The goddess was tempted to send a small storm of arrows down upon the army. She had a quiver full of fine arrows, and an aim that was second to none. Surely she could bring down a score or more of them before they managed to pull her from her perch.
But then-what? And what would become of the other elven gods when this army came upon them unannounced? With difficulty Eilistraee stayed her hand. She was Corellon Larethian's daughter, and her first duty was to the elven pantheon.
Setting her jaw in determination, Eilistraee sped lightly through the treetops to do as duty bid. Yet there was in her heart a certain pride that it was she who would sound the alarm. And speeding her on was the hope that Corellon, the ultimate elven warrior, would reward her diligence by granting her a place by his side during the battle to come.
She was certain that he would do so, and not just for her sharp eye and quick report. Eilistraee had spent much of the previous night searching the Moor for her father's lost sheath. Corellon treasured it because Araushnee had made it, and he wore it always into battle as a token of his beloved. Wistfully, Eilistraee wondered if he might not also love her just a bit more when she returned such a treasure to him.
And so it was that Eilistraee's spirits were bright with hope and excitement, despite the danger that trod grimly toward her forest home.
The gods of the Seldarine swiftly gathered to meet the approaching threat. From a hundred worlds and from every corner of the sacred elven forest they came, and with them stood the gods of other faerie folk: the pixies, the sprites-even the gods of the ancient Fairy Court had donned armor for battle. The deities of the woodland folk came as well: immortal unicorns, centaurs, and wild-eyed fauns marched alongside the elves. All the powers of Arvandor rallied in uncommon unity against the threat. They gathered, secure within Arvandor's sheltering curtain of magic, and awaited Corellon Larethian's command to attack.
First to strike was Aerdrie Faenya, goddess of the air. The Anti-Seldarine forces pulled up sharply when she appeared; they stared open-mouthed at the apparition before them. From head to waist, Aerdrie appeared to be a beautiful elven woman with pale blue skin, flowing white hair, and feathery wings the color of summer clouds. She moved not on legs, but in a cloud of swirling mist, and with an ethereal grace and speed such as none of them had ever beheld. To the awestruck invaders, it appeared as if the very sky had suddenly descended and taken on elven form.
But Aerdrie was not nearly so delicate as she looked. From her outstretched hand came buffeting winds and fierce lightning strikes that sent the attacking army staggering back, grasping frantically at the whipping branches for handholds. For a brief time it appeared that the invaders might be swept from the forest by Aerdrie's wrath alone.
But other gods were eager to test their powers against the elves. An icy wind swept from the north like a war chariot, bearing upon it the goddess Auril. In her wake came winter storms that made the worst of Aerdrie's attacks seem like gentle zephyrs. Where Auril passed, the trees shivered, and their leaves turned hard and curled inward as if seeking the warmth that lingered within the wood.
Desperate to protect the elven forest from Auril's killing frosts, Aerdrie spread her wings and climbed high above the trees of Arvandor, then tucked and came at the invading goddess like a stooping falcon. The two goddesses of wind and weather met in a clash of lightning and a rumble of thunder that shook the blasted leaves from the trees below.
Grappling in midair like a pair of she-panthers, the goddesses were borne swiftly away on the maelstrom of their own battle. Soon there was nothing to be seen of them but the swirling clouds of dense purple and livid white in the distant sky, and the flashes of lightning that they hurled at each other like insults.
The Anti-Seldarine horde, suddenly freed from the unseen fetters of Aerdrie's winds, rallied and came on. To the utter horror of the elven gods, they passed easily through Arvandor's wall of protective magic. Their pace quickened to a rush as they closed the distance between themselves and the astonished elven defenders.
As he witnessed this defilement of the sacred forest, Corellon Larethian remembered what Sehanine had said of his sword: Sahandrian had been destroyed through elven treachery. It was clear that the goddess had spoken truth and that this same traitor was even now at work. Only an elven god could alter the magic that protected Arvandor. This same traitor, Corellon thought grimly, was most likely among the elven host that stood with him.
