hundred feet overhead. It was a pleasant spot, in its own way. “As far as I can tell, we have broken the daemonfey in the eastern half of the city. There is no organized opposition to our warriors, though there is plenty of skirmishing against stragglers and handfuls of fey’ri… and other monsters that seem to haunt this place.”

“It is much the same for us,” Vesilde Gaerth told the Sembian lord. “We have secured everything from this spot to the west. The daemonfey who remain are in hiding.”

Miklos Selkirk flashed a bright smile in his dusty face. “Then it seems that we have won the day.”

“Almost,” Ilsevele said. “Some fey’ri will escape, but I intend to make sure that most of Sarya’s warriors do not get away this time. This must be the last battle of this war.”

“What do you propose, then?” Selkirk asked.

“First, we must throw a cordon of archers and mages around the outskirts of the city,” Ilsevele answered him. She reached into her tunic and drew out a parchment map, a copy of one sketched by Starbrow a few tendays ago when her father had first asked him how to go about taking the city. She spread it out on the stone rubble of one of the inn’s walls. “Many of our warriors already surround the city, but now we must tighten the net. We have set a watch from the Burial Glen to the Meadow, here. Lord Selkirk, if you agree, I suggest that the Sembian army sets its guard from the Meadow to the Glyr—that’s the stream on the north side of the city. Lord Ulath and his Dalesfolk already watch the northerly approaches to the city, from the Burial Glen to the Glyr.”

“Done,” Miklos Selkirk said. “We’ll need to make sure the companies we assign to that duty keep in contact with the sentries on each side. We don’t want to give the daemonfey a way out.”

Edraele Muirreste looked over at Ilsevele. “How will you prevent the daemonfey from simply flying away, Lady Miritar?”

Ilsevele glanced up at the summer sky overhead. It was a clear morning, with only a few high clouds. A trio of Eagle Knights wheeled slowly hundreds of feet above the city, riding the air currents on their great birds of prey.

“I think the job is in good hands already,” Ilsevele said. “Our Eagle Knights guard the sky.”

Daeron Sunlance hadn’t been able to risk his giant eagles and their riders against the fey’ri legion, simply because he would have been so badly outnumbered in the air. But with the fey’ri legion shattered, his thirty knights could deal with the stragglers that were left. Chasing down small bands of fey’ri was an entirely different sort of task than dealing with Sarya’s legion all at once.