Disgruntled as she was, Araushnee felt somewhat relieved once she had shed her borrowed hunter’s garb and dressed herself in a filmy gown and dainty slippers, both crafted by her own hands of finest spider silk. She entered her daughter’s private chamber without knocking and dumped the borrowed gear onto the floor.
Eilistraee was at home—a rare event—preparing herself for some woodland revel. She looked up from the boots she was lacing, clearly startled by the interruption. Her silver eyes shifted from her tumbled belongings to her mother’s face, then warmed with pleasure and excitement.
“Oh, mother! You have been hunting! Why did you not tell me you wished to go? We might have gone together, and made merry sport of it!”
“We might indeed,” Araushnee mused aloud as her mind raced over the possibilities. She needed allies, and she would be unwise to overlook those closest to hand.
Certainly Eilistraee would not have been her first choice. The girl was given to quicksilver moods, and she possessed an uncertain temper. One moment she was a carefree child dancing like a moonbeam or running like a silver wolf through the forest; the next moment, she was either as seductive as a siren or as serious as a dwarven god. Well, the girl was of an age when such swings were common, Araushnee noted as she observed her daughter. Eilistraee was no longer a child, and she was far too beautiful to suit Araushnee, who didn’t care for competition from any quarter. The fledgling goddess had inherited her mother’s face, but her hair and eyes were of a silvery shade that always brought to Araushnee’s mind her hated rival, Sehanine Moonbow. Eilistraee was also exceedingly tall, which further annoyed her dainty mother, but Araushnee had to admire the strength and grace in her daughter’s long limbs. None in the Seldarine could outrun the Dark Maiden, and few could match her skill with the bow.
Yes, there were definite possibilities in Eilistraee, concluded Araushnee slyly. She doubted the girl could be induced to strike openly against Corellon, for Eilistraee adored her father. But she was young, and her very naivete could be turned into a potent weapon against the elf lord. And although Araushnee needed allies, she also needed scapegoats. One way or another, Eilistraee would serve.
The goddess slipped an arm around her daughter’s waist. “You are right, my little raven,” she said with rare warmth. “It is far past time that we hunted together. I have a plan. Listen, and tell me if it pleases you.…”
Days are long in Olympus, longer than the turning of years upon some worlds, but to Araushnee this one seemed far too short. The morning passed in a blur of activity. First came the drudgery of traipsing through the forest with Eilistraee, learning her daughter’s skills and habits—and plotting ways to turn this knowledge against the girl.
Her other child, her son Vhaeraun, also had a part to play, and Araushnee spent no little time schooling him in his role. This proved to be a difficult task, considering that the entire Seldarine was celebrating the dual victories of Corellon Larethian. Avoiding several score of celebrating elven deities, even in a place as vast as Arvandor, proved to be no easy matter. Nor was it easy to hold Vhaeraun’s attention: Many a young goddess—and one or two of the elder powers as well—urged the handsome young god to join in the merriment.
At highsun, Araushnee finally left Vhaeraun to his revels. She sought out Corellon, for he might wonder if she did not, and spent the brightest hours of the day in conversation and dalliance. But the time she passed in the elf lord’s presence sorely taxed her. Playing the loving consort had never before been a burden to Araushnee, but there was much yet undone, and it was difficult for her to speak sweet blandishments and tell witty stories while her mind whirled with the details of her plot. Finally she was able to slip away, laughingly claiming that she had been greedy in taking so much of his time as her own—subtly reminding him that others waited to celebrate with him. It was a powerful ploy, for all the elves save perhaps Araushnee herself valued the community of their sister and brother gods above all other things. She had places to go, and deeds best done when there were no eyes to witness them.
