Richard Baker - Forsaken House: The Last Mythal, Book I  

House of Demons

Come along, paleblood, sneered Nurthel. You have work to do.

Araevin complied, turning to follow the feyri sorcerer without any effort of his conscious mind. He fell in behind Nurthel, arms still shackled behind his back, ribs aching from the blow Grimlight had dealt him. Behind him half a dozen feyri warriors and a pair of foul vrock-demons marched, watching him carefully for any sign that Saryas compulsion might be fading. The daemonfey queen was not present, having left to return to her army, but she had ordered Araevin to obey any command given him by Nurthel, instantly and without resistance, and the malignant compulsion she had used to crush his will was sufficiently strong to force Araevin to do exactly as she commanded.

Half-demon, half-elf monsters infest the glades of the High Forest, the mountains around Evereska, and the very halls of Evermeet itself. They claim a birthright that was taken from them so long ago even the elves who imprisoned them forgot they existed. For millennia the daemonfey army planned, grew, and waited.

Until Now.

THE LAST MYTHAL

Forsaken House

Farthest Reach

Final Gate

Also by Richard Baker

R.A. Salvatores War of the Spider Queen, Book III
Condemnation

The City of Ravens
The Shadow Stone
Easy Betrayals

STARDRIVE
Zero Point

For Kim

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Special thanks to Eric L. Boyd for the excellent Realmslore, Ed Greenwood and Phil Athans for the invaluable advice and guidance, and especially to the Monday night gaming group (Warren Wyman, Ed Stark, James Wyatt, David Noonan, Dale Donovan, and Tim Rhoades). Its been good saving the world with you guys.

T he end came not at sunset, but an hour after highsun. Nor did mournful rains mark the citys passing, as the bards later sang. It was a sweltering summer afternoon, the forest air thick and hazy. Myth Drannor was burning, and the acrid smoke of many fires hung heavily in the humid air.

Fflar Starbrow Melruth stood wearily on the shattered flagstones of the courtyard before Castle Cormanthor, and took the measure of his enemies. Thousands of savage warriorsorcs, goblins, gnolls, even ogresstamped and shouted in the square, roaring and shouting in their guttural tongues, clashing axes and spears on their hide-covered shields or shaking jagged swords in the air. Like a great black sea of blood and steel the horde roiled and swarmed, clogging the marble streets and clinging to the feet of the white towers.

Too many, Fflar thought bitterly. And we are too few.

Behind Fflar stood the tattered heart of the Akh Velahr, the Army of Cormanthor. A dozen companies defended the broken castle, none with more than a quarter of its strength left. Tall and stern in their shining hauberks and green cloaks, the soldiers of the city knew they were defeated, but still they held. Each day they fought on, a few more of Myth Drannors folk escaped to safety in desperate Flights, vanishing through whatever gates could be made to work.

At the head of the enemy host mighty nycaloths crouched eagerly, shadowing their faces with their vast black wings. Each was a great champion of the hells, kindred of the demons and devils whose vile spawn filled the lower planes. To see one such creature free to walk Faern was a terrible thing, but there at the head of their army stood gathered more than a dozen of the monsters. Hundreds of lesser yugoloths, creatures like the nycaloths but thankfully less powerful, drove the orcs and ogres into battle before them. Despite the painfully bright sunshine in the court, each nycaloth cast a terrifying shadow over the scene, living storm clouds about to break upon Fflar and his soldiers.

Do not do this, Fflar, said Elkhazel from beside him. The sun elf swordsman stood a few paces behind him, his golden mail gouged in great furrows across his shoulder and breast. Withdraw your challenge, I beg you. We may yet hold another few days, long enough for the rest of the Flights to escape.

Fflar kept his eyes on the roaring horde. The orcs and ogres did not advance yet. They held their ground, eager to see the duel to come. Even as he watched, a rift opened in their shouting ranks, and a great shadowed figure, a mighty prince of the nycaloths, made its way deliberately through the ranks. Brazen armor gleamed in the darkness, and a mace as large as a young tree dragged the ground. The bestial roars of the bloodthirsty horde rebounded from the castle walls as their dark captain came forth to battle.

Nothing but a lord of the infernal realms could hold that horde together, said Fflar. If I can defeat him, the rest of that rabble may well turn on each other. We could cut our way out of the city while they fight over the spoils.

Aulmpiter is a mighty foe, Elkhazel replied. If you should fall.

Then you will fight on, as you must, Fflar finished for him as he hefted his sword in his hand. Do not fear, my friend. Keryvian and I have slain more than one mighty foe this summer. Demron crafted his baneblades well.

Fflar! Captain of Myth Drannor! Come forth! bellowed the monstrous figure wading through the enemy ranks. I will have you answer for your boasts!

Fflar Elkhazel struggled to find words. Think of Sorenna, and the babe.

Fflar glanced over at his lieutenant and offered a little smile, and said, She will understand, Elkhazel. I have seen this. It is my hour.

He settled his golden helm on his sweat-soaked brow, and swept Keryvian before his feet several times to remind his hand of the swords balance, not that he really needed to. The blade seemed to sense the presence of a worthy foe. It shivered in his grasp, giving off a cold, pure whisper of hate.

How many of our heroes have fallen this year? Fflar thought bleakly.

Josidiah Starym could have carved Aulmpiter to pieces with steel and spell in a deadly bladedance. Kerym Tenyajn would have riddled the infernal lord with his blazing arrows of moonfire, slaying Aulmpiter where he stood. But they were dead, and Fflar had to meet the hordes captain. He was exhausted, wounded already in the fighting at sunrise, but he could not let Aulmpiter detect his weakness.

I am here, Aulmpiter! he cried. Your foul minions may have broken our walls and burned our homes, but you will not live to savor your victories! Today Keryvian will send you back to whatever black hells spawned you, monster!