“Captain Mariona Leafbower, of Green Monarch, a man-o-war of Elven Imperial Navy,” she said crisply. “We are under attack and have sustained heavy damage. We are near the moon of Aber-toril. The navigator will give you our precise star coordinates. Can you help?”
There was a moment of silence. “You are flying? You are near Selûne?” demanded a melodious, disembodied male voice.
“We are still star-borne, yes,” Mariona said, puzzled by the incredulous note in the elf’s voice. “Identify yourself and your ship.”
“I am Vhoori Durothil, a High Mage of Evermeet,” the unseen elf said. “And I am not on a ship at all, but on land. Sumbrar, to be precise, an outpost island just beyond Evermeet’s bay of Leuthilspar.”
Mariona and Shi’larra exchanged incredulous glances. Land-to-ship communication was incredibly difficult, and required magical technology of an extremely high level. They had not known that the elves of Aber-toril possessed such magic.
“Do you have spelljamming ships in this area?” she repeated.
“We have no such ships,” Vhoori said. “But I can guide yours to a sheltered bay near the island.”
Another blast of Q’nidar breath hit the dwindling shield, and another thrumming crack shuddered through the hull. Mariona winced. “Our ship is breaking apart. We don’t have time to make landfall. Even if we did, we would be pursued by creatures that want the ship.”
“I fear I cannot help you in such a battle. Can you leave the ship to your enemies? Have you lifeboats?”
Shi’larra nodded, her face grim. “It’s that or nothing, captain.”
Mariona glanced with concern at the failing mage in the helm. His head jerked upright, suddenly, as if he were trying to keep himself awake by force of will. “Passilorris can’t bring us down. Ghilanna is dead, Llewellenar isn’t feeling much better. We don’t have another helmsman.”
“What is a helmsman, please?” the unseen elf inquired.
The captain hissed in exasperation. Her ship was soaring toward oblivion, and this land-bound mage wanted a primer in spelljamming technology? “A wizard,” she gritted out. “His spells power the helm—a magical chair of sorts—that powers the ship.”
“Ah. Then perhaps I can help you. Get your crew to the lifeboat, and place your communication device upon this … helm.”
“You cannot power a helm from a distance—not even the minor helm on the lifeboat! It has never been done,” Mariona said.
“That does not mean it is not worth trying. And I can sense the thread of magic between my communication device and yours. I will bring you down in safety,” the elf said confidently.
Since she had no better ideas, Mariona turned to the watchful navigator. “Give the order, get everyone aboard. I’ll follow with Passilorris.”
Shi’larra seized the scrying globe and darted up the steps. The captain gave her a few minutes to gather the survivors and get them aboard the lifeboat, a small, open craft that looked rather like an oversized canoe. But it was light and it was fast; provided, that was, that a mage of sufficient power sat at the helm.
In moments Shi’larra’s trademark signal—the high, shrieking cry of a hunting hawk—informed the captain that all was in readiness. Taking a deep breath, she dragged the nearly comatose mage from the helm and flung him over her shoulder.
Instantly the air in the helm room heated to nearly a furnace blast as the magical connection, however feeble, between mage and helm was broken. In a few moments, the air envelope would dissipate, as well. Mariona staggered up the stairs with her burden and made her way over to the rail where the boat was waiting.
It took all her power of will to keep her eyes upon the lifeboat rather than on her ship’s flaming sails or the flock of Q’nidar that circled the burning ship, emitting triumphant shrieks and cackles as they drew sustenance from its funeral pyre.
At least the wretched creatures were distracted, Mariona thought grimly as she eased Passilorris off her shoulder and into the waiting hands of the survivors.
There were only ten elves aboard the lifeboat—all that remained after the last attack. But as Mariona took her place, she noted the awe on each face as they stared at the helm and the crystal scrying globe that sat in the center of the magical chair. The crystal glowed with intense inner power. It appeared that the land-bound mage could do what he claimed: The air that encircled the lifeboat was cool and fresh, which meant that power was indeed flowing to the helm.
