Now he did.
3
Urgent Endeavor
“You’ve heard of the Coral Kingdom?” By habit, Alicia asked the question of Keane. The wreckage left by the brief battle with the unnatural ambassador still smoldered around them, and they all struggled to grasp the truth—or falsehood—of the visitor’s extravagant claims.
It was Tavish who replied, however. “Those legends, that’s all—so foreign to humankind that it remains completely unknown, if in fact it exists at all.”
“An undersea domain,” added Robyn. “As immense in its own way as all the isles of the Moonshaes combined, and even more inviolate in its territory. It is ruled by the sea trolls, the scrags. They are even more horrible than the sahuagin—the fishmen, whom we’ve had to fight before.”
“Then Father … then the king must be dead,” Alicia argued, to herself more than anyone. “How could any human survive in such a place?”
“It is possible,” the mage, Keane, observed tentatively. “There are many spells that will grant one the ability to survive without breathing for a matter of hours, long enough for the sahuagin or scrags to drag a victim to an undersea lair, there to imprison the unfortunate soul in an air-filled cave. No cell can be more impervious to escape.”
Alicia’s heart leaped again, wanting to believe beyond all reason that her father still lived. The loss of a hand didn’t matter. In fact, a powerful priest could repair such damage. What was important was that Tristan lived!
“A few hours,” muttered Brandon in frustration. “That would hardly be enough time to mount a rescue even if we could swim to the bottom of the ocean.”
“I have heard in the past of other ways,” Tavish noted. This time no one interrupted. “It is said that the elves once waged war under the sea, using ships enchanted with powerful magic that not only journeyed below the surface but also kept their crews alive, breathing air.”
“Even so, they must have been helpless beyond the hull of their vessel!” objected the prince.
“Ah, but there a wizard’s spell magic can come to the aid of his crew. Enchanted by water-breathing spells, elves could sally forth from their galleys, driving the creatures of the sea before them. In this way, it is said, the elves eventually gained mastery of the surface of the sea for all air-breathing creatures.”
“Look out!” Brandon cried, springing to Alicia’s side before anyone else reacted. A sudden movement nearby drew their attention, and the companions whirled to face one who had not been there a second before.
“Greetings,” said Princess Deirdre wryly. She gestured at the craters left by Keane’s meteor shower, the singed grass where the wall of fire had roared. “Did the celebration get a little too wild?”
“Great timing,” Alicia snapped. “We could have used your help a few minutes ago.”
The dark-haired princess said nothing. She wore a plain woolen traveling cloak, with a large bundle strapped to her back. The outline of the flat mirror, through which she had watched the entire fight, was lost in the shapeless bulk of the mass.
Robyn’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, she fixed Deirdre with a harsh stare, an expression her daughter ignored. After a moment, the queen’s face softened, shadowed once more by grief.
No one stopped to explain what had transpired to the newcomer, however, and Deirdre didn’t bother to ask. Instead, they turned their attention back to the discussion that had been interrupted.
“Now?” persisted Alicia. “Is such a voyage under the sea possible today?”
“There you’ll have to ask the elves,” Tavish said with a sigh. “And it’s most unlikely that they’ll tell you much!”
“But we can try, can’t we?” asked the princess, suddenly excited by the possibilities. “There are elves right here on Gwynneth! The Llewyrr, in Synnoria.”
“Indeed,” her mother noted with a wry smile. “Have you ever been to Synnoria? Has anyone here—anyone within the borders of Corwell—been to Synnoria?”
“Yes, my queen,” came the unexpected reply, from Lord Pawldo. “You have—and so have I.”
Robyn laughed, and the sound broke some of the tension. “Yes, beneath blindfolds, our ears masked by the sound of a harp!” Her face grew wistful at the memory. “Yet even then our presence was not desired by the Llewyrr. And the passes into the valley, remember, cannot be seen by humans—not even with aid of a sorcerer.”
“That doesn’t matter!” Alicia declared forcefully. She regretted her tone immediately, but surprisingly, her mother merely nodded and waited for her to continue.
