“I’m not completely convinced,” Teldin admitted. “The elves don’t need me to get the Spelljammer. There are other ways to achieve that goal. Forgive me for being so blunt, but what’s in this for you?”
“Freedom.” The elf’s eyes took on a distant look, and he scanned the colorful market scene outside their litter. “Freedom,” he repeated softly.
Teldin’s brow furrowed, but Vallus did not seem inclined to elaborate. The elf dropped the subject and began to describe the sights along their route. Teldin only half listened, so absorbed was he in the sights of the elven city.
Evermeet was a place beautiful beyond Teldin’s dreams.
The harbor led through a market, where elven merchants offered exotic produce, musical instruments, jewelry, gossamer silks. They passed a bakery redolent with the subtle spices of quinpah and surrounded by a flock of elven children. The elflings licked honey off their slender fingers and darted about in games common to children of all races. Some of them, agape or giggling, pointed at the dracons. Teldin had never seen an elven settlement before, and he was fascinated by the vital, joyful atmosphere. Aloof with other beings, elves apparently could be high-spirited, even fun-loving, in the company of their own kind. As the litter floated slowly through the city, Teldin began to perceive something of the fabric of the elven society. Tradition and magic wove through elven life, giving it a beauty and resonance Teldin had never before imagined.
As he pondered this insight, the market gave way to a residential area. Enormous trees were everywhere, meeting over the broad streets to make uninterrupted canopies of blue and green. The streets were lined with elven residences, each with its own gardens. These houses were neither uniform nor built upon the angular, four-square designs that humans favored. Some structures resembled wood or crystal and seemed to be organic, grown as were elven spelljamming ships. Other homes were in the trees themselves, and a complex system of suspended walkways connected the homes in a gossamer network.
Teldin knew little of magic, but it occurred to him that elven magic was subtly different from that wielded by a human wizard. It was somehow more harmonious, using life-forms and working with nature. That was an engaging thought until he remembered Hectate Kir and what that sort of magic could yield. Teldin hastily pushed the thought aside. It seemed almost irreverent to contemplate the elves’ dark side in this land of bright magic and green light.
After a time the litter came to a large square surrounded with official buildings. The palace, a marvel of gem-encrusted white marble, glistened faintly blue in the distance. It was surrounded by gardens, and to one side stretched a vast green forest. Magic hung in the air like mist.
“I should tell you a little about the royal family,” Vallus said, breaking into Teldin’s thoughts. “Evermeet is ruled by Queen Amlauril, who heads the moon elf royal family.”
“What are moon elves?” Teldin asked.
“They are but one of several elven peoples on Toril,” Vallus began. “They are uncommon on other worlds, so it is not unusual that you have not encountered one before this.”
Vallus gestured to the pale, black-haired elven woman who walked alongside the litter, exchanging pleasantries with Trivit.
“That is a moon elf,” Vallus said. “A slight blue tinge to the skin is common, but apart from that, they are more like mankind than are other elves.”
The elf’s discourse was interrupted by the creak of gates. They had reached the palace grounds, and several guards fell in with the procession to escort them up to the palace. As they neared the palace gardens, Teldin noted with interest that the lawns were a deep, vibrant blue, as were the tall bushes that formed the garden maze. He shook his head in silent amazement. Hearing about blue foliage did not prepare him for the strangeness of the sight.
Teldin turned his gaze to the palace walls. Instantly he recoiled. There were no doors into the palace; the vast wall looked as if it had been carved from a single precious stone.
“How do we get in?” Teldin asked bluntly.
Vallus pointed upward. “The gate is there.”
As Teldin craned his neck to see, the litter began to float straight up. The door was far above them, but the distance was closing rapidly. Teldin cast a look downward. The dracons were pacing about uncertainly, and he noted the guards pointing them toward the gardens. The dracons looked delighted at this turn of events and took off with an odd, four-footed skip. Teldin smiled, relieved that he could concentrate on the elven sages without the dracons’ endless questions and prattle to distract from important matters.
