Richard Baker: Final Gate

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.”