Sarya Dlardrageth prowled the palace she had claimed as her own, restlessly stalking the halls where less than a month before she had held her council of war with the leaders of the fey’ri Houses. For the past five days her army had retreated north through the desolate vales leading away from Evereska. The vengeance she intended for Evereska would have to wait until she replaced her losses from the failed assault on the Sunset Gate. Of course, she had no shortage of demons and yugoloths. Given a tenday or two to summon more, she might even be able to field an army stronger than that with which she had initially attacked, whereas the Evereskans had no such source of replacements available. Time, she thought. After five thousand years of imprisonment, now I have so little of it. She looked up at her son Xhalph, who stood watching her, and said, “I don’t like the idea of leaving my army without supervision, and I must return soon. So, quickly, how are you faring in the High Forest? Be honest.”