But who was it? Sehanine knew, or at least suspected, but she was nowhere to be found. There was no choice but to fight, and this he must do without knowing the name of his most dangerous enemy. Or was it possible, he thought with sudden horror, that Sehanine herself was the traitor? She had witnessed his near-defeat at Gruumsh's hand, she had given him the sword so that he would fight on rather than flee for Arvandor. And, as he had noted before, she was not standing among the forces of Arvandor.
Corellon took a long, steadying breath and turned his eyes to the enemy he could see. The elf lord lifted Sahandrian high. "For Arvandor," he shouted as he led the charge toward the onrushing throng.
The elven gods and their cohorts followed Corellon. But the place of honor at his side went to his swift and beautiful daughter. He was proud of Eilistraee for her part in alerting the elves and delighted that she had thought to search the Moor for Araushnee's token. He wore the wondrous sheath now and took comfort from the knowledge that his beloved Araushnee stood back in relative safety, casting magic with other gods whose strengths were more mystic than military.
Corellon stole a glance over his shoulder. Araushnee stood somewhat apart from the other gods of magic, her hands outstretched and her crimson eyes intense with gathered power. Their son, Vhaeraun, stood guard over his mother as she chanted her incantations.
Then the invaders were upon the elven gods, and there was no more time for thought. Corellon slashed and darted and danced, his mighty sword turning aside the axes and pikes of their foes. Many of the elven gods took a stand near him, for the invaders all but fell over each other in their efforts to get at their most powerful foe. Eilistraee fought at his side with a silvery sword and with chilling ferocity, but she was soon swept away by the battle. Corellon lost sight of her in the crush and turmoil.
A piercing, nasal wail that could only be Kurtulmak caught Corellon's attention. He glanced toward the shriek to see the kobold god pluck a shining black arrow from his backside. Corellon noted the odd, almost vertical angle of the arrow and glanced up-instinctively parrying a dagger's thrust as he did so. Eilistraee had found a perch in the trees overhead, and she had another black arrow already nocked and ready. She sent her father a grin that managed to be both impish and fierce, then she sent her next arrow hurtling down into the thickest part of battle.
Her target was a minor goblin deity who was attempting to sneak up on Corellon. Dagger clenched between his teeth, the goblin crawled on hands and knees between the legs of a hobgoblin who fought near the elven lord, standing nearly toe-to-hoof with a centaur and battling with staves. Eilistraee's arrow caught the goblin in the rump; he jerked up, and his head struck squarely between the hobgoblin's legs. The hobgoblin let out a high-pitched scream of pain and outrage. Incensed, he forgot his centaur foe entirely and began to beat his goblin ally with his staff.
The centaur snorted in disgust and trotted off in search of a more worthy opponent.
Corellon chuckled, but all thoughts of mirth vanished as a rust-pitted sword thrust toward him-through the back of the fairy god who fought at his left side.
Faster almost than eyes could follow, Corellon seized his fey brother and tore him off the blade-an action that would bring certain death even to most gods, but which was the fairy's only hope of survival. The sword that had impaled him was iron, as deadly to a fairy as was poison to a mortal.
Corellon registered the enraged whinny close behind him, heard the thud and crunch of thick bones giving way to flailing hooves. He turned and flung his wounded ally over the back of the peg
asus goddess. Without stopping for breath or thought, he sidestepped the fall of the orcish god whose skull had been crushed by the winged horse, spun and ducked, then thrust up under the swing of the ogre's iron sword. He yanked the weapon free of the ogre's belly and on the backswing parried the jab of a hobgoblin's spear. And so it went, on and on, long into the morning.
Beset on all sides, Corellon fought on, as did all who defended the sacred forest. Here and there a form faded away-gods did not die easily, but seldom was there fighting such as this among them. There were losses on both sides, and for many long hours it was not clear who would prevail.