“Looks as if we might make it, after all,” Mariona muttered.
“Of that, Lady Captain, you may have no doubt.” Their rescuer’s voice sounded different, more vibrant—magnified, perhaps, by the power that flowed through the crystal. “By your leave, I will not speak again until we meet in person, except in necessity. The concentration needed to maintain the thread of magic is considerable.”
“Of course,” Mariona replied. “Let me know if there is anything we can do that might help.”
There was a brief pause. “Actually, there is one thing,” the unseen elf said wistfully. “Speak to me of the stars, and tell me what your eyes see on your journey to Evermeet.”
Mariona cut the ropes that bound the lifeboat to the ship, then nodded to Cameron Starsong, a bard who had purchased passage aboard ship. As the small craft floated out into the darkness of wildspace, she settled back and listened as the elf strummed his lyre—which he had adamantly refused to leave behind—and declaimed in rhythmic, musical cadences a spontaneous ode to the wonders of starflight.
As the captain listened, it struck her that the life she took for granted would be the fabric of legend to an elf such as Vhoori Durothil. And the fact that she herself was headed for such a primitive world was disheartening in the extreme.
Mariona grimly took stock of the situation. Her ship was lost. At best, it would be many, many years before she could grow another. It was entirely possible that the surviving crew would spend the rest of their natural lives upon Aber-toril.
The elf woman sighed and turned her head to look back at her burning ship. Her eyes widened with surprise; Green Monarch was no more than a flicker of red light. She turned to Shi’larra, who was watching the rapidly diminishing light with narrowed eyes.
“How fast do you figure we’re moving?” she demanded.
Shi’larra shrugged. “It’s hard to say, without my instruments and charts. But I can tell you this much, we’re traveling at least twice as fast as Monarch could at full power. Look down,” she said suddenly, seizing the captain’s arm and pointing to the rapidly approaching world. “There’s Aber-toril, and already I can see the island. By the stars, never have I seen a place so green! And from this height!”
“You will be landing soon,” Vhoori Durothil declared, in a voice made thin by exhaustion. “We will have boats ready to bring you in. Healers are preparing spells and herbs and will tend your wounded.”
“Herbs and healers,” Mariona muttered, rolling her eyes in Shi’larra’s direction. “If we had to become land-bound, we’ve drawn a hell of a world for it!”
A fey smile lit Shi’larra’s tattooed face. “Do not sneer until you have seen this world,” she said softly. “It might be such that you will have no desire to leave.”
“Oh yes. That will happen,” the captain said caustically. “And as for you—your homeworld is almost unique in that it has no oceans. You’re accustomed to endless forests, watered by a network of vast rivers. You’re telling me you could be happy on that tiny island?”
The forest elf shrugged, and her eyes were fixed upon the rapidly approaching blur of green forest and sapphire seas. “All I can tell you is this: I have the oddest feeling that I’m going home,” she murmured.
Before Mariona could respond to this odd pronouncement, the boat jerked suddenly as the untried mage who controlled it tried to slow the craft’s descent. A second jolt quickly followed, sending the boat into a slow roll. The captain seized the crystal globe and held it firmly against the helm, shouting for the other
s to help her keep the magical device in place.
Again and again the little craft shuddered and jolted as Vhoori Durothil inexpertly slowed its descent into the sea. Even so, the boat hit the water with a force that shattered the wooden hull and hurled the elven crew into the water.
Mariona plunged down deep, her hands flailing about as she instinctively sought to find and save the helm. The water that swirled around her was dark with blood, and she knew from the fierce throbbing in her temples that she had taken a head wound, perhaps a serious one. All she could think of, however, was the need to find the helm. If she could not, she would never again travel the stars.
Suddenly she felt small, strong hands close on her wrists, and her frantic eyes looked up into the face of the strangest elf she had ever seen. A blue-haired, green-skinned female gave her a reassuring smile, and began to draw her up toward the surface. Mariona glanced at her rescuer’s hands. They were striped in rippling patterns of blue and green, and there was delicate webbing between the unnaturally long fingers. Jaded as she was by her years of travel and her encounters with fantastic creatures from a dozen worlds, Mariona had never seen a creature that struck her as quite so bizarre as this Sea-elven creature.
