Amlaruil did not return to the Towers that night, nor did Zaor turn his steps southward toward the fortress at Ruith. In a stone chamber in the heart of Evermeet, bathed in the soft light of the king sword, they acknowledged what both had known from their first meeting. That night, with words and with loving actions, they pledged themselves gladly to the future. They belonged to each other, and together, to Evermeet.
With the coming of dawn's first light, the lovers said their farewells, each content in the knowledge that their joined destiny would surely bring them back into each other's arms.
Amlaruil stood long at the mouth of the cave and watched the warrior descend the mountain, hurrying toward a handful of surviving dragonriders who had gathered in the valley below.
Despite all Zaor had told her of his leave-taking from Lightspear Keep, Amlaruil had little fear that censure awaited him. For one thing, Captain Horith Evanara's ship was gone, crushed into shards of crystal by the weight of a falling dragon. Even had the Captain survived, he could not have denied that Zaor Moonflower was one of the battle's true heroes. Without the dragonriders, without the giant eagles, the flight of evil dragons would have slipped through Evermeet's shields and laid waste the island.
And more than that, Amlaruil had faith in the destiny whispered to her by the moonblade Zaor carried. He was destined to rule, and she with him.
Bright dreams filled her thoughts as she summoned the silver path that would carry her back to the Towers. But as the whirl and rush of the magic travel faded, she was greeted by the sound of anguished elven mourning.
High, wordless keening filled the air as the elves of the Towers gave themselves over to grief. Amlaruil gathered up her skirts and ran for the Tower of the Sun. She burst into the lower chamber, in which stood a single elf, draped and cowled in the robes of the Grand Mage of the Towers.
"Jannalor! What happened? What is wrong?" she cried.
"Hush, child." To Amlaruil's surprise, the voice belonged not to Jannalor, but to Nakiasha. The forest elf turned to face the young mage, and lowered the cowl that obscured her tear-streaked face. "Do not speak his name while his spirit is yet so near to Evermeet, lest he turn away from Arvandor for love of you."
To the young mage, this seemed impossible. For as long as she had lived-nearly three and a half centuries-Jannalor Nierde had ruled the Towers of the Sun and Moon. His calm presence seemed as constant and predictable as the dawn.
"Surely he is not dead!" she protested.
"Along with the other magi who ensorcelled the dragons," Nakiasha said sadly. "The task was too great, the magic that bound us all together too strained by the battle and by our far distance from each other. You were not part of the Circle, so you could not know. But each of the five magi who went with us to the Eagle Hills attended the silver dragons in separate, distant chambers among the caves. I felt them die when the enchantment was done, yet I could do nothing to save them."
Amlaruil stared at her mentor, her thoughts spinning in confusion and stunned grief. Among the magi were many of her closest friends, and nearest kin. "How then do you and I still live? It does not seem possible. It does not seem-"
"Right?" the older elf finished. "Do not think that I have not asked that same question, many times. But to do so is to doubt the will of the gods. You and I, Amlaruil, carry the special blessing of the Seldarine. How old do you think me?"
The girl blinked, startled by the seeming non sequitur. "You are past midlife, perhaps in your fifth century."
Nakiasha snorted. "Double that, you'd be closer. It will be much the same for you. Do not look so doubtful! You have lived three centuries and more, yet most who behold you take you for a maiden fresh from childhood. And what of your power? You should not have been able to cast the spell upon the dragon alone, and yet you did. You survived, even while those joined in a Circle could not bear the flow of magic. It is a hard fact, but you must accustom yourself to it, for it is your destiny. As is this."
The forest elf shrugged off the Grand Mage mantle and came forward to drape it over Amlaruil's shoulders. "It was the will of he who ruled these Towers that you succeed him. I but kept it in trust for your arrival."
Amlaruil stared at her mentor, unable to take in all that she had said. "But I am pledged elsewhere," she whispered.
"Are you, now?" Nakiasha looked at her shrewdly. "Ah. I see the way of it. The young warrior whom you supported through the battle, is it not?
