Evermeet

by Elaine Cunningham

  The captain sniffed, as if in derisive agreement. He slanted a look up at the blue-haired elf. “What your friend said of Saida Evanara’s courage in battle—was there any truth to it, or was he merely taunting her to start this fight?”

  Zaor shrugged. “As to that, you must judge for yourself. Myronthilar Silverspear’s words had a purpose, and they served their purpose well. Saida Evanara is under your command. Her measure is not mine to take.”

  “Fair enough.” The captain cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Hold!”

  Myron responded instantly, dancing back out of his opponent’s reach and dropping his sword to a low guard. He inclined his head to Saida, the respectful gesture of one fighter to another to mark the end of an honorable practice match.

  But the female stood still, her sword poised for a strike and her entire body quivering with rage and indecision.

  “I said hold!” snapped the captain. He strode over to the elf woman and seized her wrist. Saida’s gaze snapped onto his face. Her eyes grew wary, then guarded.

  “On your command,” she agreed, then added, “I would not have struck, captain.”

  The Gold elf searched her face. “I wonder,” he murmured.

  He dropped her wrist and turned away. “Follow me to the guards barracks. You have much to learn.”

  The three Moon elves exchanged triumphant smiles and fell into step behind the captain. But the Gold elf whirled, and fixed a stare upon the company of guards behind them.

  “I was talking,” he said grimly, “to you.”

  Lady Mylaerla Durothil, the formidable matriarch who headed the city’s most powerful Gold elf clan, regarded her visitor with interest.

  She was not a young elf, and had left the midpoint of her mortal life behind many summers past. But she was not too old to appreciate so handsome an elf as the one who sat before her. If the young captain of the guard had charm enough to waste on an old elf woman, why not give him the chance to use it? More, his plan intrigued her.

  “You are certain that Ahskahala Durothil is of my kindred?” Mylaerla asked.

  “Beyond a doubt,” Zaor said stoutly. “I have made a study of the Durothil linage, and can assure you that she, like you, is a direct descendant of the Rolim Durothil who first settled Evermeet. Her ancestors fought against the dragonflight in the year of Malar’s Great Hunt. She is a worthy descendant of all these illustrious elves; moreover, she is the finest, fiercest dragonrider I have ever seen.”

  “Is it so? Then how is it that she survived Myth Drannor’s fall, when so many fine, fierce warriors did not?”

  It was a hard question, but an important one. Nearly as important was the manner in which Zaor posed the answer.

  “Ahskahala has little patience with the habits and concerns of city dwellers,” he said carefully. “She preferred to live in the wild places, and she served the People of Cormanthyr by guarding the outposts. But for her efforts, the city would have fallen much sooner than it did. More than one marauding band of orcs or goblins met their end due to her diligence. But her dragon was wounded during the early days of the siege, stranding both of them in their mountain lair. When at last they could take flight, the time for battle had passed.”

  “Hmm. How would we contact this dragonrider?”

  Zaor inclined his head in a gesture of respect. “The abilities of House Durothil in matters of communication are legendary. I do not think this task would pose much challenge to your magi.”

  “Well said. But what makes you think she would come to Evermeet now?” the elf woman asked shrewdly. “What gain would she hope to find here? Power? Honor? Wealth?”

  “Ahskahala has seen one elven culture fall. She would not wish the same on another.”

  Mylaerla blinked, startled by the young warrior’s bluntness. “You think it possible that Evermeet could share Myth Drannor’s fate?”

  “Don’t you?”

  For a long moment, the elves regarded each other keenly. Then Mylaerla leaned back in her chair, and a mask seemed to drop from her face.

  “You are more right than you know about many things, Zaor Moonflower,” she said bitterly. “I cannot tell you how weary I am of the Durothil clan’s endless concern with magic-aided chitchat. It was not always so. The first dragonrider was a Durothil—the Durothil. Did you know that?”

  Not waiting for an answer, she hissed out an earthy curse and shook her head in frustration. “My clan are descendants of Durothil, and what have we become? Effete, tower-bound layabouts, content to waste our brief centuries of life using magic to exchange gossip and to peek into distant bedchambers! Bah!”