But a time came at last when Corellon swung around, looking for the next attacker, and found that there was none to hand. A few stray clangs resonated through the trees, speaking of hand-to-hand skirmishes. Nearby, an angry faun leaped up and down on a fallen goblin, no doubt leaving a tattoo of hoofprints on the defeated god's backside. An ogre stumbled wildly through the nearby forest, swatting and clawing at the small bright lights that clung to him like a swarm of enraged bees. Sprites, Corellon noted, fierce and fearless as usual. Despite their losses-for more than one light flickered and dimmed as the ogre struck wildly at his tormenters-the sprites kept fighting, their tiny swords darting and thrusting as they stung the ogre again and again.
The battle was nearly over; Arvandor was secure. Corellon nodded in satisfaction and thrust his sword back into its scabbard.
An odd, tingling feeling sizzled up his hand as his fingers brushed the weave of the tapestry sheath. Suddenly he was struck by an overwhelming sense of evil, a malevolence more terrible than Malar's cloud of darkness.
Corellon instinctively tried to shy away, and found that he could not. He looked down at his boots. A viscous, sickly green substance had oozed from the ground, and was holding him fast.
"Ghaunadar," the elf lord murmured in horror. Ghaunadar was an ancient, elemental evil, one that had never before been seen anywhere on Olympus. Only the presence of true evil could open the door of Arvandor to such a power. Corellon knew a moment of despair as he realized the extent of the treachery within the Seldarine.
At that moment the ogrish god who fled the avenging sprites careened past Corellon. The ogre's yellow eyes widened at the sight of the trapped elven god, then darkened with bloodlust and dreams of glory. Ignoring the stinging swords of the sprites, the ogre lifted high his flail-a length of thick chain that ended in a spiked ball-and began to swing it in circles as he came at the elven god.
Corellon reached for Sahandrian. The sword would not come free; the tapestry sheath clenched around it like a malevolent fist.
Startled, Corellon glanced toward the place where Araushnee stood. The naked triumph on her face chilled him as even the cloud of Malar or the creeping horror of Ghaunadar could not do.
Before he could absorb this shock, Eilistraee's shriek torn his gaze from Araushnee's gloating face. Corellon glanced up as his daughter loosed an arrow that took the attacking ogre through the throat.
The bestial god stopped; his whirling flail did not. The chain wrapped, once, twice, around his neck before the spiked balls slammed into his chest. His outline began to fade, but not before two more of Eilistraee's arrows bristled from his throat.
A fourth arrow was already in flight. Corellon felt again the tingle running from the scabbard, saw the arrow subtly change course. As his daughter's arrow spun toward him, Corellon realized why his sword had shattered during the battle with Gruumsh One-Eye.
The pain of Araushnee's treachery swept through him in great, crushing waves. Corellon did not even feel his daughter's arrow pierce his breast.
5
End of Battle, Declaration of War
Sunset had faded from the forest, and the moon was just beginning to rise when Aerdrie Faenya, battered but triumphant, flew back to the battlefields of Arvandor. The day had been long, but it had seen Auril Stormbringer soundly defeated. The price of this defeat had been Auril's eternal banishment from Olympus; henceforth, the goddess of ill weather would have to content herself with bringing winter to mortal worlds. This, of course, would add considerably to Aerdrie's responsibilities-she would have to ensure that the vanquished goddess did not focus her icy wrath upon the elven People. She suspected that many of the defeated and banished gods would take their revenge upon the mortal elves.
As she soared over the battle site, Aerdrie was relieved to note that her brother and sister deities had also triumphed. Most of the invaders had been banished, and the battlefield, though much trampled and bloodied, was nearly quiet. The trees of Arvandor would bear the scars of Auril's storms for some time to come, but all the forest deities would join in healing and cleansing the forest. Already the huntress daughter of Corellon was perched high in one such tree, no doubt saying healing magic over the blasted limbs.
The goddess swooped down toward the soon-to-be-victorious Seldarine, her thoughts already upon the celebration ahead. Her gaze fell upon young Eilistraee just as the grim-faced huntress loosed a black arrow. With horror, Aerdrie saw the arrow streak toward Corellon Larethian. It pierced the shining mail that covered the elf lord's chest and sent him hurtling backward.
