Forsaken House (18 page)

Ammisyll Veldann kept her composure. She simply turned to look at Amlaruil, who remained seated in her high seat with her face impassive.

“Surely, my queen, you will not permit this act of madness to proceed,” Ammisyll said in a dangerously quiet voice. “Or does Lord Miritar defy the will of this council with your blessing?”

Amlaruil betrayed no emotion, but she stood slowly and set her scepter on the table. The lords and ladies fell silent, awaiting her words, and even the chaos in the gallery diminished as the crowds there realized that the queen was about to speak.

“I do not condone this crusade,” she said. “Evermeet’s army will not leave this island unless I order it. Lord Miritar does not dictate policy for the throne or the council.”

“You will put a stop to this nonsense, then?” Lady Veldann said sharply.

“No,” Amlaruil replied. “I did not say that.”

“Do you mean to say that you do not approve of Miritar’s ridiculous crusade, but you refuse to stop it?” Ammisyll Veldann fought to keep the disbelief from her face, but failed. “Is it the case that you are lying when you say you intend to enforce the consensus of the council, or do you simply lack the strength of will to govern as monarch?”

“Watch your tongue!” snapped Keryth Blackhelm. “I will not tolerate such speech here.”

Amlaruil drew herself up and fixed her piercing gaze on the noblewoman.

“I am not lying, Ammisyll. As monarch I do not condone Lord Miritar’s call for a voluntary expedition, and any efforts he makes do not reflect the official policies of the throne. And I have no lack of strength, as you should well know. The reason I do not intend to interfere with Lord Miritar is simple: It is not my place to dictate to any

citizen of this realm where he or she goes and what he or she does, provided they obey the laws of the realm and respect the authority of the throne.”

“So I could gather a so-called voluntary army to go invade the Moonshaes, for instance, and you would not view it as the throne’s place to stop me?” Veldann snarled. She threw up her hands in disgust. “This is anarchy!”

“That is a poorly considered example, Lady Veldann,” Zaltarish the scribe observed. “In that case, you would be taking an action that would provoke war with another state. That is indeed an affair of the crown, and you would be stopped. But Lord Seiveril proposes to go, as a private citizen and on his own cognizance, to fight in the service of an erven realm that has been attacked by the same enemy who has already assaulted us once. He would not be creating any state of war that does not already exist between Evermeet and another realm.”

“Bah! My point remains the same. Miritar is circumventing the decision of this council. He cannot be allowed to do this.”

“And how would you stop me, Lady Veldann?” Seiveril retorted. “Would you have me imprisoned, perhaps? For what offense? Stating my intention to leave Evermeet? Are we not each of us free to come or go from this realm whenever we like?”

“I think I would begin with sedition,” Lady Veldann said. “Perhaps rebellion against the throne.”

“So now you call it sedition when a free citizen of Evermeet chooses to leave and asks if others will follow?” Seiveril said. “You have a broad definition of the term.”

“We may not have the authority to bar any who want to follow you on your fool’s errand from leaving,” Selsharra Durothil said, “but it is certainly a seditious act to seduce the defenders of this island into abandoning their duties. We will not permit you to strip our defenses bare, Seiveril. If you try it, you will be stopped.”

“Now you are the one who presumes to speak for the throne, Lady Durothil,” Amlaruil said. “I am quite aware of what constitutes sedition, and I will decide if or when we must respond to Lord Miritar’s call. Do not issue threats in my name.”

The queen turned to Seiveril. She frowned, considering her words.

“Lord Miritar, I accept your resignation with sorrow. You must do what you are called to do. But I cannot allow you to leave Evermeet defenseless, and I cannot allow you to divide our citizens into two camps. Volunteers may follow you, and I will not stop them. But you are not to coerce any into coming with you, and if I ask some to remain to attend their duties here, you are not to encourage them to leave.”

“I agree,” Seiveril said.

He bowed, and descended from the council table to the floor of the great hall. Jerreda Starcloak followed him, sparing one daggerlike glance for Durothil and Veldann. Seiveril glanced out over the crowded gallery, and roars of approval greeted his ears along with jeers and insults.

“I hope you know what you have started here, Seiveril Miritar,” the wood elf noblewoman said quietly into his ear.