Vallus also had noted the dracons’ detour. “This is just as well. If Chirp and Trivit were involved in this conference, they would feel compelled to trace the royal family’s lineage back beyond Myth Drannor, to the forging of the first moonblade.”
Teldin caught the touch of wry humor and responded with a delighted, if confused, grin. “I’m afraid you lost me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Take a left turn at Myth Drannor,” Teldin suggested helpfully.
Vallus looked startled, then he laughed outright. Teldin’s jaw dropped in astonishment. Somehow, he’d never thought of the elven wizard as possessing much of a sense of humor. Since their arrival in Evermeet, however, Vallus seemed to have shed much of the aloof, distant manner that Teldin associated with him.
“Would that I could,” the elf said, with a chuckle. “That particular center of elven culture fell many centuries before my birth. By all telling, it would have been a sight worth seeing.”
“You know a great deal about Toril’s elves,” Teldin commented.
“Learning is my passion,” the elven wizard said avidly. His pale green eyes settled on Teldin’s dark cloak, and an involuntary, almost imperceptible shudder rippled through his slender frame.
Teldin blinked, startled by the sudden intensity of the elf’s emotion. He had never before been able to “read” Vallus’s expressions, but he couldn’t miss the apprehensiveness with which the elf regarded the cloak. Reflexively, Teldin drew the somber black garment a little closer and glanced out the window.
The ground was far below now, and the litter had reached a height even with the oddly shaped door. The gate disappeared suddenly, slipping with a smooth swish into a hollow in the palace wall. They floated forward, and Teldin noted that the litter’s unusual shape matched the door as precisely as a key might fit its lock. The litter glided into a hall, and the passengers stepped out onto a green carpet that led down a winding incline to a council chamber. Through the arched doorway Teldin caught a glimpse of a dais shaped like a crescent moon and dotted with thrones.
At the door the elven guard announced them as ambassadors of the Imperial Fleet. Vallus preceded Teldin, giving a ritual phrase in a dialect of Elvish that Teldin had never heard, but nonetheless understood.
“We welcome you, Vallus Leafbower, for your own sake and also as a representative of the Imperial Fleet.”
The formal words were spoken in a clear contralto voice that held all the music and promise of the sea. The speaker was a female elf as beautiful as any Teldin had ever seen or imagined. Her age was impossible to guess, for her smooth white skin was flawless and touched with blue where a human woman’s face would flush rosy. Vallus’s mention of blue skin had brought to mind the dusty, unappealing complexion of the arcane, but the elven woman possessed a beauty as cool and elusive as moonlight on a pond. Her face was angular, delicate, and dominated by large, almond-shaped eyes as blue as Teldin’s own, though flecked with gold. The elven queen’s hair was elaborately arranged in a cascade of waves and ringlets, and the color was a startlingly deep, bright blue that looked as if it had been spun from fine sapphires.
Around her throne were thirteen chairs. One chair, Teldin noted, was pointedly empty. Seated in the others were six princes and six princesses, all bearing a strong resemblance to Amlauril. Some of them had her wondrous blue hair, others black. All were dressed in court robes of palest spring green, all had the m
oon-kissed skin and golden blue eyes, and all regarded him with friendly curiosity.
Vallus again bowed to the queen, holding his hands palm up as he did. “Quex etrielle, may I present Teldin Moore, Cloakmaster,” he said, giving Teldin a significant glare.
Teldin stepped forward and performed a passable imitation of Vallus’s bow. “Thank you for seeing me, Queen Amlauril.”
The elven monarch leaned forward, slender hands folded in her silken lap. “We are honored, Teldin Moore. Your quest is of greatest interest to us all, but to me you bring an answer I have sought for many centuries.” The queen paused and glanced around the room, and a touch of uncertainty softened her regal face. “You see, I have seen the great ship Spelljammer myself.”
“Why have you not spoken of this before, my queen?” The demand was made in a voice that crackled with age and astonishment.