  Zaor leaned forward. “There are yet dragons on Evermeet, are there not?”

  Mylaerla considered this. “I believe so, yes. I’ve heard talk of fairly recent sightings of a gold and a mated pair of silvers flying above the Eagle Hills.” She lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “If Ahskahala is all you say, I doubt she would have much difficulty in training the dragons to this task. My concern is this: How would she deal with the Durothils of Evermeet and their ilk?”

  “Your kindred will not have an easy time of it,” Zaor admitted.

  The elf woman nodded. “Good,” she said with grim satisfaction. “In that case, we will send for her at once.”

  Hearing the dismissal in her words, Zaor rose to leave.

  Mylaerla sighed heavily. Something in the sound froze Zaor in the midst of his polite bow of leave-taking. He straightened and met her eyes, nodding encouragement for her to continue.

  “This visit has reminded me of many things I should not have forgotten. For one, I have been too long in this city. It has been many years since I climbed the slopes of Eagle Hills. I do not even know for certain whether there still are dragons upon Evermeet!” She looked up at Zaor, and her smile was strangely tentative. “Tell me something, youngling, do you think that even such as I could ride a dragon?”

  As she spoke, a wistful expression crept into her eyes and softened her aging face. But her poignant longing did not in the least blunt the steel in her voice or the forceful impact of her presence.

  Zaor could not keep the smile from his face. “My lady, I don’t think there’s a dragon alive who could keep you from it.”

  The elf woman burst into surprised and delighted laughter. Still smiling warmly, she rose and extended her hand to the young warrior as one adventurer to another. “Then it is settled. The dragonriders will become Evermeet’s guardians. Her shores will be kept inviolate.”

  “As the gods will,” Zaor responded fervently.

  Mylaerla cocked her head. “I meant what I said, you know, about learning the craft myself. But what of you? Will you be joining those who ride the winds?”

  “Regretfully, no. My responsibility lies elsewhere.”

  Lady Durothil regarded him for a long moment. Then she nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. Yes, it may indeed be so.”

  17

  Heirs of Destiny

  o many of Evermeet’s elves, the Towers of the Sun and Moon represented the epitome of elven culture.

  Fashioned of white stone that had been raised by magic from the heart of the elven land, the Towers were surrounded by wondrous gardens and hidden in the heart of a deep forest. Here were housed some of the most powerful magical artifacts known to elvenkind. Here gathered wizards and High Magi for study and contemplation, for the casting of the Circles, and for the instruction of promising students.

  Of all the Tower’s students, none showed more promise than Amlaruil Moonflower. Magic seemed to flow through the girl as naturally as rain from a summer cloud. Secretly, the magi believed that she could become the most powerful mage since the legendary Vhoori Durothil. Already she was being groomed to take the place of Jannalor Nierde, Evermeet’s Grand Mage.

  Yet there were some in the Towers who doubted that the elf maid’s destiny was all that certain. Among these was Nakiasha, a Green elf sorceress of considerable ability who had taken upon herself the role of Amlaruil’s mentor a
nd confidante.

  As was their custom, the two elf women, their day’s work completed, walked the paths that curved through the Tower grounds. They walked in silence, to better enjoy the beauty of the evening. Birdsong filled the cooling air, and the chirp of crickets and other forest creatures heralded the coming night.

  It was the time of day that they both preferred to all others, when the last, long rays of sunlight bathed everything in a golden haze. But it seemed to Nakiasha that her young friend seemed distracted, and quite removed from their small, self-contained world of magic and scholarship.

  “Where are you today, child?” the sorceress asked.

  Amlaruil dropped her eyes to the gravel path, and not because she wished to contemplate the exquisite walkway. It was a wondrous thing, to be sure, for the gravel was actually bits of marble in shades that represented all the goodly races of elves: gold, silver, green for the wild elves, and blue for the sea folk. Some whimsical bit of magic kept the colors shifting in an ever-changing mosaic. At the moment, however, Amlaruil wanted merely to escape her teacher’s searching gaze.

  “I am sorry, Nakiasha,” she murmured. “Please forgive my inattention.”

