The Last Mythal 03 - Final Gate by Forgotten Realms

Author:Forgotten Realms [Forgotten Realms]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-01-08T17:48:28+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

18 Eleasias, the Year of Lightning Storms

Dawn was still a short time away. Pale gray streaks lightened the eastern sky, but it was quite dark. All around Fflar, the elves and their human allies rustled and murmured to each other, quietly taking their places. To his left, he could make out the haphazard lines of the Dalesfolk, reinforced by a phalanx of elf footsoldiers from Leuthilspar. On the other side, the Sembians made up most of the right wing of the army. His foot ached, and he felt tired enough to lie down and fall into the senseless slumber of humankind, but Keryvian was still light on his hip.

Fflar found himself gazing to the rear of the mustering army, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ilsevele. Against her protests her father had assigned her to command the forces they were

leaving behind. Too many soldiers were too badly wounded to keep with the Crusade and its allies, but if they were left behind without a strong guard, they would be easy prey for Sarya's bloodthirsty demons.

She has the Tree of Souls to protect her, he told himself. She should be safe enough.

Seiveril rode up and joined Fflar at the head of the Crusade. He followed Fflar's gaze to the warriors they were leaving behind and asked, "You are worried that the daemonfey will ignore us and fall on those we leave behind?"

"I don't like to divide our forces," Fflar answered. But there was no other way to draw the daemonfey into a standup fight, was there? He flicked his reins and turned back to face the mist-shrouded vale before the army. The fey'ri and their infernal minions were out there, likely preparing their own assault. "Is Selkirk ready on the right?"

"He just sent word that he is. What of Lord Ulath?"

"The Dalesfolk are ready on the left. And it seems that we're ready here."

Seiveril glanced up at the overcast sky. A few faint stars glimmered through the drifting mist. Then he set his helm on his head, and motioned to Felael Springleap. "Felael, pass the signal: Forward, all!"

Horns rang out, flat and low in the damp night air. From thousands of throats, both elf and human, a roar of defiance shook the Vale of Lost Voices, and the ground trembled with their footsteps. Fflar tapped his heels to his chestnut's flanks, and the horse snorted and broke into a prancing walk, eager to run. The smoke and mist drifted slowly across the battlefield, stirred by the faintest of breezes, and a fine cool drizzle fell, dampening the banners and warriors' cloaks.

They covered close to half a mile with no sign of the daemonfey army, and Fflar found himself wondering whether Sarya had thought better of meeting them in the vale. But then Jerreda Starcloak and a pair of her wood

elf scouts emerged from the gloom before the marching Crusade, and trotted up to Seiveril. "The daemonfey are waiting about five hundred yards on your right front, Seiveril!" she called. "They're drawn up opposite your center.

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