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glanced to his right, and found Maresa Rost leaning back in her chair as she nursed a small goblet of wine. The genasi wore crimson, as she often did; it made for a striking contrast with her perfect white complexion and drifting halo of silver-white hair. She had commandeered a big round table in an alcove of the taproom. Beside her at the Aglarondan Jorin Kell Harthan, who had guided Araevin and his friends to the secret realm of Sildeyuir, and next to him the star elf Nesterin, who had accompanied them back to Faerun. Donnor Kerth, the Lathanderite crusader, sat opposite, his fist around a mug of ale.
    “We were starting to wonder if you had forgotten about us,” Maresa said.
    “I had to confer with some friends in Semberholme, and in Evermeet. I hurried back as quickly as I could.” Araevin took a seat at the table next to Donnor and poured himself some wine from a flagon on the table. “Has Ilsevele arrived yet?”
    “No, we have not seen her for several days,” Nesterin said. The star elf was dressed in pale gray and white, with silver embroidery at the collar and sleeves. He attracted more than a few odd looks in the Oak and Spear. Deepingdalesfolk were familiar with most kindred of the elf race, but star elves were a different story. “As far as I know, she is with her father.”
    Araevin glanced at the door, half-expecting Ilsevele to follow on his heels, but she did not appear. “She knows we are gathering here,” he mused. “I suppose she will be here when she can.”
    “What news of the daemonfey army?” Donnor asked. He was a thickly built human almost as tall as Araevin himself, but better than eighty pounds heavier than the sun elf. He kept his scalp shaved down to stubble, and wore a closely cropped beard. His tunic was emblazoned with the sunrise emblem of Lathander, Lord of the Dawn, the deity to whom Kerth had pledged his sword and his service.
    “Sarya’s demons and devils harry the borders of Semberholme every day. I don’t know if or when Seiveril will try to take the battle to the daemonfey again.”
    “Glad we’re here,” Maresa muttered. “Wars are bad for the health, you know.”
    “We’re not done with ours,” Donnor growled. “The daemonfey have much to answer for.”
    “I haven’t forgotten.” The genasi hid her glower in her goblet, drinking deeply.
    Jorin looked across the table to Araevin. “What did your `friends’ say about the threat you perceived in Sildeyuir?” the half-elf asked in a low voice. “Can they counter it?”
    “They are going to study the question.”
    Nesterin raised an eyebrow. “I thought the matter was urgent.”
    “In my estimation, it is. But my friends in Evermeet have always been hesitant to move recklessly. They do not think it wise to exercise their power until they know precisely what will happen when they do.”
    “No one can foresee all outcomes. If you wait until you think you can, you will never act at all,” the star elf said. “Sometimes it is wiser not to wait.”
    “That is what I fear. As my human friends like to say, he who hesitates is lost.”
    “So what are we going to do while your ‘friends’ are thinking things over?” Maresa asked.
    Araevin allowed himself a small smile. Maresa had struck the nail on the head. “I think I know how to slam shut the doors that Sarya and her allies are trying to open. At the beginning of this war, Sarya used a weapon called the Gatekeeper’s Crystal to open the ancient dungeon of Nar Kerymhoarth, freeing her fey’ri legion. I can use that same device to stop her from destroying the boundaries between the planes.”
    “How do we get the device away from her?” Jorin asked.
    “We may not have to. Quastarte—one of my friends on Evermeet—reminded me that the crystal does not remain intact after use. It breaks into its component shards, three of them, and hurls its pieces across the world, sometimes even across the planes. I mean to find it, assemble it again, and use it to