Seiveril drew in a deep breath and nodded.

“I do,” he said. Then he strode out of the room, beneath the great archway, as first dozens, then scores and scores of elves in the council gallery detached themselves from their comrades and companions in order to follow him out into the night.

*****

After sheltering for the night in a ruined mill near the Trade Way, Araevin and his small company arose early the next morning and left the Trollbark behind them. The weather remained cold and gray, with a light but steady rain that left them miserable and sodden as they followed the Trade Way south. They soon came to the crossroads where the Coast Way split off to head south toward the city of Baldur’s Gate, while the Trade Way turned southeast toward Soubar and Scornubel. Araevin paused at the

crossroads, eyes closed as he concentrated on the glimmering intuition the telkiira had planted in his mind, and he pointed toward the Scornubel road.

“It’s almost due east of us now,” he said. “We’re definitely getting closer, but we’re not there yet.”

“I hope somebody hasn’t pocketed the second stone and walked off with it,” Maresa observed. “We might follow the stupid bastard all over Faerun.”

Araevin shook his head with a wry smile. The genasi had an acerbic manner that reminded him of her mother, but she was quicker to laugh than Theledra had ever been. “It’s not moving, I’m pretty sure of that.”

They followed the Trade Way south and east. Each day Araevin was careful to renew his defenses against scrying spells, and he kept a wary eye out for anyone or anything that seemed to take too much interest in their passing. On two occasions he felt the cold feather-touch of some enemy prying at his barriers, seeking to circumvent his defenses and spy on him again, but each time Araevin managed to parry the attempts.

Late on the second day they crossed the Boareskyr Bridge over the Winding Water, and they came to the town of Soubar early on the fourth day. The spring mud slowed them considerably. Many merchants had abandoned the roads, waiting for drier weather before trying to move their heavy wagons. They passed a dozen or so parties of fellow travelers each day-pilgrims bound for some shrine or another, caravans who packed their wares on surefooted mules instead of heavy carts, far-roving patrols of soldiers from Baldur’s Gate and Scornubel, adventuring companies in search of ruins to loot, nobles and their entourages riding to visit distant kin, bands of dwarf smiths and ore cutters looking for work, troupes of acrobats and entertainers, imperious mages who often as not traveled on phantom horses or flying carpets, and more than a few gangs of ruffians, brigands, and highwaymen, some of whom thought to waylay Araevin and his friends, at least until Ilsevele shot a crossbow out of someone’s hands or Araevin used a ‘lightning bolt or similar spell to scare them off. Meanwhile, the weather warmed a bit each day, until by the time they rode into Soubar the fields were a luxurious deep green and the sun no longer rose on thick frosts each day.

In Soubar they rested for a day and a night at an inn called the Blue Griffon, drying out their clothes and re-provisioning. Then, on the morning of the twelfth of Ches, they set out again, following the cart tracks of woodcutters northeast toward the great dark verge of the Forest of Wyrms, fifteen miles from Soubar and the road. At first they passed through prosperous if well-fortified farms, homesteads with houses and barns made from thick fieldstone and guarded by small packs of wolfhounds. But the farms gradually thinned out as they drew closer to the forest, until finally there was nothing more than a wild, desolate moorland hard by the forest itself. The company crested a low rise and found themselves at the forest’s doorstep.

“In there?” Maresa asked with a nod of her head. “Yes. Not more than fifteen or twenty miles, I think,” Araevin replied.

“Why is everything in a forest?” the genasi muttered to herself. “First the Ardeep, then the Trollbark, and now the Forest of Wyrms. I’m getting damned tired of trees.”

“These are the places where the elven empires of long ago raised their cities and towers,” Araevin replied. “The Ardeep was the heart of the ancient realm of Illefarn. The Trollbark was part of the realm of Miyeritar, which is what the High Moor used to be called before dark magic destroyed Miyeritar during the Crown Wars. In the long years since, the Trollbark has grown wild and savage, forgetful of the elves who once roamed its hills and valleys. Even the Reaching Wood and the Forest of Wyrms were part of the old realm of Shantel Othreier, which also fell during the Crown Wars.”

“All this land was once forested,” Ilsevele added. “A single great forest stretched from the Spine of the World to the Lake of Steam.”