  “The day’s lessons are over. I only wondered if all is well with you,” the sorceress said. As she spoke, she peered up into the girl’s face—no easy task, for Amlaruil was exceedingly tall. Nakiasha’s shrewd eyes took note of the flush on the girl’s face.

  “By Hanali! You aren’t in love, are you?”

  Amlaruil slanted a look at her teacher from beneath lowered lashes. “Would that be so bad?”

  “Perhaps not.” Nakiasha shrugged. “Though to be sure, some of the magi here might worry that your spring fancies might interfere with your studies. It’s a wonder,” she added with asperity, “that with such thinking, the Gold elf people have not died out long ere this! Who is the lad? Laeroth? A good choice. Very talented.”

  The girl answered only with a shrug. Laeroth was a fellow student and a good friend. Even so, she could not help but picture the young mage standing alongside Zaor Moonflower. Though Laeroth was nearly six feet tall—nearly as tall as Amlaruil herself—he seemed dwarfed in comparison with the warrior. Amlaruil suspected that in her eyes, it would always be so.

  Even so, maidenly yearnings had little to do with Amlaruil’s distraction. She had been strangely restless all day. Her spirit felt for all the world like a hawk buffeted by too-strong winds.

  With a sigh, she came to a stop at the foot of the Totem, a monument honoring the spirit magic peculiar to the Green elves. Amlaruil’s eyes swept up the massive statue, lingering on each of the stark, powerfully portrayed totem animals it depicted. The totem protected the Tower grounds in ways that few of the elves fully understood. Until today, Amlaruil had often found comfort and reassurance in its massive shade. Now, for reasons that she could not define, she found herself wondering if the totem—or anything else—would be enough.

  “Primitive art, by Gold elf standards,” Nakiasha observed with a touch of sarcasm, “but no one can deny its power! The Totem has protected the Towers from rival spells for many centuries.”

  Amlaruil nodded, though she knew that in these days of diminished magic, spellbattle between towers occurred only in minstrels’ tales. Though such challenges might have been common before the Sundering, no magical battle had ever taken place on Evermeet.

  Nakiasha patted her arm. “It is nearly time for evenfeast. Go, and meet your young gallant.”

  “You are not coming?” Amlaruil eyed the older elf. Nakiasha seldom took time to eat or even to seek revery, and her bones were nearly as bare as winter wood. The elf maid often wondered what source fueled the sorceress’s unending energy. Once, she had asked. Nakiasha had merely smiled and replied that she would learn the secret herself in due time.

  Predictably enough, the sorceress shook her head. “I have work awaiting me. You know of the Accumulator, of course, and you know that it absorbs the magical energies of Evermeet itself. For some reason, the artifact’s power is rapidly increasing—it nearly hums with magical energy! We do not yet know why, and this we must know.”

  “I have felt something beyond the ordinary,” Amlaruil admitted.

  “Have you, now?” the sorceress said, eying the girl thoughtfully. “If anything more comes to you, be sure to seek me out at once. But go now, and refresh yourself. It might be that we will have need of your youth and strength.”

  Nakiasha ended her words with a smile, but to Amlaruil’s ears they still sounded more like a warning than a compliment.

  The elf maid turned down the path that led to the Tower of the Moon. While the Tower of the Sun was devoted to the storing and casting of magic, the Moon tower tended humbler, more personal needs. Here were kept the living quarters, small rooms dedicated to contemplation or study, and finally the kitchen and dining hall. All meals were taken at the narrow, spiraling table that filled the lower hall.

  Laeroth was waiting for her at the door. As she often did, Amlaruil noted that there was something otherworldly about the young mage. It was not merely his appearance, though that was odd enough. Laeroth looked disturbingly akin to the ancient statues that depicted the Faerie People. Tall and exceedingly thin, he was all sharp angles and eerily precise grace. His eyes were black, and they slanted upward at the corners beneath similarly winged, black brows. Only his mop of wheat-colored hair, which was in its usual state of disarray, seemed to place him rightfully in the mortal world.

  The young mage sprang at Amlaruil, seizing her by both shoulders. “Where have you been? I have awaited you this hour and more!”

