Richard Baker - Farthest Reach

“Where do they come from? What do they want with you?” Ilsevele asked.

Nesterin shook his head. “We do not know. Some of our sages say that the nilshai are creatures of the Ethereal Plane, the spectral reality that infuses all the rest of existence. But Sildeyuir was disjoined from the Ethereal when our mages created this domain long ago. I cannot fathom why they would go to such lengths to bore gates into this realm, when the daylight world that you all come from is far more accessible to them.”

“These things are even closer to our world than they are to yours?” Maresa asked. She shook her head. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“What business did you have in the forest we passed through?” Ilsevele asked Nesterin. “It seemed to be wild and desolate. You are the first person we’ve seen since crossing over from Aglarond.”

The star elf was slow to answer. Araevin glanced over his shoulder at Nesterin, who was leading his horse as he walked alongside the rest of the company. The mage wondered for a moment whether Nesterin intended to keep his errand a secret, but it seemed that the star elf was simply organizing his thoughts.

“I had ridden out to the seat of House Aerilpe, where my cousin Leissera has lived for many years,” Nesterin began. “It is a strong tower far to the south, overlooking the Shimmersea that marks the bounds of our kingdom in that direction. The nilshai have always been strong in that region, and their taint has filled vast tracts of the forest there with strange and dangerous creatures-things like plants or great funguses, but alive and hungry, and monsters to suit.

“I followed a road I thought to be safe to Aerilpe, but a few miles from the tower I found that the nilshai had been busy since last I passed that way. The forests were choked with creeping, groping tendrils and pallid, eyeless beasts that hunted in the shadows. And the very realm itself seemed to be, well… fraying. Sluggish streams or rivers of bright gray dust sliced through the landscape, and as I struggled to find my way through to Tower Aerilpe, the damnable stuff would close in behind me, trying to surround and trap me.

“In any event, I managed to find my way through to Aerilpe, but I found the tower utterly abandoned. Everything seemed as it should be-furnishings stood where last they had been used, clothes still filled the chests and drawers, food still lay almost fresh in the kitchens-but there was not a sign of another living soul. I lingered no more than an hour in that place, because it was simply so unnerving to be alone amid such silence, then I set out at once for home.

“I decided to try a different road on my return-the path that led past the old gate ring two days’ walk behind you. The nilshai caught my trail, though, and they pursued me closely for the better part of a day.” Nesterin glanced over at Ilsevele, and shrugged. “So there is my tale, Lady Ilsevele. A great House of our people has vanished, the distant reaches of my world seem to be coming undone, and I cannot explain why or how.”

They walked on in silence for a while longer, and they crested another low hilltop. Before them on a high knoll overlooking a shining river stood an elegant tower of pale white stone. It was ringed by a tall, sturdy wall, and its lower galleries and bastions were carved from the dark gray granite of its natural footing. Dozens of softly glowing lamps gleamed in its windows and treetops.

“My home,” Nesterin said. He glanced to Araevin and the others. “No one who has battled the nilshai will come to harm here, my friends, but I must warn you: Few who aren’t star elves have ever walked in Sildeyuir. You will be asked to give an account of yourself, and you may be required to accept a geas or enchantment to ensure that you will guard our secrets well. I will speak on your behalf, but I cannot say how our lord will rule in your case.”

Maresa scowled. “I’ll be damned if I let you put a geas on me. Why shouldn’t we just walk away now?”

Nesterin shrugged. “You saved my life today; you should know what awaits you. Araevin and Ilsevele, as Ar Tel’Quessir, have little to worry about. Nor does Jorin, though his judgment in bringing you here may be questioned. But you and the Dawnmaster have no elf blood, and are not known to us. If you choose to depart now, I must tell my lord that you are abroad in Sildeyuir, and he may very well decide that you are not to be allowed to wander about the realm.”

Donnor Kerth’s brow furrowed deeply, but the Lathanderian did not speak. Maresa, on the other hand, stopped dead in her tracks.

“I don’t like jails,” she said.

Ilsevele turned to her and set her hand on Maresa’s arm. “I promise you, Maresa, whatever they would do to you, they must do to me as well.”

Maresa looked up to Ilsevele, and after a moment she snorted and shook her head. “You’ve got too much trust for any ten people, Ilsevele, do you know that?” She shrugged off Ilsevele’s hand and started down the path again. “All right, then, let’s see what Nesterin’s folk make of us.”

They followed the path down the silvered slopes of the grassy hillside, crossed the river on a bridge of luminous stone, and came up to the mithral gates of the tower. There half a dozen elf warriors in knee-length hauberks of white-scaled armor stood guard, armed with long halberds and slender bows.

“Welcome back, Nesterin,” the captain of the gate guard said, but her eyes were fixed on Araevin and his companions. She searched for words, evidently more than a little surprised. Finally she frowned and said, “I see you have been far a field in the last few days. Who are these people?”

“I did not find them; they found me,” Nesterin answered. “They slew two nilshai and saved my life in the process.”

“Two nilshai?” The captain glanced at Araevin again before looking back at Nesterin. “I will tell Lord Tessaernil of your return, and inform him that you have brought guests back to the tower.”

“Good,” said Nesterin. “They have a strange tale to share, and I have much to tell him of what I found at Tower Aerilpe. We will be in the high hall.”

The captain sent a messenger off into the tower, and detailed two guards to attend to Nesterin’s graceful destrier and Donnor’s warhorse. Ilsevele flicked her eyes to Araevin, and the mage immediately grasped her unspoken thought-the gate guards treated Nesterin with an air of deference. Their host was an elf of some importance, one of the masters of the House.

“This way, my friends.”

Nesterin gathered up Araevin’s company and led them into the tower proper. It was a comfortable elven palace, though quite strongly built-more a citadel than a home, really, with high, well-made walls of stone. It was large enough to be home to a hundred or more people, but Araevin quickly formed the impression that substantially fewer folk than that lived in Tower Deirr. They passed other elves only at odd intervals, and the echoing halls and corridors seemed too perfect and bare to have been lived in much.

Nesterin showed them into a small banquet room at the top of a winding flight of steps that ascended the rocky pedestal of the tower’s hilltop.

“Please, lay down your packs, doff your cloaks, and make yourselves comfortable,” he said. “I will send for refreshments for you.”

“Thank you,” Araevin murmured.

He shrugged his backpack from his shoulders and rested his staff by the door. The others followed suit. In the space of a few minutes they were dining on platters of fruit and warm bread. Nesterin joined in as well, with an apologetic smile.

“I fear that I haven’t eaten in a couple of days,” he said between bites. “I left Aerilpe in a hurry, as you might imagine.”