Maresa gave her a skeptical look. Grayth glanced at her as well.

“I knew the forests of the western lands were formerly much larger,” the Lathanderite said, “But one single forest? What could have happened to it?”

“Vast reaches of the woodland were devastated in the ancient Crown Wars, or burned by dragons, or cleared during the rise of the human empires that followed the elven realms,” Araevin answered.

“So the remaining forests mark the spots where the old elven realms once stood?” asked Grayth.

“Yes, but I believe that the forests remain because the elven realms were there, and not the other way around. My ancestors wove many great spells and sang powerful songs to strengthen and protect the woodlands they called home. Some small portion of that elven magic lingers still—strong in the Ardeep, almost forgotten in the Trollbark. As for the Forest of Wyrms, I am not yet sure.”

Araevin closed his eyes and consulted the knowledge of the first telkiira. He could feel its sister close by, still east of them, but not far at all.

“This way,” he said, and he led them beneath the mighty trees.

The Forest of Wyrms quickly proved to be a place of tremendous majesty. Its trees were mighty redwoods, each hundreds of feet tall and twenty feet thick or more. Along the streambeds and steeper hillsides smaller trees crowded closer, but for miles at a time it seemed that they rode through a great green-roofed cathedral, the noble silver trunks pillars holding up the sky. The air was cool and damp, with drifting mists clinging to the ground, and the rich, pungent smell of the wet wood hung in the air like incense.

Ilsevele rode close beside Araevin, her eyes wandering to the distant boughs above.

“This woodland is beautiful,” she murmured to him in Elvish. “None of the People live here?”

“You forget the forest’s name,” he replied. “Many

green wyrms and their young live here. They make poor neighbors.”

“Is it wise to come here?”

“The dragons don’t often come to the western reaches of the forest. Most of them understand that they do not want to make a name for themselves in Soubar. Far too many adventurers ride up and down the Trade Way, looking for dragons to slay. But the younger and more reckless dragons might be found anywhere. I have prepared a number of spells that might be useful against a green dragon, just in case.”

Ilsevele nodded and said, “I think I will keep my eyes open.”

She rode ahead a short distance and encased her bow, resting it across her saddlebow beneath her hand.

Fortunately, they ran into no dragons for the rest of the day. The ride was surprisingly easy. The forest had little underbrush, and the terrain was not very rugged. Araevin could feel the second telkiira drawing closer with each step, but as darkness fell, they had found nothing. Araevin reluctantly called a halt, and they passed a nervous night camping in a small thicket near a stream, doubling up on their watches and using magic to conceal their camp and horses.

The following morning greeted them with patches of weak sunshine breaking through the overcast. They broke camp and continued eastward, climbing slowly into steeper hills as they went. But they only rode for an hour before Araevin suddenly reined in, his eyes narrowed.

“We’re here,” he called to the others.

Ahead of him, hidden below the trees, stood the small tower he’d seen in the vision granted by the telkiira, hoary with age and covered in creeping vines. Looking east into the patchy early morning sunlight, the forest shadow seemed black and impenetrable around the old building. Empty windows gaped blankly at the woods, and large portions of the rooftop had fallen inward.

Grayth rode up beside him and asked, “This is the place? Strange, it isn’t elven. That’s a human-built tower.”

Araevin dismounted, taking his horse’s reins in one hand. Grayth was right. The stonework was clearly not elven, and the tower had not been abandoned for all that long. Some of the wooden shakes of its pointed rooftop, and the roof of the adjoining house, still clung to the rafters.

Fifty years? he guessed. Perhaps a hundred? Why was an elven telkiira in such a place?

“It’s not a watchtower, and I don’t think it’s a temple or shrine,” Grayth said. He dismounted, too. “It has the look of a wizard’s tower to me. Someone wanted a strong, safe house someplace out of the way, a place where he wouldn’t be troubled by unwanted visitors. I wonder if the dragons got him?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Araevin said. “Let’s find a safe place for the horses, and we’ll have a look inside.”

14 Ches, the Year of Lightning Storms

They found a small thicket a spearcast from the tower, and led the horses inside the bramble patch. Araevin wove an illusory shelter to conceal the horses as best he could, just in case a dragon happened by.