Evermeet: Island of Elves (single books)

by Elaine Cunningham

  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 moonlight 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

  In 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.

  She put away her flute unplayed and took her bow from her shoulder. Although she had never met with danger in this forest, she sensed that something was amiss. There was something wrong in the air-an intangible miasma so strong it was almost like a scent. Instinctively, Eilistraee lifted her head into the wind and sniffed like a wolf.

  There was a scent, one very familiar to the young goddess. Though some of the elven gods abhorred the death of any forest creature, some of them, like Eilistraee, lived in concert with the ways of Nature. From time to time, she hunted as a hawk hunted, or a wolf. She hunted because she was part of the forest, and because the forest elves of a hundred worlds, whom she saw as her particular charges among the elven children of Corellon, hunted for their food. Many a time her unseen hand had guided an elven archer's aim, or her footsteps had marked a trail to waiting prey. Eilistraee knew well the smell of blood.

  She hurried toward the scent, which grew stronger and ranker and more complex until it threatened to steal her breath and twist her stomach. Other odors mingled with the blood and hung heavy in the moist morning air: the musty stench of creatures Eilistraee had never seen, and the faint and lingering scent of terror.

  In moments the young goddess stood over the scattered remains of some of the forest's most gentle creatures. Through eyes bright with unshed tears, she made out the bodies of a doe and her two newborn fawns. By the look of things, all three deer had died slowly. The tawny hides were marked with many small, malicious wounds. Most were punctures, such as might be made with sword or spear, but the work of claws and teeth was also in evidence. But this was not the doing of an animal, of that Eilistraee was certain. No animal in the forest would kill, except for food. This senseless carnage was something else entirely, something horrible beyond her imagining. Whoever had done this thing had killed for the sheer joy of it.

  Suddenly Eilistraee knew what name to call that miasma that hung in the forest air like foul mist. It was something she had never encountered, but she recognized it for what it was: Evil walked among the trees of Arvandor.

  The goddess turned away from the grim site, her silver eyes scanning the trampled, blood-soaked foliage. She would track down whoever had done this, and then she would bring him before the Seldarine Council for judgment. The killer's path would be easy to follow; the feet that had made it were careless and
clumsy. But before she began, she lifted her voice in a raven's haunting call. The deer were part of Nature's circle, and by summoning the ravens she would at least give some small measure of meaning to their deaths.

  Eilistraee had not walked far before she realized that this particular evil walked in more than one pair of boots. One creature had slain the deer, but his path soon converged with that of another. And soon after, the pair of footprints was swallowed in a broad swath of bruised and trampled foliage.

  The young huntress dropped to one knee to study the trail. Many had passed by, too many for her to make out the individual marks. Frightened now, she put an ear to the ground. The sound that came to her was like that of distant thunder.

  The girl leaped to her feet and climbed nimbly into the arms of an ancient oak. From this tree she moved to another, and then another, tracking the invaders from above. Her eyes were keen, and she moved nearly as fast among the trees as she could while on the ground. Soon she had the invaders in her sight.

  There were a hundred of them, perhaps more, and all of them were gods. Eilistraee could not give names to many of them, but she recognized a few: the hulking red-furred creature was Hruggek, the god of bugbears; the goblinoid deity was one whose name she had heard but could not recall. They were led by a limping, battle-scarred Malar, who was so battered that he seemed to be driven onward by nothing but sheer malice. All of them were armed far past the demands of a hunt, and they plodded on with grim determination on a direct path toward Arvandor.

  How this was possible, Eilistraee did not know-the way to Arvandor was known only to the elves and other forest folk. Nor could she say how it was that this motley army trampled through the forest, snarling and pushing and jostling at each other, without sending a breath of sound traveling through the air to herald their coming.

  Desperately the young goddess wished for moonlight, for Sehanine had showed her how to travel the gossamer strands of its magic with no more than a thought. Eilistraee's own magic was no great thing, and it focused mostly upon simple matters: a knowledge of herbs and healing, a special communion with the forest's creatures, a love of music and dance. None of these things would serve now, except, perhaps, her skill for the hunt.