Her last thought, before the darkness engulfed her, was that she’d picked a hell of a world to be stranded on.
The next thing Captain Mariona Leafbower knew was the soft, lilting sound of elven voices lifted in song. There was a healing power to the music that seemed to draw the pain from her head and the aching lethargy from her limbs.
Cautiously, Mariona opened her eyes. She was warm and dry, clad in a silken robe and tucked into a bed that, if the one right next to her was any indication, floated above the floor in a subtle, undulating motion.
“Captain Leafbower.”
Mariona knew that voice. Painfully she turned her head and looked up into the smiling face of a young Gold elf. She was not in such a bad way that she didn’t take note of the fact that he was probably the handsomest elf she had ever seen. Even so, there were more important matters on her mind.
“The helm …” she began.
“Do not concern yourself,” Vhoori Durothil said. “The Sea elves have already found most of the pieces. In time, we will reconstruct it.”
“It can’t be done. You don’t have the technology,” she said in a voice dulled with despair.
“It seems to me that you said something very much like that before,” the elf replied with a touch of wry humor. “And yet, here you are.”
Mariona shifted her shoulders in an approximation of a shrug. “Ill grant that your magic is impressive. Maybe we can learn a thing or two from each other.”
“That is my hope.” Vhoori paused, and glanced at the elves who ringed her bedside. They discretely melted away. When he and Mariona were alone, he said, “You want to leave this world. You have said as much, repeatedly, in the days you lay in healing revery.”
“Days?” she interjected in disbelief.
“Even so. Most of your crew are up and about. I regret to tell you that one elf perished in the landing.”
“Passilorris,” she said immediately, without a hint of doubt. “I was not certain that he would survive, regardless of the ease of landfall.” She cast a fierce look at the mage, as if daring him to accuse the helmsman of some weakness. “He was a hero. Without his effort, all would have died!”
“He has been accorded a hero’s passage,” Vhoori assured her, “and a place of honor in the history of Evermeet. I regret the loss deeply. There is much that I would like to have learned from him about the magic of star travel.”
Mariona sniffed. She and Passilorris had been lovers not too very long ago, so she supposed that she was excused from the need to sympathize with Vhoori Durothil over his loss of a potential teacher.
She swallowed the unexpected lump in her throat and swept the room with an inquiring glare. It was a large, perfectly circular room with walls that seemed to be made of a single stone. Large, arched windows looked out over a sparkling sea.
“Where the hell am I?” she demanded.
“This is the island known as Sumbrar. This house is mine, and the elves who tended you with spell-song are part of my Circle. The magic that contacted your ship, however, was entirely my own.” He paused. “Perhaps it is best that this fact does not leave Sumbrar, at least for the time.”
“Why?”
Vhoori drew a scepter from the folds of his robe and showed it to her. “For years now, I have been storing magical power in this device. I drained much of its power to bring you to Evermeet.”
“So?”
The elf hesitated, his green eyes searching her face as if taking her measure. “My colleagues in magic do not know of this device. They have no idea that I can work such powerful magic alone. I would not have them learn of this before I am able to restore the Accumulator to its previous level.”
Mariona’s chuckle was utterly devoid of humor. “The gods forbid that the Elders should take away your toy. How old are you, by the way? Ninety? One hundred?”
“I have seen over two hundred springs,” the elf said with dignity. “And I assure you, your silence is as much to your benefit as mine.”
The captain nodded cautiously. She was not a fool, and knew that any elf who could command the sort of magic this one had wielded was a force with which to reckon. If Vhoori Durothil had a proposition for her, she would at least hear him out.
“Every elf on this island saw your craft fall from the sky. They will have questions. Tell them what you will, but do not mention my part in the matter. Not yet, at least.”
The star-traveler’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you planning to do? You’re not planning some sort of attack on the main island, are you? Because if you are, you can count me out now. I’ve never fought elves, nor will I.”
