Evermeet: Island of Elves (single books)

by Elaine Cunningham

  Montagor Amarillis caught at her elbows to steady her. "Lady Moonflower," he said, his tone slightly mocking. "It is a surprise to see you here, considering that the king is not at court. Nothing is amiss with the princess, I trust?"

  Amlaruil tore herself away from him and flung both arms high in a sudden, desperate gesture. She disappeared in a flash of silver fire.

  The noble blinked. "Well. Unusually flashy, for our lady mage. She must have been most eager to divest herself of our presence. What mischief have you been up to, my sister?"

  Smiling like a cream-sated cat, Lydi'aleera tucked her arm into his and drew him out onto the balcony. As they walked, she told him what had transpired. Montagor listened, openmouthed, to the queen's words. When she was finished, he chuckled softly, shaking his head in wonderment.

  "Well done, little sister! I would not have thought you capable of such cunning."

  The queen gave him a complacent look. "I have had an excellent teacher."

  Montagor acknowledged her words with a slight bow. "Since you have all things well in hand, I will leave you."

  "No, stay," the queen urged. "Zaor will not be back until tomorrow at the earliest. I would have your advice on how best to rid myself of that wretched Ilyrana. And while you're about it," she added in less pleasant tones, "you can explain to me why I never heard so much as a word of Amlaruil's latest two brats. And when you are through, then you can begin to think about how best to ensure that your future nephew will not be troubled by thrice a challenge to his rightful throne!"

  As she fled from the palace, Amlaruil's first desire was to return at once to Craulnober Keep, and see once again with her own eyes that her sons were indeed safe from the Gold elf conspirators. She knew they awaited her there, hale and happy and dirty as a pair of piglets from their rowdy play, and that such a trip would avail nothing. It would be a personal indulgence, no more.

  But she had a pledge to keep, whatever the keeping cost her. In a locked tower room, she consulted ancient books of folklore and herb craft, blending the old tales with the power of her own High Magic. She worked all through that night and well into the next morning. Finally she held in her hands two small vials which promised to be the fulfillment of Lydi'aleera's dreams-and the death of her own.

  Amlaruil's heart was leaden as she called forth the magic that would once again bring her to the moonstone palace. This time, she found Lydi'aleera in the company of her brother, walking arm and arm with him in the wondrous gardens that surrounded the palace.

  It struck Amlaruil that once Zaor was magically enthralled by the queen, Montagor Amarillis would have considerable power in the court. In all things, it was rumored, the queen deferred to her brother.

  Well, it was not something that could be helped. Amlaruil gave the potions to the queen and left as quickly as she came. And when she left, she took Ilyrana with her-she did not trust Lydi'aleera with her daughter's safety. If the queen was willing to risk her own husband to bargain for an heir of her own begetting, what lengths might she take to remove any possible contenders for her child's throne?

  With all possible haste, Amlaruil gathered her three children and entrusted them once again to her agent Rennyn. Before that day waned, she stood atop the walls of Craulnober Keep and watched as the ship bearing them to the safety of the Moonshae Islands disappeared from sight.

  The mage's heart was heavy indeed as she returned to the Towers. Not only had she lost Zaor's love this day by magic she herself had fashioned, not only was she parted from her three children, but she felt estranged from Evermeet itself. The dire events in the forest glade had sundered her forever from the sense of security that she had always considered her birthright.

  It seemed inconceivable that an elf would act the part of an assassin, or that her own children might have to take refuge elsewhere. It was a reversal of all that she held to be true-for was not Evermeet created by the gods as the ultimate refuge of all elves?

  That night, as she sought rest in exhausted revery, Amlaruil had a terrible dream. In revery she stood once again upon the walls of Craulnober Keep, but the scene she gazed upon was not a white-winged elven vessel and a tranquil sea. The castle was scorched and blackened, utterly silent and eerily devoid of life, and the seas beyond were littered with the flotsam of a dozen shattered elven ships.

  Amlaruil awoke from revery with a start, beset by the horrible conviction that there was more to her dream than her own troubled thoughts. Quickly she dressed herself and summoned the magic that would carry her to her kinsman's keep.