"Even so," the sorceress said briskly, not awaiting an answer. "Was the nature of your pledge merely that of a young lover, or she who wishes to serve all her People?"
"Must I choose between them?"
"Perhaps."
Amlaruil's fingers tangled in the folds of the Grand Mage's mantle, as if uncertain whether to draw it close or cast it aside. Yet there was no denying Nakiasha's words. The promises that she and Zaor had exchanged during the long, sweet hours of the night sang in her heart, and she would hold true to them. They were pledged to each other-and to the service of Evermeet.
In her heart, Amlaruil knew herself to be Zaor's true queen. But surely a long and difficult road lay before Zaor before he was acclaimed Evermeet's king. Perhaps she could best serve his destiny by accepting that which had been laid upon her by the former Grand Mage.
The elf maid lifted her head in an unconscious gesture of command. "We must gather the magi. With so many of us gone, there is much that must be done to rebuild the strength of the Towers, and to lift the spirits of those who remain."
A faint smile, one that was both proud and sad, crossed Nakiasha's face. Jannalor Nierde had chosen well-Amlaruil filled the mantle of power as if she had been fashioned for the task. The sorceress bowed her head in a gesture of respect, and followed the new Grand Mage out into the Tower courtyard.
18
For the Good of the People
The elves who sat at the table of the Council of Elders watched in stunned amazement as Lady Mylaerla Durothil put aside her cloak of office. "Do not look so dismayed," the elf woman said dryly. "In recent years, the title of High Councilor has been largely honorary. It is, quite frankly, an honor I can live without."
"It has never been the way of Durothil to turn aside from duty," Belstram Durothil said in a tight, angry voice.
"Nor do I," retorted the matron. "The recent battle has shown me how I can best serve the People and myself. I am less suited to court life than a general's command, and I say without intention of giving offense that I prefer a dragon's company to that of any elf in this room," she added, gazing pointedly at her great-great-nephew. Belstram flushed angrily and looked away.
"In resigning as High Councilor," Lady Durothil continued, "I do not suggest that the Council itself be dissolved. But mark me, its role, like my own, must change."
"Lady Durothil," interrupted Saida Evanara in a supercilious voice. "With or without you, the Council has ruled Evermeet for centuries untold. It is tradition. What you suggest is absurd."
"Is it?" the matron said tartly. "Perhaps my time in the Eagle Hills has given me the distance needed for clear sight. Do you wish to discuss absurdity? Very well. While this council in my absence debated a course of action, while the commanders of the various forces scrambled for personal glory, a flight of dragons came within a day's ship-travel from our shores! Your own kinsman, Horith Evanara, was slain in this battle. Had he not acted as he did, going into battle without either consulting the council or summoning the dragonriders, we would not have before us the task of choosing his replacement!"
"As to that, I do not see why the council should debate this matter. The command should fall to me," Saida stated, seizing upon the one item in Lady Durothil's speech of personal interest. "Perhaps I am have not been long in Evermeet, but in my clan I stand next to Horith in military rank and experience."
"The Nierde clan is not unique in producing able warriors," Francessca Silverspear pointed out. "Nor are you, Saida, the only elf seated here who fought for the life of Myth Drannor!"
"That is true enough, but would you have us toss aside all tradition in one afternoon?" returned Saida heatedly. "For centuries, the Nierde clan has held Ruith and commanded Sumbrar!"
"And what of Ruith now?" inquired Montagor Amarillis, a young noble with the bright red hair characteristic of his clan. "What of Sumbrar? The Starwing fleet is all but demolished. Many of the Sumbrar Tower's magi perished in an attempt to save the surviving dragons. Our reserves of arms and magic have been dangerously depleted by the actions of the last Evanara to hold Lightspear Keep. I, for one, am not eager to see Horith Evanara's legacy continued!"
Saida turned a coldly furious gaze upon the Moon elf. "The Amarillis have always been ambitious, Montagor. You would be delighted to see control of Evermeet's military seized from the Gold elves. Next, you're going to argue that it's time for Evermeet to succumb to a Moon elven royalty!"
"That is precisely what I think, and it is the reason why I called the council together this day," Lady Durothil announced firmly, turning Saida's mockery into a statement of truth.