“And you shall not.”
A faint rustle at the open door captured Vhoori’s attention. He hurriedly tucked the Accumulator out of sight and looked with ill-concealed impatience at the young female who clung to the door’s lintel. “What is it, Ester?”
“There is a communication from Aryvandaar, Lord Durothil,” she said. “You are needed in the Circle.”
Vhoori frowned. “Ygrainne can act as Center in my stead. Bring word to me if the message is urgent.”
The elven woman bowed and hurried from the room.
“Aryvandaar,” Mariona said, a question in her voice.
“A great and ancient kingdom, many days’ travel by sea from this island,” he explained. “Many of our ancestors came from this land.”
“Tell me,” she requested. Her eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, and at the moment she welcomed the soothing, melodious sound of the young elf’s voice. She relaxed back against her pillows as Vhoori spun tales of wonder and warfare, and a land as beautiful and dangerous as any she had seen or imagined. As he spoke, she slid comfortably back toward revery, lulled into a state of contentment that was rare indeed for her restless spirit, and certain that the dreams that awaited her would be pleasant.
A sudden, terrible blast tore Mariona from her comfortable state. She sat bolt upright, stunned by a force that utterly dwarfed the shattering of Green Monarch’s hull. Oddly enough, there was no sign of destruction. The room’s luxurious furnishings were undisturbed, the birdsong outside the windows continued unbroken. There was no sound of battle, no scent of smoke or death. Only upon the face of Vhoori Durothil was the devastation written; the young mage’s face was pale as parchment and twisted in nameless anguish.
“What the nine bloody hells was that?” Mariona demanded.
Before Vhoori could respond, an elven warrior bolted into the room, his flaxen hair flying about him in disarray and his black eyes wild. “Vhoori, the Circle is destroyed! Every elf who cast the High Magi is gone—gone! Utterly vanished. I would not have believed it had I not been in the spell chamber and seen it with my own eyes!”
“Did you hear the message from Aryvand
aar?” Vhoori asked in a dry whisper.
“I did,” the warrior said grimly. “It was a call for help from the tower at Sharlarion—they wanted us to send warriors and magi through the gates at once. Then came a blast that nearly drove me mad, and then—nothing. Quite literally nothing. I was the only elf left in the chamber. What does it mean?”
Vhoori abruptly turned away from the dazed and babbling elf and walked to the window. He was silent for a long moment, staring out over the water toward Evermeet with eyes that for once did not see the beauty of his homeland. A beauty that was all the more poignant now, for the added importance that this day’s events had given the elven island.
“Brindarry, the day you have longed for may well be at hand. Evermeet will determine her own path in a way that she has never done before, and who is to say that this path will not lie along the road you yourself have envisioned? And your task, Captain Leafbower, is made all the easier. All those who saw your ship fall from the sky are dead, but for your crew, we three in this room and the sea people, who know only that your ship was destroyed by a powerful blast. It will be easy enough to fashion an explanation that will content them. Thus we can work here on Sumbrar in privacy, without fear that our task will be detected or our effects deterred. All things have changed this day,” he concluded softly.
“These are words I have longed to hear,” Brindarry said, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Why then, can I not fathom their meaning?”
Vhoori spun to face his old friend and his new ally. “Then I will speak plainly. Brindarry, our time is near at hand. Your destiny, Captain Leafbower, is intrinsically bound with my own. There is no other to whom you can turn. You see, the Crown Wars have taken their toll, after these many centuries of warfare. The ancient kingdom of Aryvandaar has fallen. Evermeet, for good or ill, now stands alone.”
13
Tides of Fury
n icy wind whipped the island, coating the Beast Lord’s black fur with salt-scented icicles. Malar hunched his massive shoulders in a futile attempt to ward off the chill, listening with uncharacteristic patience as the goddess Umberlee wailed and shrieked out her frustration. The sea goddess smashed at the waves with her fists again and again, sending sprays of water leaping up over the rocky coast with each blow.
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