“I’ll start out first thing in the morning! I’ll circle every side of that mountain range if I have to until I find a way in or they come out to get me!”
“I’m with you, my princess!” declared Lord Hanrald, grinding his fist into his palm, wishing he held a sword that he could brandish.
“And I!” Brandon was quick to pledge his axe.
Unconsciously the princess found herself looking at Keane. She saw an expression of unabashed dismay cross the mage’s face.
Indeed, to the wizard, the difficulties of the task loomed paramount. Keane had no faith in their ability to find a path into Synnoria. It was known to be impervious to most forms of detection and orientation spells. And even if they did manage to find their way to the hidden land, he very much doubted that the elves would willingly aid them. Not that they could be of much help, he noted in his silent tally of insurmountable obstacles. He didn’t believe for a moment that the secret to sailing a ship under the sea could be discovered in a landlocked mountain kingdom. But finally Keane spoke.
“What time do we leave?” the magic-user asked with a sigh of resignation.
* * * * *
Brigit removed the supple steel gauntlets from her hands and then stopped to doff her helmet and loosen the straps of her armor. Several young Llewyrr led her mare to the watering pool, and she knew that they would brush and feed the animal with care.
Flowing golden hair spilled across Brigit’s shoulders, concealing the pointed tips of her elven ears. Barely an inch over five feet tall and quite slender even in her armor, she concealed a great amount of fighting prowess in that tiny form.
“Captain?” Another sister knight stepped through the stable door.
“Oh, hello, Myra. What is it?”
“That priest who came through the Fey-Alamtine goes to see Erashanoor today. The elder wondered if you could join them.”
“Of course,” Brigit replied without hesitation. Normally the elven knight preferred the pastoral quiet and chaotic splendor of the forest to the well-manicured beauty of Chrysalis, but an invitation from the elder sage of Synnoria was always an intriguing prospect.
Erashanoor was, in many ways, Brigit’s mentor—at least in scholarship, if not in knighthood. She saw him only rarely, however, for the old elf could spare little time from his work. He was reputedly writing a detailed history of Synnoria. Nevertheless, on those rare occasions when the Fey-Alamtine was used, Erashanoor always spent considerable time with the refugees.
The sage’s offices were located on the highest level in the Argen-Tellirynd, the Palace of the Ages in the heart of Chrysalis. The city itself occupied an island in the Crystaloch, while the stables and barracks of the knights—along with the farms, forests, and parks of all Synnoria—sprawled across the broad valley floor surrounding the lake. Three wide roadways, each smoothly paved with tight-fitting blocks of white marble, crossed the lake at different points, connecting the island city to the shore.
Brigit crossed the causeway on foot, passing through the narrow silver gates—standing open, as always. Soon the gleaming towers of Chrysalis loomed around her, and the winding roads of smoothly polished alabaster stone swerved with artistic perfection among flower bushes and delicately shaped evergreens.
But she must attend to business, she reminded herself. She strolled down the quiet avenues, passing other Llewyrr who walked with casual grace about the city. There was no sense of u
rgency here, though all of these elves undoubtedly had business to tend to. Such is the way of members of a race whose lifespans commonly pass five centuries.
Brigit moved with the same unconscious ease, at last arriving at a clear, multifaceted wall that cast dazzling patterns of sunlight on the ground at her feet. She stood before the crowning glory of Chrysalis, the structure that had served as the ceremonial capital of the Llewyrr for as long as their city had stood.
The Argen-Tellirynd was surrounded by a crystal wall in the shape of a perfect triangle, enclosing pools, gardens, and walkways within its bright confines. The palace itself rose in a steeply sloping pyramid in the center of the courtyard. The structure had three sides, but Brigit could only see one from her current vantage. Gates as clear as glass swung wide at Brigit’s approach, and two elven footmen nodded politely to the knight as she passed.
“The elder is expecting you, Lady Brigit,” offered one.
The sister knight meandered through the maze of reflective pools and graceful hedges that filled the courtyard of the Argen-Tellirynd. Finally, unconsciously quickening her steps, she reached the gates of the palace structure itself.