She let the silence linger so that it might give weight to her next words. "I know that many of the noble families, particularly the Gold elven clans such as my own, will be resistant to this. But all of us knew that the time would come! I say that it is here, now."
"It is true that with a single voice commanding all the forces of Evermeet, we would be better able to respond to a sudden threat," admitted Yalathanil Symbaern. "According to Lady Durothil's reports, the tide of battle was turned when young Zaor Moonflower took command. I can only speak according to what I have seen, but I believe that if Myth Drannor had been led by a single, capable ruler rather than a contentious council of its own, its fate might have been quite different. Evermeet must learn, and move forward."
Several members of the council nodded thoughtfully. Had this opinion come from a Moon elf, it would not have fallen into such receptive soil. But the Symbaern house was ancient and honorable, even if the Gold elf wizard himself was a new voice in the council. Yalathanil and several other survivors from his clan had fled the destruction of Myth Drannor to settle Evermeet. He was already widely respected for both his magical skills and his wisdom.
"I agree with Lady Durothil's opinion of Zaor Moonflower," added Keerla Hawksong, the aged minstrel who led her Silver elf clan. "His recruitment of the giant eagles was brilliant. Already members of my house have followed up this victory, and are discussing with Queen WindShriek the possibility of forming a permanent troop of Eagle Riders."
"We are wandering from the point at hand," Montagor Amarillis pointed out. "According to our High Councilor, it is time for the People of Evermeet to choose a royal family. I say that the council put the matter to vote this very day!"
"The young have so little regard for history," Lady Durothil said dryly. "Are you forgetting that the choice will be made, not by the council, but by the will of the gods, as interpreted by enchanted swords?"
"Forget? That is hardly likely," sneered Saida, "considering that the Amarillis clan still holds a living moonblade! It is said that Montagor Amarillis has a bit of the seer about him. Perhaps in his dreams of the future he fancies himself a king."
"As to that, it is for the gods to say," Montagor said piously. "Yet it is true that the Amarillis moonblade is unclaimed. My grandmother, Chin'nesstre, was among the commanders of Lightspear Keep who took the Starwing fleet against the invaders. She was slain by dragonfire; her sword was recovered from the charred remains of the ship."
"Your grandmother's sword is not the only Amarillis moonblade still in service to the People," Francessca Silverspear asserted. As she spoke, the warrior touched the moonstone in the hilt of her own blade. "This I know, for I fought beside many of your kin. In the fall of Myth Drannor, many heroes died, including many moonfighters. Some of these swords are unclaimed, others have been lost."
"How are we to know that one of these lost swords might not have been meant to determine kingship?" Saida Evanara demanded. "How can such a decision be made now, when not all of the moonblades can be accounted for?"
"In that, we will have to trust the gods," Mi'tilarro Aelorothi said firmly. Such was the weight of the Gold elf's words that all protest fell silent, for the patriarch of the ancient Gold elf clan was also a high priest of Corellon Larethian.
"It is decided, then," Lady Durothil said firmly. "Send word to all clans of Evermeet, and to all elves bearing moonblades upon the mainland. When the summer solstice arrives, all will gather in the meadowlands surrounding Drelagara."
Montagor's attention was suddenly fixed intently upon the goblet before him. "As you have pointed out, Lady Durothil, my knowledge of history is perhaps not what it should be. Tell me, what will happen if more than one clan demonstrates through possession of a moonblade a viable claim to the throne?"
Mylaerla Durothil's face turned grim. "It will be as it has always been: a matter for the gods to decide. Each sword has developed certain powers, and the elf who wields the sword must be equal to the challenge of his or her blade. Who holds the most powerful sword, and who wields it best, the same shall win the throne."
"You mean that elves of noble blood must fight each other?" Montagor asked, clearly appalled.
The elf woman's smile was ironic in the extreme. "Since when, young Lord Amarillis, have we ever done anything else?"