  Dawn was breaking as she stepped out of the magic pathway and into the courtyard of the ancient Craulnober castle. Amlaruil had the oddest feeling that she was stepping into a waking dream.

  All was exactly as she had pictured it. The ancient walls were blackened, crumbling. No sign of life greeted her. It was as if the entire thriving, vital community had been swept away by a burst of dragonfire.

  A thin, piercing cry cut through the chill morning air. Amlaruil hurried toward the sound, which seemed to come from somewhere below the ground. She tugged at the heavy door that sealed the entrance to the castle's lowest level, then ran down a long, curving stairway. In a small room in the farthest reaches of the castle she found two living souls: an old elf, long past the age of warriors, and a small, squalling babe.

  The elf looked up when Amlaruil entered the room, his eyes red in his soot-darkened face. A moment passed before she recognized him as Elanjar, the patriarch of the Craulnober clan and the swordmaster who had endeavored to teach the discipline to her own unruly sons.

  "What happened here?" she asked, coming to kneel at the elf s side.

  Elanjar's eyes hardened. "We were overrun by creatures from Below."

  "No," Amlaruil said in disbelief. "How is that possible? Never have the people of the Underdark set foot on the island!"

  "Nor have they-yet," the elf replied. "You know the island of Tilrith, do you not?"

  The mage nodded. The tiny island, which lay just north of the Craulnober holdings, was much like northern Evermeet in terrain. It was a wild place, with rocky hills honeycombed with caves. The Craulnober and their retainers kept sheep on the island, and a few servants lived there year-round to tend the flocks. With a sudden jolt, Amlaruil realized that this was the season when spring lambs were born, and the sheep sheered of their winter coats. Most of the villagers and nobles would be on Tilrith for the work and the festivities that followed.

  "They were attacked on the island," she murmured, aghast.

  "Most were slaughtered along with the sheep," Elanjar said with deep bitterness. "A few escaped. The drow followed-not in ships, but with magic. They sent a firestorm upon the ships and upon this castle such as I had never imagined possible. Those few elves who remained behind were reduced to ash. I survived only through the magic of the sword I carry," he added, touching the glowing hilt of the Craulnober moonblade. "This babe, my grandson Elaith, was in my arms when the firestorm struck. He and I are all that remain of this clan." The elf's singed head sagged forward, as if this revelation had taken the last of his remaining strength.

  Amlaruil lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and then reached out to take the baby from his arms. She folded back the charred blanket to look at the infant. An involuntary smile curved her lips. Little Elaith was a beautiful boy, with large solemn eyes the color of amber and a cap of short, silvery curls.

  "This child is kin to me," she said softly. "His parents sheltered my sons; I will do the same for theirs. Elaith will be my fosterling, and I swear before all the gods that I will hold him as dear as any child of my own body. He will be taught magic in the towers, and raised in the courts of Leuthilspar in a manner that befits a noble elf, and the heir to Craulnober."

  She looked up at Elanjar. "Come. I must get the two of you to the safety of the Towers. The drow will be back with the coming of night."

  "Craulnober Keep is well-nigh impregnable," Elanjar said, a frown of worry deepening the furr
ows of his forehead. "If the drow gain control of this keep, they will have a stronghold from which to strike at the whole island!"

  "They will not set foot on Evermeet," Amlaruil assured him as she helped him to his feet. "If it takes every warrior and every mage on Evermeet to complete the task, we will stop them on Tilrith and seal their tunnels forever!"

  Alone and on foot, Zaor walked through the northern gates of Leuthilspar and set a brisk pace for the palace. He had not gone far before Myronthilar Silverspear appeared at his side like a small gray shadow.

  "I told you to await me," the king grumbled.

  "And so I have," his friend asserted. "This business that took you off alone, that which was so important that none could accompany you-it is completed?"

  Zaor's face set into grim lines. "It seems it is just beginning. Is Amlaruil still at the palace?"

  The warrior hesitated. "She has been and gone more than once since you left, and since she came bringing news that you were endangered, the queen's brother has been very much in attendance. He eyes the palace maids as if he were selecting his evening's entertainment, and he studies the chests as if contemplating which one would best hold his spare cloaks and boots. I tell you, my lord, I like it not."