A triangular door in the side of the palace structure slid sideways, revealing a wide, silver-floored corridor. Walls of crystal sloped upward to meet in a point, twenty feet over her head.
A few twists and turns brought her to a wide staircase, and at the top, she reached the elder sage’s library. She knew even before she entered that he was within; the telltale scent of his pipe smoke lingered in the air. With a wry smile, Brigit knocked on the door and entered.
“Ah, welcome, my child, welcome!” Erashanoor waved absently. The sage sat in his high-backed leather chair, holding a long-stemmed pipe in his hand and leaning forward, his posture intent upon Pallarynd. The Thy-Tach priest, his face streaked by tears, looked down as Brigit joined them in a third chair.
“The Thy-Tach have undergone an incredible ordeal,” explained the sage, puffing absently and sending clouds of smoke into the air over his head. Smoking was a virtually unknown practice among the Llewyrr and would not have been tolerated in closed quarters from anyone less influential than the elder sage. Unlike many of her people, however, Brigit had always enjoyed the burnt-almond smell of Erashanoor’s blended herbs.
“Until we encountered you yesterday,” Pallarynd said to Brigit, his composure recovered, “we weren’t even sure we would survive. Not just from the threat of the beast, but from the flight through the paths of ether.”
“I believe they were attacked by Ityak-Ortheel,” explained Erashanoor. “The one called ‘Elf-Eater.’ The monster has plagued our race throughout known history. Barely a century passes wherein a village or community does not feel its wrathful attack, and this attack always drives the survivors to the Fey-Alamtine. No means of defeating the Elf-Eater has ever been discovered.”
“Is that creature the reason the gate was constructed?” asked Pallarynd.
“No—at least, not the only reason.” Erashanoor took several pensive puffs on his pipe, leaning back in his chair and collecting his thoughts like scribbled notes scattered across a messy desk.
“You see, the destiny of our race is one of epic greatness, but also finite dimension,” he began. “We live longer than the humans, or any other populous and—allegedly—civilized race. Our artists create the most glorious sculptures, our musicians script the most beautiful songs—even our weaponsmiths make the finest sword steel!”
Brigit knew of a dwarf or two who would disagree with the last statement, but she kept the notion private as the sage continued with a sigh.
“The price of our longevity, our greatness, is that our numbers shall ever remain small. If we wage war against a human realm, their numbers are replenished after a few generations. We elves, however, never recover from such conflicts.
“And this limitation is coupled with another certainty: Despite our best efforts, humans and other lesser creatures who border elven lands will eventually covet those lands. It is the way of the short-lived ones to employ hasty means, such as violence, to accomplish their goals. Too, many of them are propelled by gods of evil, or the simple pressures of growing population. They breed like rabbits, these humans,” Erashanoor noted with a disgusted shake of his head. He paused to puff a few smoke rings, his narrow face creased into a scowl. He nodded to himself before he resumed.
“This is why Evermeet is so well protected. That island, the eternal elvenhome, will provide a land for our peoples that will last as long as the Realms themselves. It is guarded by wards and barriers both magical and mundane, protection against approach by the legions of creatures who threaten us. For that reason, the passages by which even we elves can approach the great island are strictly limited.”
“Limited to one route only—the Fey-Alamtine,” Brigit interjected.
“The reason Synnoria must remain inviolate,” Erashanoor quickly explained, “is that we are the only gate to Evermeet. This is why you must bring the Alamtine triangle with you when you enter the gate, and why someone must always remain behind, to see that nothing follows when the Fey-Alamtine closes.”
“That was a near thing,” noted Pallarynd. “This ‘Elf-Eater,’ I believe you called it, reached after me as we departed. It seemed to seek the triangle. The tentacle touched it and tried to pull it from my grasp.”
“It is a very good thing for all of us that it did not,” Erashanoor replied sternly. “Else it could have followed you here. If the secret of Synnoria becomes known to the enemies of the elves, our existence becomes tenuous at best. Even the touch of the Alamtine Triangle can give our enemies knowledge that endangers us.”