Teldin followed the direction of the speaker’s voice, and for the first time he noticed another group of elves seated to one side of the moon-shaped dais, all of them robed in pale gray. These, he supposed, were the elven sages of whom Vallus had spoken.
A wistful expression crossed Queen Amlauril’s face as she answered the sage. “If I had told such a tale when it occurred, who would have believed me? Wildspace travel was not a well-known thing in Evermeet some eight hundred years past. Even after I heard tales of the great ship, I could not be certain that was what I saw. The earliest memories of a child are so dreamlike that dream and reality are virtually indistinguishable.” Her smile held great charm and self-mocking humor. “Until we received your message, Vallus Leafbower, I am not certain I believed myself.”
“What did you see?” Teldin demanded, taking a step closer. In the corner of his eye he noted the warning look Vallus shot him and surmised that he had violated some protocol code. In his eagerness to learn of the Spelljammer from someone who had seen it with her own eyes, he didn’t particularly care.
“Before we begin, perhaps you would take a seat?” the queen said graciously, gesturing toward the table placed directly in front of the throne. Teldin and Vallus took their places, and Amlauril began her tale.
“My family’s ancestral lands lie on the northernmost shore of the island,” she began, taking a leisurely elven pace. “As a child, I spent much time on the coast, sometimes walking the shore, sometimes sailing in the protected coves with my sisters. One night, when the moon was full, I slipped away alone, compelled by some childish impulse to catch sight of the merfolk. My nursemaid had recently told me tales, you see, of the marvelous dances the merfolk held on the water’s surface on each full of the moon, and I was eager to see this wonder.
“I saw instead a giant ship, shaped like a manta ray, flying slowing through the sky and all but blocking out the moon. At that time, of course, I did not know of other worlds, nor did I dream that ships could sail among the stars. I remember looking from the ship above to the sea below. Seeing its reflection on the still waters of the cove seemed a complete reversal of all I had ever known or imagined. I was terrified and fascinated all at once.”
A fleeting smile touched her lips. “Of course, I fled like a frightened ground squirrel, back to the safety of my own bed. At daybreak, I was not sure whether I had seen the ship or only dreamed it. Even in later years, I heard so many conflicting stories about the Spelljammer that it was not possible to know what I had seen.
“And now, Teldin Moore,” she concluded, “it is time for your tale. Permit me first to present your audience.”
One by one, the queen introduced the members of her court. Teldin bowed his head to each prince or princess in turn, trying to commit the unfamiliar elven names to memory.
When the introductions were completed, the queen asked Teldin to tell his story. He nodded and did as he was bid. Keeping in mind elven patience and the elves’ delight in long and fantastic tales, he left out little of what had befallen him since the day he first had donned the cloak. Throughout his telling, the elves’ rapt attention never wavered. As he spoke, Teldin noted with surprise that he was beginning to understand elven reactions and emotions. By and large, they were more subtle than those of humankind, as different as the slow, stylized dances he’d seen on the world of Chimni were from the boisterous frolic of a harvest dance on his homeworld. Less heavy-footed, he noted, pleased with his own analogy.
Their faces betrayed guarded outrage as Teldin told the story of the elven admiral Cirathorn and his attempt to seize the cloak for his own purposes. Finally, he described the battle with the illithids and his rescue by Vallus Leafbower.
“Vallus has offered to aid me in my search, with the understanding that once we find the Spelljammer, the ship will join the elven side in the war.”
“War? What war?” asked an elderly sage in a querulous tone, his face puckered with dismay. It seemed to Teldin that the elf was distressed not so much by the prospect of war, but that such a thing could happen outside of his knowledge.
The perceptive Vallus stepped in to soothe the elven sage. “The war of which Teldin Moore speaks is a matter for other worlds. It rages far from your shores, Master Tseth.”
The elven queen leaned back in her throne, her expression suddenly unreadable. Her gold-flecked gaze settled upon Teldin. “Where does your search take you next?”
“The Broken Sphere.”
