At the end of their second day, Araevin returned to the Greenhaven, resigning himself to a long and arduous effort to unearth the knowledge he sought. He suspected that some at least of his inquiries had simply been evaded, and he was wondering how he could proceed if that turned out to be the case. But as he and his companions ate a light supper on the Greenhaven’s veranda, drinking watered wine and watching the shadows lengthen over the city, a dark-haired, deeply tanned half-elf dressed in an elegantly embroidered doublet appeared at their table, flanked by a pair of human guardsmen who wore the green-and-white tabards of the Simbul’s Guard over coats of mail.
“Araevin Teshurr and company?” he asked pleasantly.
Araevin sensed his companions exchanging puzzled looks behind him, but he stood slowly and nodded to the fellow.
“I am Araevin Teshurr,” he said. “To whom am I speaking?”
“I am Jorin Kell Harthan. I serve the Simbul.” Harthan’s manner remained easy, but Araevin did not miss the keen alertness in his eyes, nor the businesslike demeanor of the two guards who accompanied him. A long sword was sheathed at the half-elf’s hip, and a long dagger was tucked into his left boot. “You have been inquiring after things that few people ask about, Master Teshurr. We would like to know more about the nature of your interests. Would you kindly accompany me to the Simbul’s palace?”
“Careful, Araevin,” Maresa whispered under her breath. “I don’t like the looks of this.”
“I assure you, I mean no harm to Aglarond or anyone in it,” Araevin told the half-elf.
“If we did not believe that to be true, Master Teshurr, our invitation would leave you little opportunity to decline,” Jorin Kell Harthan said. He bowed and gestured toward the door. “You may find answers in the palace that you will not be given outside it. If you please?”
Araevin could see the alarm in Maresa’s face. From what he knew of her, she had reason to be suspicious of city guards and officials of the court. Ilsevele, on the other hand, was herself an officer of the Queen’s Guard in Leuthilspar.
She glanced up at the half-elf and asked, “May we accompany Araevin?”
The Simbul’s servant considered for a moment then said, “Very well.”
They rose and followed Harthan to an open carriage waiting outside the inn. Araevin had half-feared a sealed coach that would double as a cell in a pinch. They climbed in-the half-elf sat opposite Araevin, with Donnor beside him, while the guards stepped up onto the running boards-and clattered off through the winding, dusk-dim streets. In a few minutes they rolled into a small courtyard below one of the palace’s green stone towers, and followed the half-elf past more guardsmen into the tower.
The palace of Aglarond’s queen was not so large or ethereally beautiful as Amlaruil’s in Leuthilspar, but it was easily the grandest and most elegant building Araevin had ever set foot in outside of Evermeet itself. Despite his two and a half centuries and familiarity with the uses and exercises of power, he could not entirely quell the uneasy awe that settled over him. Maresa was positively petrified, marching stiffly as if she expected to be arrested on the spot, while Donnor Kerth lapsed into a silence so deep and sullen that Araevin feared he might try to fight his way out of the place given the least provocation to do so. Ilsevele, though… She strode along confidently, her chin high, her eyes straight ahead, refusing to be intimidated by the setting. She was the daughter of a lord of Evermeet, after all, and she had been born to palaces.
Jorin Kell Harthan led them to a comfortable hall with a great fireplace and a large banquet table. He spoke a quiet word to the guards walking with them, and the two warriors withdrew to flank the door.
“There’s wine on the table,” the half-elf said. “Help yourselves, if you like.”
“Well, if we are being arrested, it’s starting well enough,” Maresa muttered. She went over and poured herself a goblet.
“Are we under arrest?” Donnor Kerth asked the half-elf.
“Most likely you are not, Dawnmaster. We will see soon.” Harthan leaned against a credenza, and spoke no more.
They all waited anxiously for a short time, but just as Araevin was about to question the Aglarondan again, the door at the far end of the hall opened, and a regal woman swept into the room. She was tall and dark-haired, with striking green eyes as bright and keen as a serpent’s. She wore a gown of deep green, and Araevin noticed at once that she was quite skilled in the Art, girded with subtle spells and enchantments he would be hard-pressed to match.
“Greetings,” she said in a cool voice. “I am Phaeldara, apprentice to the Simbul. I am currently serving as regent in her stead. Now, do not be alarmed, but I am going to cast a spell. Be still.”
With no more warning, the enchantress skillfully cast a powerful divination that Araevin recognized, a spell that would give her the ability to reveal false things and unearth magical deceptions. Phaeldara studied Araevin and each of his companions for a long moment, taking their measure, and she allowed the spell to fade away.
“Forgive me for that. We have learned that we must be careful of strangers. The zulkirs of Thay have tried to slip assassins in magical guise into the palace before.”
“What is this all about, Lady Phaeldara?” Araevin asked. “If we have given offense to you or your people in the last two days, we sincerely apologize.”
“It has come to my attention that you have been making inquiries throughout the city about Yuireshanyaar and star elves. I would like to know why you are interested in such things.”
Araevin studied the Simbul’s apprentice for a moment, considering his answer. He could see no reason not to be reasonably forthright with the Aglarondans. They did not need to know about the selukiira embedded over his heart, but it certainly would not hurt for more people to know of the threat posed by Sarya Dlardrageth and her fey’ri legion.
“An old enemy of the People returned to Faerun this year, Lady Phaeldara,” he began. “They are known as House Dlardrageth-or the daemonfey, a family of sun elves tainted by demonic blood. Long ago they were driven out of Cormanthyr, in the early days of that realm. Later they and their followers caused the Seven Citadels’ War between Siluvanede, Sharrven, and Eaerlann. They were imprisoned for thousands of years by high magic, but they have escaped. The daemonfey raided Evermeet itself, and launched a war against the High Forest and Evereska.”
“We heard of war in the High Forest,” Lady Phaeldara said. “But what does this have to do with Aglarond, Master Teshurr?”
“Ilsevele’s father-Lord Seiveril Miritar of Elion-gathered a host in Evermeet to battle the daemonfey. His army drove the daemonfey out of Myth Glaurach, but they fled to Myth Drannor and began to fortify the ruins of that city as their new stronghold. More importantly, Sarya Dlardrageth, the queen of the daemonfey, has learned how to manipulate the wards and powers of mythals, so she has surrounded Myth Drannor in magical defenses of great power. Lord Miritar’s army followed the daemonfey to Cormanthyr, but I fear that they will be unable to defeat Sarya unless we find a way to contest her control of Myth Drannor’s mythal.”
“And you think that this can be found in Aglarond?”
“I hope that what I seek exists in Aglarond,” said Araevin. “We have come to believe that the key to unlocking the high magic secrets Sarya Dlardrageth now wields might lie somewhere in your realm. Specifically, we know that a great mage of early Cormanthyr carried away many Dlardrageth spellbooks when the coronal and the court mages first drove the Dlardrageths out of that realm. That mage was a star elf named Morthil. We are attempting to trace his footsteps.”