“Do you suppose that the Elf-Eater …?” Brigit felt an icy stab of fear. The picture of a creature such as the Ityak-Ortheel entering Synnoria brought bleak images of death and devastation to her mind.
“The creature didn’t take the triangle. Therefore I suspect the risk is minimal. It may know the shape of the key, but it still does not know where the gate leads. As long as that knowledge remains concealed, we are safe.”
* * * * *
“Walk with me for a moment, my daughter.” The warmth of Robyn’s tone touched Alicia, and she quickly rose and joined the queen at the fringe of the firelight cast by the hearty blaze.
The time approached midnight, Alicia knew without needing to look at the brilliant stars.
Several dozen Ffolk—Alicia’s companions, and other lords, knights, and even druids—had gathered around the fire some hours before to discuss the import of the day’s events. The queen had naturally canceled the upcoming Council of Lords. They could not proceed with a memorial for a king who might still be alive. They all realized that the prospects of a rescue seemed slim to nonexistent, but they also knew that the attempt must be made.
Alicia and her companions would embark for Synnoria on the morrow, seeking a secret that would allow them to take a ship under the sea. Robyn had returned to the castle after the disastrous banquet, and this was her first reappearance on the commons.
“Are you all right?” inquired the princess, laying a hand on her mother’s arm. Robyn replied by placing her own hand over her daughter’s and pressing gently.
For a time, they did not speak, and Alicia realized with surprise that her mother led her toward Corwell’s small druids’ grove and its sacred Moonwell. Soon they passed under the flat-topped stone arch, the entrance to the grove, and approached the small, milk-white pool of water. Even beneath the starlight and a half-full waxing moon, the illumination of the water cast a pale wash of light throughout the sacred clearing in the heart of the grove.
“I had a talk with your sister before I departed from Callidyrr,” Robyn opened the conversation.
“Deirdre has changed—a great deal,” Alicia remarked thoughtfully.
“You’ve seen it, too.” For a moment, Robyn was silent. “This spring she mastered a great deal of sorcery in a very short period of time. Keane swears that he does
n’t know how she did this, though he, too, has observed her power. Do you know anything more?”
Alicia shook her head regretfully. “We were apart for most of that month, and when we met again, at the Fairheight Moonwell, she had the powers of an accomplished sorceress. But she’ll tell me nothing about what happened to her in that space of time.”
“A mystery—and a disturbing one,” Robyn noted. “There is danger here, for Deirdre and for all of us, that I don’t believe she fully understands.”
Alicia remained silent. She had sensed the same threat as her mother, and it comforted her somewhat to know that she was not alone in her apprehensions. Nevertheless, she didn’t know what she could do to open a door of communication with her aloof sibling.
Robyn strolled along the shore of the shallow pond, as if looking for something on the ground. “Here,” said the High Queen finally. “I placed this here this morning to let the blessings of the goddess surround it.”
The High Queen knelt at the edge of the pool and lifted up a long shaft that had lain in the shadows. Rising and turning, she offered it to Alicia.
“Your staff?” questioned the younger woman. “But surely you’ll need it now!”
Robyn raised a hand. “Not my staff. Yours.”
“But—”
“This is a changestaff. I made it for you in honor of your accomplishments. It may aid you in your service to the goddess.”
Alicia touched the wood, which was smooth and vaguely warm beneath her fingertips. A sense of wonder overwhelmed her. The surface was carved intricately in the design of a leafy tendril that coiled about the staff over its entire length.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “I’ll cherish it more than anything I know.”
“When you need an ally, plant the base of the staff in the ground. Use the command word ‘Phyrosyne.’ ”
“What will it do?” Alicia wondered.
“You’ll see. It’s not what the staff does, but what the goddess does through the agent of the wood.” The queen’s smile was wistful, and Alicia waited for her to continue. “I fear you’ll need it, and much more, in the days and weeks to come.”
The Coral Kingdom Page 5
