Richard Baker - Final Gate

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.”