Seldom did the gods of the Seldarine travel from Arvandor, except to tend the needs and nurture the arts of their elven children. But on this long afternoon Araushnee traveled to many strange and dire places, seeking out warriors for the battle that would come all too soon. The elves were an ancient people, nearly as old as the gods from whom they had sprung, and many creatures envied and hated them. To the gods of all these folk—the orcs and ogres, the goblinkin, hobgoblins, bugbears, the evil dragons, creatures of the sky and the deepest seas, even beings from the elemental planes—Araushnee carried her seeds of war. She did not appear as herself, for to travel in elven form would be courting instant death, or, at the very least, almost ensuring the eventual discovery of her plot by the Seldarine. For this day’s purpose, Araushnee took on a new and lethal form, one suited to her talents, yet one that dire gods and denizens could appreciate.
The sun was setting upon the elven forest when Araushnee returned to Olympus, well satisfied with her efforts. Her contentment vanished, however, when she found a visitor awaiting her in her own home.
The translucent form of Sehanine Moonbow strode about the entrance hall in great agitation. She stopped her pacing when Araushnee entered, and stabbed a still-hazy finger in the dark goddess’s direction.
“I name you, Araushnee, traitor to the Seldarine, conspirator with orcs and worse,” she proclaimed in her silvery voice.
A tendril of worry snaked into Araushnee’s mind. What did the moon goddess know? And more importantly, was Sehanine merely speaking jealousy-induced suspicions, or did she possess damaging proof of Araushnee’s perfidy?
She folded her arms and regarded the shadowy goddess. “That is a serious accusation,” she said coldly. “A dangerous one, too, considering that you are, shall we say, not quite yourself?”
The goddess of moon magic ignored the threat. From the folds of her gown she produced a familiar object—a padded sheath, made from finest silk and worked with brilliantly colored threads. Upon it was an intricate tapestry that depicted the gods at play in their elven forest. A matchless example of the weaver’s art, the scene was barded about with runes of warding and protection such as only an elven goddess might fashion. Araushnee’s heart thudded painfully as she recognized the enchanted sheath.
“This is your work, is it not? No one else in all of Arvandor could create so wondrous a weave,” Sehanine said, with no thought of flattery.
Araushnee tossed back her head. “That makes me an artist, not a traitor. If you have something else to say, speak quickly and then get you gone.”
“When did you weave this tapestry? When were the magic of these runes released?”
The dark goddess brow furrowed as she pondered the strange questions. The runes and wardings were similar to those that gave protection from attack. Corellon, of course, had fought Gruumsh throughout the previous night. And come to think of it, Araushnee did most of the work during the cool hours after midnight, when the moon was bright …
Her scarlet eyes widened as understanding came. She had worked when the moon was bright and when Sehanine’s power was at its height.
“You sensed the magic in the tapestry was wrong. You knew it—certainly you knew it, for I swear that the very moonlight carries night-born secrets to you—yet you let your lord go into battle wearing a token that condemned him to failure. If I am traitor, then so also are you!”
Sehanine shook her head. “I felt your animosity, that much is true, but I thought it was for me alone. Only when Gruumsh’s attack unleashed your curse did I understand. Before the moon rose, when I was too weak to act, the orc shattered my lord’s sword and gravely wounded him.”
“And you, meddling bitch that you are, simply had to pick up the pieces,” Araushnee said angrily. “You took the sheath from him, didn’t you?”
“If I had not, would he even now be safe in Arvandor?”
Araushnee hissed with rage and frustration. The goddess of moo
nlight was also the goddess of mysteries. It seemed she was as good at unraveling them as she was at creating them. And Sehanine was powerful—far more powerful than Araushnee. Or, more precisely, she would be, when the moon was high. Even now, with sunset still staining the skies over Arvandor, Sehanine’s glassy form was swiftly taking on substance and power. Araushnee had to act now or all would be lost.
Flinging out both hands, the dark goddess let the full force of her wrath and jealousy fuel the magic that poured from her fingertips. Malevolent power spun at the moon goddess in silky threads. Instantly Sehanine was enmeshed in a web far stronger than that which had stopped the charge of mighty Gruumsh One-Eye.
But this was not enough for Araushnee. Her rage stirred a miniature tempest, a wind that howled and raced along the walls of the hall until it formed a whirling cloud. The whirlwind caught the struggling moon goddess and tossed her into the very heart of the tiny maelstrom.