  The intensity in his burning black eyes unnerved the girl, especially considering her recent conversation with Nakiasha.

  “As ambushes go, that was rather poorly done,” she said with a smile, trying to lighten the tone between them. “It is not common practice to show yourself until the moment of attack.”

  Laeroth released her and ran a long-fingered hand through his unruly hair. “The moon has risen. It will soon be dark enough to see.”

  “See?”

  The young mage took her arm and led her away from the Tower. “The lights here are too bright—they dampen the stars,” he explained. “I think we must go into the forest.”

  Amlaruil followed without comment, caught up in his urgency. The two elves slipped deep into the trees, into the hidden dale where Amlaruil had met the unicorn—and glimpsed her disturbing, improbable destiny.

  Laeroth stopped and pointed up into the night sky. “It should be there between the fourth and fifth of Selûne’s Tears, and slightly to the north.”

  The elf maid studied the sky, seeing nothing beyond the lights that were familiar friends. But as her eyes sought deeper, she did indeed notice something new. Faint and distant, more like the ghost of a star than a true light, it crouched amid the glowing tears like a crimson shadow.

  “By the gods!” she breathed. “The King-Killer star!”

  Laeroth nodded, his narrow face set in grim lines. “You see it, then. I thought so, but I had to be sure. Usually its path arcs over Faerûn and as far east as Kara-Tur. Never has it been seen on Evermeet.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “I wish I knew,” Laeroth said. “This mystery will tax even the magi.”

  Amlaruil stared at him. “Will tax? You haven’t told anyone?”

  “I only just found out this evening. In fact, you saw its light before I did.” He hesitated. “It’s hard to explain, but I think I felt the star’s presence. At the very least, I felt something. All this day I have spent in the library, studying the lore for some clue. It was about time for another appearance of the King-Killer star, so …” his voice trailed off, and he shrugged.

  Amlaruil’s eyes widened. “The Accumulator! Perhaps the appearance of the King-Killer might help explain the magic surge. Nakiasha will wish to know this at once!”

  The pair hurried to the Tower of the Sun and told the sorceress what they had seen.
Nakiasha led them to the Chamber of a Thousand Eyes.

  Here they found Jannalor Nierde, gazing into a long looking tube. The lens was aimed at the far wall, but Amlaruil doubted he was engaged in a study of the tapestry that hung there. The magical device could see nearly any spot on Faerûn.

  Jannalor disengaged himself from the looking tube and listened gravely to their tale. “I hope that you are wrong,” he said when they were finished speaking. “Nonetheless, let us have a look.”

  The Grand Mage cast an incantation and then trained the looking tube at a high, arched window. He studied the image for a long moment, then swept the lens back and forth as if scanning distant skies.

  Suddenly the mage stopped, stiffened, and swore a low, fervent oath. He straightened and gestured for Amlaruil to look within the tube.

  The girl peered into the looking glass, and was greeted by Selûne’s bright, silvery light. As she gazed, a shape like that of an enormous bat winged across the moon. More followed, so many that they nearly blotted out the light.

  Horror clenched her throat like a monstrous hand as Amlaruil realized she was gazing upon the deadliest, most dreaded phenomena known to Aber-toril.

  “A flight of dragons,” she murmured hoarsely.

  This, then, was what she had felt. The magical creatures had a powerful aura, and certain mages could sense their near presence. So, apparently, could the Accumulator, for the artifact was no doubt absorbing some of the dragons’ power.

  “Where are they?” she asked, moving aside to give Laeroth a turn at the glass.

  “Far out to sea, praise the gods,” Jannalor replied in a worried tone. “But they are flying straight toward Evermeet. We must get word of the coming attack to every corner of the island!”

  “But Evermeet is protected by magical shields, woven by Corellon himself,” protested Laeroth.

  “Think, boy!” growled the mage. “What creature is more magical than a dragon? Any shield that would keep out the magic of a hundred dragons would also block the flow of the Weave of Magic. If Evermeet were so protected, we could not work magic; indeed, under such a shield, we elves would die as surely as the summer lighting bugs that careless children gather and leave too long under a glass! Mark me: there will be an attack.”