Richard Baker: Forsaken House

He struck his fist to his breastplate in salute, and took to the air to join the fey'ri flying away from the battle.

Sarya spared the elf soldiers beneath her one hateful hiss, then she teleported herself away from the battle-platform. It was rash of her, but she chose to send herself directly to the mythal stone in its deep well of living rock. She needed to know what had happened to the spells with which she had anchored her demons to the physical world.

She appeared in a gout of sudden flame, her spell shields crackling into life, her staff held in guard as she readied herself to strike. But no enemies awaited her.

"What is this?" she snarled into the cold air.

There was no reply.

Angrily, she stalked over to the great rosy stone and set her hand on it, commanding it to reveal what had been done to it. But the mythal refused to answer. It did not recognize her presence at all.

"Who did this?" she screamed aloud. "Who did this?"

Ah, Sarya, I see that you have returned. You may be pleased to learn that I can answer that question, Malkizid's beautiful voice spoke from the mythal stone, melodious and perfect.

"Malkizid! What has happened to the mythal?"

I regret to inform you that a sun elf wizard with some skill in these matters appeared in this chamber a short time ago, and performed some alterations to your mythal stone. I presume from the outrage in your voice that he has sealed the mythal from any further contact on your part.

"Why did you not stop him?" Sarya raged.

I had no power to do so. I can communicate through this device, but I can exercise none of my powers at your end. Malkizid allowed himself a small laugh then added, I warned the fellow that you would be terribly angry.

"This is no laughing matter," the daemonfey queen snarled. "The loss of this mythal just now wrecked my army on the Lonely Moor. I had the palebloods trapped between my demons and my fey'ri, and my demons vanished all at once. My victory was stolen from me, damn you!" She whirled away in anger, stalking the floor of the mythal chamber, eyes aflame with emerald fire. "This is intolerable. I must resummon those demons and yugoloths at once."

Alas, this mythal will no longer serve you for that purpose. The sun elf who came here made certain of that. Malkizid's golden voice paused then added, But… there are other mythals you might turn to your purposes.

The daemonfey queen stopped in mid-step and snapped her gaze to the rose-hued boulder, even though she knew that Malkizid was not really there.

"Myth Drannor," she said

I have no ability to manipulate the mythal of Corman-thor, for I am not an elf. However, with your elf's blood and my knowledge of mythalcraft, we could accomplish far more in Myth Drannor than you could in Myth Glaurach. Is it really necessary to begin your reign by reclaiming Siluvanede? Or are you willing to found your dynasty here instead?

Sarya folded her wings close behind her back, and narrowed her eyes.

"Before my family came to Siluvanede, we sought the throne of Arcorar. I am not without a claim to Corman-thyr's throne." She considered the offer, examining the possibilities, and said, "Your suggestion interests me. I gain the kingdom denied my House for six thousand years, but what do you gain, Malkizid?"

The light tones of the golden voice vanished for an instant.

Freedom, Malkizid answered. And the dream of a new Aryvandaar ordering the world as it should have long ago. Our paths run together for quite a long time, Sarya Dlardrageth.

The daemonfey queen weighed Malkizid's words, and assented with a predatory smile.

"Very well. I will bring my fey'ri to Myth Drannor, and we will make ready an army even greater and more terrible than the one I just raised."

I await your arrival, then.

Sarya nodded. She did not entirely trust Malkizid, but she couldn't see what he might gain from leading her astray, and what he said made sense to her. Already she was considering the questions of how to carry away the treasures and armaments she had stored beneath Myth Glaurach. There was much to do, and not much time. She started to turn away, but then one more thought struck her.

"One last thing, Malkizid," she rasped. "Tell me-who ruined this mythal for me, and where can I find him?"

Seven days after the Battle of the Lonely Moor, Fflar watched Seiveril Miritar raise his banner in the forest-grown ruins of Myth Glaurach. The daemonfey were gone. The crusade's Eagle Knights had cautiously followed the retreating fey'ri legion to their hidden stronghold in the Talons of the Delimbiyr, but a day before the rest of Seiveril's army reached the outskirts of the ancient Eaerlanni city, the fey'ri had vanished without a trace. Having lost their demon allies and abandoned their orc and ogre warriors, the fey'ri seemed disinclined to meet Evermeet's army again.

"It was a handsome city in its day," Seiveril observed.

Along with Araevin, Ilsevele, and Maresa, he had wandered through the ruins with Fflar for a time, studying the stinking forges and warrenlike barracks where Sarya's soldiers had formerly worked and lived, exploring the deep vaults and passages that Araevin had dared in order to rescue Ilsevele, Maresa, and the young cleric Filsaelene.

Fflar followed Seiveril, one hand on Keryvian's hilt in case the daemonfey had left any unpleasant surprises behind.

Myth Drannor must look much like this now, he thought.

As he understood things, Myth Glaurach had fallen only fifty years or so after his own city.

"The ruins remind me of Myth Drannor," he said. "What became of this city, Seiveril? How did it fall?"

"I do not know. A horde of orcs, I believe." Seiveril gazed at the wreckage of the former grand mage's palace, open to the sky. "I wonder what we should do with the place. Now that the daemonfey have abandoned it and Araevin has done so much to secure the mythal, it seems a pity to leave it empty again."

"It won't be empty," Ilsevele replied. "I have spoken to the wood elf emissary, Gaerradh. She told me that the folk of the High Forest and the Silver Marches will keep watch over the place when we leave. They don't intend to allow the daemonfey to come creeping back."

"Where do you think the daemonfey have gone?" asked Thilesin.

"It hardly matters, does it?" Maresa asked. "They're not here, and that's enough for me."

Seiveril glanced at the young genasi and said, "No, I am afraid that is not enough. Once before we allowed the Dlardrageths to vanish from our knowledge. I will not permit that to happen again. Checking the threat to Evereska was important, but I intend to root out the daemonfey wherever they are hiding. And I also intend to make sure that the People in Faerun will have the strength to defend themselves against the next such peril to arise."

"That is not the work of a day," Araevin murmured.

Seiveril offered a small, hard smile, his eyes fierce with determination.

"I did not call for a crusade in the Dome of Stars, my friends," he said. "I called for a Return. Our work is not yet done."

The others fell silent, sensing the sternness in the elflord's voice. Seiveril studied each in turn, and his smile softened.

"For now," he said, "the fey'ri are nowhere to be found. Come, friends; join me for supper in my tent."

Ilsevele took her father's arm, and Araevin fell in close beside her on the other side. But Fflar found himself hanging back. The dead ruins of Myth Glaurach still had more to say to him, and in the melancholy mood stealing over him, he felt more kinship to the ghosts of that place-so like his own lost city-than he did to the elves with whom he lived a second time.

Ilsevele glanced over her shoulder, noticing his absence, and asked, "Lord Starbrow? Aren't you coming?"