There were few places on all of Evermeet as lovely as Drelagara. A small city, it made up in symmetry and quiet beauty what it lacked in grandeur. The buildings were all of white marble, magically raised from the depths of Evermeet, and the whole was located in the center of an expanse of gently rolling meadows that measured more than sixty miles wide. This meadowland was surrounded on all sides by forests, and within a day's ride of the wondrous white-sand beaches of Siiluth.
The moon-horses, those magical white beasts who were the willing allies and friends of the elves, made their home in the meadows of Drelagara. As the day of the summer solstice dawned the moon-horses were as much in evidence as the elves. Their glossy coats gleamed in the pale light that proceeded sunrise as they pranced among the gathered people and the bright silk pavilions, accepting the caresses of elven children, tossing their flower-braided manes as if they were gracious hosts giving welcome to their elven visitors.
From all over Evermeet the elves gathered in the Drelagara meadow, along with representatives from many distant elven communities. This, the selection of Evermeet's ruling house, was a matter that concerned all the People.
Many of the wild elves ventured from the forest depths for the occasion, though no one there could get a true sense of their number. The fey folk kept to the shadows of the forest's edge, or gathered beneath the meadow's scattered trees. Like elusive deer, they were nearly invisible until they showed their presence with movement.
There were also a number of Sea elven representatives who wore amulets to aid them in breathing air so that they might observe the ceremony.
Moon elves were much in evidence, of course. Each clan gathered under the bright banners of its house standard. Those who possessed moonblades would contend for the honor of rulership, and these clans were given the prime locations nearest the center of the gathering place.
And all the Gold elf clans were present, though it was widely noted and softly commented that many of these elves did not look pleased with the prospect of eminent Moon elven rule.
Members of all the other fey races gathered in Drelagara as well, for Evermeet's king would be the ruler of them all. Massive centaur warriors stood at the perimeter of the forest, eyeing the large, silvery forms of the nearby Iythari-the elusive, shapeshifting elven wolf-people-with wary respect. Unicorns and pegasi exchanged silent gossip. Faerie dragons flitted about the meadow, some of them amusing themselves by playing tricks on the elves, some giggling wildly as they chased the delegation of sprites about as if they were herding a flock of tiny, airborne sheep. Pixies sat comfortably upon the leafy arms of a giant treant, an ancient, sent
ient tree-person who watched over the proceedings with solemn patience.
A place of honor near the very center of the gathering had been granted to the delegation from the Towers of the Sun and Moon. In her own private pavilion, Amlaruil prepared herself for the festivities with more than her usual care. As Lady of the Tower, she held a position nearly the equal of the soon-to-be chosen ruler. This was her first state appearance, and she would be the focus of many eyes this day.
Amlaruil wished to do honor to the Towers, but in her preparations she answered another, more personal motive. Several months had passed since she and Zaor had made their pledges in the heady aftermath of battle. She had not seen him since. Everything must be right for this, their first meeting.
The elf woman carefully arranged her red-gold hair in elaborate curls, and donned the jewels passed down to her from distant generations. Her gown, though lovely and fashioned of silk the color of summer skies, was of less importance, for it would be covered by the flowing mantle that proclaimed her office.
"And a good thing, too," Amlaruil murmured. A small, secret smile curved her lips as she smoothed her hands over the clinging silk of her gown. Though she took nothing but joy in the tiny life that slept within the growing curve of her belly, she wanted Zaor to see her, first and foremost, and not the child who would be his heir.
His royal heir.
Of this, Amlaruil was as certain as sunrise. In her few months as Grand Mage, and under the careful tutelage of the sorceress Nakiasha, she had come to accept the unusual link between her spirit and the gods of the Seldarine. Attuned to Evermeet in ways that she could not yet begin to understand, Amlaruil knew and recognized the power of the sword Zaor carried. She also felt the innate nobility of the elf who wielded it. In Amlaruil's mind, Zaor was Evermeet's king. This day would only affirm what she knew to be true,
"My lady?"
The sound of Nakiasha's voice, coming from outside the pavilion, startled Amlaruil from her thoughts. She snatched up her mantle and quickly draped it about her shoulders.
Evermeet: Island of Elves (single books) Page 34