  "You were always cautious of Montagor Amarillis," Zaor said. "If he wished to lay claim to the throne, he would have done so twenty-five years before."

  "Montagor is no king, and he knows it. But perhaps he desires a regency," Myron told him gravely. "His hope for an Amarillis heir is nearly gone, for the Princess Ilyrana nears the age of accountability. She will be crowned as your heir before the year is through."

  Zaor stopped dead. "Do you think the princess is in danger?"

  "The lady Amlaruil does," Myron said. "She took the princess and sent her and the twins away to safety. And she bid me meet you as soon as I could do so without breaking my word." His face turned grave. "Is it true? There was an attempt upon your life, here on Evermeet itself?"

  "Do you doubt the lady mage?" Zaor said dryly.

  As he expected, Myronthilar's face took on a look of near reverence. "Not in this or anything," he said quietly.

  "Thank you for your faith, my friend," said a feminine voice behind them.

  Both warriors jumped, and whirled to face the speaker. Their countenances wore identical expressions of chagrin that they could be taken unaware. Taking pity on the powerful blend of male and elven pride, Amlaruil reached out and touched the ring on Myronthilar's hand.

  "The elfrune I gave you enables me to find you when needed," she explained. "Would that I had the sense to give one to Zaor, rather than worry about propriety and appearances! But there are other matters at hand that demand your attention, my lords." In a few terse words she told them about the invasion of Tilrith.

  Zaor's face darkened. "All the forces of Evermeet will march north at once. Can you take us to the palace, my lady?"

  Amlaruil called the magic that carried all three instantly to Zaor's council chambers. With the brisk efficiency of a seasoned war leader, the king sent forth messengers to all corners of Evermeet to gather the elves for battle.

  At last he turned back to Amlaruil, who had stood silently by. "Can you bring a Circle to the northern shore? We will have need of powerful magic to close the tunnels. If Tilrith must be dropped into the sea to ensure Evermeet's security, then so be it."

  "It will be done," she assured him. At that moment the doors to the chamber flew open, and Lydi'aleera swept into the room Montagor close on her heels. Her gaze kindled when it fell upon Amlaruil, and her smile turned feline. With deliberate motions, she took up a decanter of wine and poured two cups. She took the vials from her sash, holding them so that Amlaruil could see them and read her intent.

  "Welcome back, my lord. Will you drink with me, to celebrate your return?" she purred.

  Zaor shook his head. "I cannot stay. Have you not heard the news, or at least suspected that something might be amiss? The palace is in an uproar, and soldiers swarm the streets of the city. This is not a time for celebrations."

  The smug expression on the queen's face faltered. "You are not leaving, surely!"

  "At once. The northern shores are under threat of invasion-not from sahuagin this time, but from creatures from Below."

  "No. It is impossible," Lydi'aleera said, her eyes huge with fear.

  "I wish that were so," the king said in a grim tone. "But do not be concerned. You will be quite safe in the palace," he assured her, misunderstanding the true source of her concern. He bowed to the elf women and strode from the room.

  Lydi'aleera whirled toward the mage. "This is your doing," she hissed. "You have always taken Zaor from me! And now you conspire against me, even if that means an alliance with the drow!" The queen drew back her arm as if to hurl the goblet at Amlaruil.

  "Enough!" the mage said softly.

  The chilling fury in that single word froze the queen in place. Amlaruil stepped forward, her eyes blazing in her pale face. "Do not dare to accuse me of crimes that you, and you alone in this room, have committed. Do you wish to speak treason? Then speak of a queen who would not lift her hand to save her husband, until she was assured of getting her will."

  "I must give Zaor an heir," the elf woman repeated stubbornly.

  "Perhaps you will, but not by my power, not now and never again," Amlaruil swore. "The magic of the fertility potion will not outlive this night; the magic of the love potion also diminishes with time. You might yet be able to lure Zaor to your bed, but you will not find your way into his heart! You have lost your chance, and I will not give you another." She turned away.

  "I did not give you leave to go," the queen snapped.