A shriek like that of a rising wind tore from Aerdrie's throat. It did not occur to her that Eilistraee's act could be anything other than treachery, for all the Seldarine knew of the Dark Maiden's skill with the bow.
The goddess of air flung out both hands. From her fingers burst a tempest whose fury would have shamed Auril. The blast of wind struck the young huntress with a force that hurled her from the tree. Eilistraee plummeted down, winter-dry branches snapping beneath her as she fell. She hit the ground hard and lay still.
Sparing the fallen goddess not so much as a glance, Aerdrie alighted and hurried over to join the surviving members of the Seldarine, who were clustering around their fallen leader. They all fell back, however, to allow Araushnee passage, and watched in respectful silence as the goddess knelt at Corellon's side to mourn her fallen love. "He is not dead," Hanali Celanil said suddenly. Araushnee lifted her tear-streaked face from her hands and affixed an accusing gaze upon the goddess of love and beauty. "How can you, of all the gods, mock my grief? My beloved is gone!"
"The Dark Maiden's arrows could not slay him," said Hanali, this time more emphatically.
"I do not know why Eilistraee would do such a thing, but I do know that her aim is certain. Never once has she missed her mark," Araushnee countered.
Without wasting time in further speech, Hanali pushed aside the elf lord's consort and knelt in her place. Corellon's protective mail parted instantly before her touch. "It is as I thought," she murmured, studying the large arrowhead partially lodged in the elf lord's chest. "Eilistraee was hunting ogres-this arrow is big enough and strong enough to punch through the beasts' hides, but it's too large to slip between Corellon's ribs. It is lodged there. Help me," she said, turning to Aerdrie.
Between the two of them, the goddesses removed the arrow from the elven god and tended his wounds. But Corellon did not revive. There was about him an aura of immobilizing despair, as if the evil that he'd fought throughout that long day had chilled him deeply, leaving him frozen within himself. The other deities began to chant softly, speeding the elf lord's healing with their gathered power. Even Araushnee rallied from her grief to produce a shining vial from the folds of her gown.
"Water from Elysium, infused with healing herbs from the heart of Arvandor. It will help restore him," she said, and lifted the vial to Corellon's lips.
In truth, Araushnee had prepared for this eventuality. She'd had ample evidence of late of how tenaciously her "love" clung to his immortal life. The potion in her vial might not be deadly enough to kill the wounded god, but it would certainly slide him deeper into slumber. With a little luck-and perhaps some repeated doses-Corellon would never awaken. And if the nature of his deathlike slumber should ever be discovered, Araushnee would disclose a simple but devastating truth: It was Eilistraee who had gathered the
herbs and brewed the potion. The young huntress had prepared the deadly poison not for her use, but for the war arrows of mortal elves; however, none but she and Araushnee knew this. Since Eilistraee was beyond speech and would be for some time to come-if not for all time-Araushnee felt confident that this particular aspect of her plot was beyond discovery. And then, once Corellon's power was hers to command, she would-
A ray of moonlight, sharp as a stiletto, struck with lightning speed, shattering the goddess's dream of victory and dashing the vial from her ebony fingers. Startled, Araushnee fell back from Corellon and shrieked out a curse, one so vile that it shocked the chanting elven deities into silence.
The attacking moonlight backed away, softened, and spread into a mist-and then took on a form that by now was all too familiar to Araushnee.
"Sehanine!" shrieked the dark goddess. She rose and rounded on her son, who'd been standing at her shoulder like a hovering raven awaiting a chance to feed. Vhaeraun took an instinctive step backward.
"You idiot!" she screamed, her face contorted with rage and frustration. "It is too soon, too soon! Another day, and I would have had so much power that Sehanine could have done nothing. But you-you have destroyed us both!"
She raised one hand to strike the youth, but Hanali Celanil seized her wrist with a strength astonishing for one so delicate. "Enough! Your own words raise grave questions, Araushnee, and be sure that we will find answers. Be mindful that the council that will consider these questions stands here in witness to what you have said and what you do," the goddess said sternly.
Evermeet: Island of Elves (single books) Page 6