This was precisely what Araushnee needed. Again she lifted her hands, and again threads of magic darted toward her rival. The wind seized them, spun them, wrapped them tightly around Sehanine until the goddess was as tightly and thoroughly cocooned as an unawakened butterfly.
When she was satisfied, Araushnee dismissed the tempest. A smile curved her lips as she regarded the captive goddess. Sehanine was clearly visible through the layers of gossamer magic, but she could not move or speak. As a precaution, Araushnee sent a silent, gloating insult to the goddess’s mind. It was like speaking to stone—not even the mind-to-mind community shared by members of the elven pantheon could penetrate that web of magic. Sehanine’s capture was complete. It was also, unfortunately, temporary. Moonrise would grant Sehanine power far beyond anything Araushnee could command.
The dark goddess sent forth another silent summons—one that spoke to Vhaeraun’s mind alone and that told him, in terms that left no room for argument, he was to cease whatever he was doing and hasten home.
In remarkably short order (for Araushnee had intimated what might occur if he should dally), the young god burst into the hall. His eyes went wide as he regarded the moon goddess—and contemplated the price they might pay for an attack upon one of the most powerful elven deities.
“Mother, what have you done?” he said in great consternation.
“It could not be helped. She knows—or at least suspects—that the sheath I wove for Corellon stole his sword’s magic. But being an honorable sister,” Araushnee sneered, “she came to confront me with her suspicions before going to the Seldarine Council. The only way she’ll get there now is to drop to the ground and slither like a snake. I would almost welcome the council’s intrusion into my affairs for the pleasure of witnessing such a thing!”
Vhaeraun peered closely at the magical web that bound Sehanine. “Will it hold, at least until the battle is done?”
“No,” Araushnee admitted. “It would not hold at all if she had not been such a fool as to come to me—me, her bitterest rival—when her power was next to nothing. But the moon will soon rise. You must take her to a place where there is no moonlight and see that she stays there until the battle is past.”
“And then what?” he countered in a tone that approximated his mother’s sneer. “How can you hope to rule, with a goddess of Sehanine’s power to oppose you? You should kill her now, when she is still helpless.”
Araushnee’s hand flashed forward and dealt a ringing slap to her son’s face. “Do not presume to question me,” she said in a voice that bubbled with rage. “If you are so ignorant that you believe one god can easily kill another, perhaps I was wrong to make you my confidante and partner!”
“But what of Herne?” pressed Vhaeraun, eager to salvage something of his dignity even it that only meant winning some small point of argument. “You told me that Malar killed him. And for that matter, why would you set Gruumsh and Malar against Corellon, if neither had hope of success?”
“Don’t be more of a fool than you must,” snapped the goddess. “It is one thing to destroy a god from another place and another pantheon—even among the gods, there are hunters and hunted, predators and prey. But to kill a member of one’s own pantheon is another matter. If it were so easy, would I not already rule Arvandor?”
The young god regarded his mother for several moments, his eyes thoughtful and his fingertips gingerly stroking his stinging cheek. “If it is as you say,” he said slowly, “then perhaps you should leave the Seldarine.”
“Have you not heard a word I have said this day? I wish to rule the Seldarine!”
“Then do so by conquest, rather than intrigue,” Vhaeraun suggested, “You have been amassing an army to do your will. Leave the Seldarine, and lead that army yourself! Imagine Araushnee at the head of a mighty force, the leader of the anti-Seldarine!” he concluded, his voice ringing with the drama of it and the pride of one who admires his own visions.
Araushnee stared at him for a moment, then she shook her head in despair. “How did I give birth to two such idiots? Think, boy! List in your mind the great and glorious generals I have enlisted!”