  The High Mage whirled back, her blue eyes dark with wrath. "I have more important concerns than your personal vanity and your need to resort to magic-aided seduction! Have you forgotten that the island over which you purport to reign is even now under threat of invasion? I am needed, even if you are not."

  "You will fight at Zaor's side, I suppose?" scoffed Lydi'aleera.

  Amlaruil's answering smile was cold. "Did you think the Tower magi spent all their time dancing beneath the stars? This will not be the first time I have used my magic in battle. And if the need arises, yes, I will take up a sword."

  The High Mage disappeared in a sharp, angry crackle of magic.

  After a moment's silence, Montagor came forward, shaking his head in bemused admiration. "Amlaruil in battle! Now that would be a sight worth seeing!"

  Lydi'aleera's hand flashed out and cuffed her brother sharply on the side of the head. "Do your thinking with this, brother! You heard everything. Whatever am I to do now?"

  Montagor considered her carefully. "You realize the importance of an Amarillis heir, do you not?"

  "Yes, yes-of course! Would I go to such lengths to ensure one, otherwise?"

  The elf nodded. "Then this is what you must do. You know Adamar Alenuath, of course. Have you ever noticed how closely he resembles Zaor?"

  "No," she retorted. "He is nowhere near the king's stature, nor is anyone on this island."

  "Perhaps 'closely' is overstating the case." he admitted. "But Adamar is a Moon elf warrior and strongly built, though not nearly of Zaor's height. He has the same odd coloring-the blue hair, the gold flecks in his blue eyes. If you were to seduce Adamar, the resulting offspring should be like enough to the Moonflowers to pass as the king's own."

  Lydi'aleera gasped. "You cannot be serious!"

  "Why not? Can you think of another way?"

  "But even if I wished to do such a thing, Adamar would never agree to it!"

  "Again, why not? You are very beautiful. He admires you-I know that to be so."

  The elf woman shrugged impatiently. "And what of it? Adamar is loyal to the king. To lie with Zaor's wife would be an act of treason and personal betrayal. He would not do it, even if he desired me more than his next breath of air!"

  A crafty smile twisted Montagor's lips. "Then it is time to te
st the potency of Amlaruil's spell. I will arrange for Adamar to come to the palace on some pretense. Give him the potion in a glass of wine, and he will not resist your offered charms."

  Lydi'aleera wrung her hands. "But he will confess, after!"

  "And besmirch his honor and that of his clan? To publicly dishonor his queen?" Montagor smirked. "I think not."

  The elf's face grew deadly serious. "But do not concern yourself overmuch, my sister. Adamar thinks me his friend and consults me on all matters. Oft-times I know his mind before he is entirely certain of it himself. If he is driven to confess, he will start by unburdening himself to me. If necessary, I will challenge him to battle over my sister's honor. And do not doubt that I will win."

  She laughed without humor. "I have seen you fight, brother. You are not Adamar's equal."

  "The duel will be a pretense," Montagor said softly, though his burning eyes acknowledged that her words had struck home. "Adamar is a noble fool-he will think he deserves to die. He will think his defeat the only rightful end, and will have more to do with bringing it about than I could think to accomplish. In fact, he may simply do the deed himself and save me the trouble of lifting a sword."

  "But either way, Adamar will be dead."

  "And Zaor will have an heir by his lawful queen."

  Lydi'aleera was silent for a long moment, gazing out the open window over the city with eyes blinded to the turmoil of battle preparations below. "Very well. Send for Adamar, then," she said, the words coming out in a rush. She whirled to face her brother, hatred naked in her eyes. "But may Lloth claim you as her own," she said in a venomous whisper.

  The curse, perhaps the most deadly and offensive words that could pass between two of the People, merely brought a smile to Montagor's lips.

  "Be that as it may, dear sister. But bear in mind that the Abyss is a very large place. Be very careful whom you consign to damnation, lest you be judged by the same measure."

  He turned and swaggered out of the chamber. At the door he paused, as if some new thought had come to him. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "I have not seen Amlaruil for many years. She is wondrous fair, is she not? It is little wonder the king is so obsessed with her."