Forsaken House: The Last Mythal by Richard Baker

Author:Richard Baker
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy fiction, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, General, Fantasy, Fiction
ISBN: 9780786932603
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast, Inc.
Published: 2004-08-01T10:00:00+00:00

Snow still dusted the peaks of the Shaeradim, the rugged hills that concealed the green valley of Evereska. The elven city nestled high in the hidden vale, and drifting streamers of gray cloud wreathed the white towers and mighty trees. From his vantage on the high slopes of Ilaerothil, the mountain known as the Sentinel, Seiveril found that the clouds and fog revealed and covered the city, almost nine miles distant, from moment to moment.

I can see why the LastHome was built here, he thought.

The high peaks of the Shaeradim formed a mighty rampart almost six thousand feet in height, completely surrounding a maze of narrow vales, high cwms, and smaller peaks that stretched for fifteen miles between the Sentinel—the mountain at the northwest end—and the Eastpeak, the even taller mountain to the southeast. Someone traveling through the Forgotten Forest far below would see nothing more than a fence of unbroken peaks, never suspecting the green vales and forests cupped within.

Seiveril had come to Evereska with Vesilde Gaerth in order to study the approaches to the city and see with his own eyes the daemonfey army. He had passed through the elfgates early in the day, leaving the crusade to continue its muster under Elvath Muirreste in Elion. Soon he would be ready to march at least a few of the more organized and better equipped companies through the gates, but it would likely be the work of three days, perhaps four, to bring the entire army to Evereska. He’d return to Evermeet by the end of the day and begin planning the march. “Look north,” said Lord Duirsar.

Leader of the Hill Council, the moon elf elder was a short, thinly built fellow whose unassuming manner seemed at odds with his high place among the elves of Evereska. His face was marked with almost humanlike signs of age, including heavy worry lines at the corners of his mouth, and a pained expression to his eyes that spoke of too much grief and sorrow. Only two years before Evereska had fought a terrible war against invading monsters, and almost lost it. Thousands of the city’s People walked in Arvandor, and those who remained knew more sadness than any elves Seiveril had ever met.

“The main body is passing the Westhorn,” Duirsar observed.

Seiveril followed the Hill Elder’s gaze over the wild green hills and gray mists of the lands beyond Evereska. The Sentinel offered a commanding view over the lands lying west of the LastHome. From the high pass at his left shoulder, a deep, winding valley—the Rillvale—descended from the high slopes of the Shaeradim to the shadowed eaves of the Forgotten Forest, almost four thousand feet below. The Forest lay in a broad vale between Evereska’s hills and the Graypeak Mountains forty miles to the west. Toward the south the forest sank into the great Marsh of Chelimber, a gray-green flat just visible from where Seiveril stood. To the north of the forest the Lonely Vale stretched between the Graypeak Mountains and

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