She was silent for a moment, letting the names of the Seldarine’s enemies hang silent in the air between them. There was Maglubiyet, leader of the goblinkin’s gods. Hruggek, who led bugbears into the hunt and into battle. Kurtulmak, the head of the kobold pantheon—it still amazed Araushnee that kobolds had a pantheon. By any measure of elvenkind, these gods were unimpressive foes. Some of the other gods who’d enlisted in the coming battle were considerably more powerful than these, and the list went on at length—but the army that resulted was far less than the sum of its parts. Many of them were enemies, or, at best, held each other in contempt. It was a volatile alliance, and far too much of the gods’ ire and energy would be spent on each other. If Vhaeraun was too stupid to see that, Araushnee would do well to rid herself of him at once.
To her relief, a look of uncertainty crept across the young god’s face as he contemplated their collective allies. “This army—it can win?”
“Of course not,” the goddess stated baldly. “But these gods are strong enough and numerous enough to do considerable damage. And most important, it is an army that none in Arvandor will see as anything other than a coalition of elven enemies. The Seldarine will prevail, but the battle will be long and there will be losses on both sides. We will see to it, you and I, that one of those is Corellon Larethian.”
“Our grief, of course, will be heartbreaking,” added Vhaeraun with a sly grin.
“Naturally. And all the gods of the Seldarine, stunned by the loss of their beloved Corellon, will rally behind his consort and her heroic son. Once we have this ultimate power, doing away with Sehanine will be a small matter.” She shot a sidelong, measuring look at the young god. “You are still willing to do these things?”
When Vhaeraun regarded her blankly, she pointed out, “After all, he is your father.”
“And he is your lord husband. If there is a difference, please explain it to me. Otherwise, we will say that I am your son and leave the matter as settled,” Vhaeraun said. His words were blunt and the implications harsh; instinctively he braced himself for another display of his mother’s ready temper.
To his surprise, she laughed delightedly. “You are my son indeed. Your role in this will be carried out well, of that I have little doubt. Nor do I doubt your desire to rule with me when this is done. Go now—be rid of Sehanine and then return as quickly as you can. Time is short. I need you to take this sheath to the Moor, so that Eilistraee can ‘find’ it this night. The battle begins with the coming of new light.”
She held her smile as Vhaeraun kissed her cheek, kept it firmly in place as he cast the minor magic that reduced the trapped moon goddess to manageable size and then bore her off through a newly conjured portal, a magical gate that glistened like black opal.
Perhaps, Araushnee mused, the portal led to some mortal world where the sun-bright days lasted nearly as long as a day on Olympus, perhaps to some deeply buried crypt where
Sehanine might lie, helpless and deprived of moonlight until long after the battle for Arvandor was won. Araushnee did not know, but she trusted in Vhaeraun to come up with a suitable exile for her rival. After all, he was her son.
And because Vhaeraun was so truly her own, Araushnee’s smile faded to a frown of worry the moment he was no longer there to see. It occurred to her with frightening clarity that he who would so willingly betray his father was likely to turn against the mother with whom he now plotted.
For the first time, Araushnee realized how truly alone she was on the path she had chosen. With this realization came a moment’s regret. But the emotion did not linger, and when it passed, something else went with it—a part of Araushnee’s heart that had slowly been dying, unnoticed and unmourned. The slender thread of magic that connected her to the other gods of the Seldarine and to their elven children had finally snapped. Whatever else Araushnee had become, she was no longer truly elven.
So be it, the goddess thought. She would still be the undisputed queen of Arvandor, for all that.
And if this could not come to pass, Araushnee realized with suddenly clarity, then she would simply have to seek out a place where she could rule. She was what she was, and there was no other course for her.
4
The Trees of Arvandor
n the long, silent hour just before dawn, the gods of the Anti-Seldarine coalition crept through the forest that surrounded Arvandor. Their passage was unhindered. The playful illusions that led passersby astray were quiet, the magical shields were down. Even the sentinels of the forest had been silenced. The treants were deep in an enchanted slumber, the very birds were hushed.
Not far away, in a forest grove where she came each day to welcome the dawn with music and dance, the goddess Eilistraee noted the silence with puzzlement. At this hour, the birds should have been singing their morning summons to the sun and the deer grazing upon the still-damp grasses.
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