His answer apparently surprised them, for over a dozen pairs of elven eyebrows leaped upward in perfectly choreographed unison. The elven sages exchanged arch glances. “Might we ask why?” asked the elderly Tseth in a supercilious tone.
“A fal, a giant space sage known for its long life and great wisdom, told me I might find the answers at the Broken Sphere.”
His response sent the elves into a chorus of laughter. The sound made Teldin think of fairy bells and delighted babies. “I take it you don’t agree?” Teldin asked as soon as he thought he could be heard. He was as bewildered by their reaction as he was charmed by the music of their laughter.
“Along with wisdom and longevity, the fal are known for their cryptic responses,” remarked the sage who had spoken before. The elf’s smile struck Teldin as unbearably patronizing, and his patience slipped. He had come here for answers, not oblique ridicule.
“Perhaps that’s a trait common to sages of all races, Master Tseth,” Teldin shot back, meeting the ancient elf’s eyes steadily. His response sent the elves into a renewed bout of merriment, an intimate, shared laugh that made Teldin feel as if he inadvertently had stumbled upon a favorite family joke. Far from insulted, the ancient sage actually seemed pleased.
“Well said!” congratulated a black-haired elven prince, wiping his streaming eyes. He beamed at Teldin and added, “You’ve met Master Tseth before, I take it?”
“That’s enough, Asturian,” Amlauril murmured in the manner of any mother curbing an adolescent son, but, when she turned to Teldin, her eyes still danced with laughter. “We do not disagree with your sage slug, Teldin Moore. The answers to the mystery that is the Spelljammer may well be found at the Broken Sphere.”
“And the answers to every other question as well,” added Prince Asturian, still grinning.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” faltered Teldin.
“Permit me?” asked Tseth. Amlauril nodded, and the aged elf began. “In simple terms, elven philosophy holds that the Broken Sphere is the primordial sphere, the mother of the universe, if you will. All other spheres, all life, for that matter, erupted from this single source in an explosion of unimaginable power. In time, new spheres formed and began their path outward upon the phlogiston. According to records gleaned from the Elders – an ancient people long since vanished – and from our own observations, it would appear that the spheres still move away from the source.”
“Then couldn’t you trace these paths back to the source, and locate the Broken Sphere that way?” Teldin asked, excited by the notion.
The sage shook his head. “Such a path cannot be traced. The movement is so minute as to be almost
indiscernible, and the time involved is beyond fathoming.” He paused, a look of deep contemplation etched into the lines of his face. “The universe is of unimaginable age. One ponders the ephemeral nature of elven life compared to such vastness.” The distant look vanished when he met Teldin’s eyes, to be replaced by chagrin.
Teldin bowed his head to acknowledge the elf’s comment and to show that he had taken no offense. “Go on, please.” He smiled ruefully. “As you say, life is short.”
The elves’ delighted smiles showed appreciation for Teldin’s self-deprecating humor, and once again he was struck by the charm and impelling charisma of the moon elves. He could see why this family ruled.
Another sage spoke up, this one an elven woman of middle years. “Despite such evidence as we have gathered, we cannot know the nature of the Broken Sphere. It may be an actual place, but it may not. It is but one theory, albeit a favored one, of the origin of life. If this theory is correct, it would follow that all answers could be traced back to the Broken Sphere. In essence, your fal was correct in saying this.”
. Teldin listened with growing dismay. Frustration as palpable as a fever flowed through him. If Cirathorn had known all this, why had the elf sent him to the fal?
Teldin slumped in his chair, defeated. “Then I’m back to where I started.”
“Not necessarily,” said Tseth softly. “You carry an object of great power. In some way that I do not understand, it is linked to your quest.”
Hadn’t the sage heard a word he’d said? wondered Teldin with exasperation. “The cloak and the ship are linked, yes,” he responded as evenly as he could.
Tseth shook his head. He rose and came over to the table where Teldin sat. “No, I wasn’t speaking of your cloak. You carry another magical object. The power comes and goes, but at the moment I feel it waxing.”
The Radiant Dragon Page 12
