And in the darkness they died, for in the tunnels beyond the keep lurked the only two creatures that were perhaps even more feared than the drow. One of these, a beautiful dark elven female, shrieked with elation each time one of Corellon Larethian's children perished.
Lloth had come at last to Evermeet. Though magic barred her from setting foot upon the island itself, the tunnels below were hers to command.
No such strictures were placed upon the creature with her, a terrible thing that resembled nothing so much as a gigantic, three-legged cockroach. The monster surged toward the keep. Its probing snout swept along the tunnel walls, and the ironhard maw churned busily as the creature chiseled through the stone to make way for its bulk. Nearly as large as a dragon and covered with impenetrable armor, the monster was one that was all too familiar to many of Evermeet's elves.
Malar's creature, the Ityak-Ortheel, had followed Lloth from her home on the Abyss. Finally, the Beastlord and the Queen of Spiders had found a way to unite their strengths in a strike against Evermeet. The dreaded elf-eater needed a gate from the Abyss and Lloth had been able to provide one.
The elf-eater surged upward, exploding from the stone floor of the keep. Scores of tentacles probed the air, testing for the airborne taste of nearby prey. The creature was relentless, devouring both living and dead elves until the keep was silent and empty. With the speed of a galloping horse, the creature plunged into the ancient wall. The stone shattered, sending a cloud of dust and rubble hurtling out of the blackness that encircled the castle and threatened to engulf all of Evermeet.
One warrior survived-the only one whose blood was not sufficiently elven to call to the elf-eater. Alone, Maura watched in despair as the elf-eater turned away from the keep, heading south with a linear intensity that even a crow's flight could not match. Maura could guess all too well its destination, and its intent.
The monster was heading for Corellon's grave, the nearest elven settlement-not coincidentally, one of the seats of Evermeet's power. Many of the most powerful clerics came together to study and pray, to cast clerical magic to aid the People here and now, and to contemplate the wonders that awaited them in the realms of Arvandor. There, amid the temples of Corellon's Grove, the elf-eater would once again feed.
This was horror enough, but one more thought added the extra measure of urgency needed to tear Maura from her exhaustion and despair: The Princess Ilyrana, a priestess of the goddess Angharradh, made her home in the Grove.
A shrilling cry burst from Maura's lips, a shriek that to human ears would have been indistinguishable from an eagle's call. Maura, who had been raised among the Eagle Hills, knew of the giant birds and had heard the elves call them many times. Never had she summoned them, never had she ridden one. She wasn't certain she could succeed at either. It would not be the first time, however, that an untried warrior had ridden such a steed into battle.
She had not long to wait. An enormous bird dropped from the sky with unnerving silence, coming to rest on a pile of rubble that the elf-eater had left behind when it crashed through the keep. The eagle was as large as a war-horse, and beautiful. The slanting rays of the rising sun turned its feathers to gold. It was also fearsome, with a hooked beak larger than Maura's head, and talons the size of the dagger she carried.
The bird cocked its head in inquisition. "Who you? What want?" it demanded in a shrill voice.
Maura's chin came up proudly. "I am Maura of Evermeet, wife to Prince Lamruil and daughter by marriage to King Zaor. Take me into battle, as your ancestor once took the king. Evermeet's need is greater now than it was then-greater than ever it was."
"You not elf," the eagle observed.
"No. But then, neither are you. Do you fight less fiercely for your home, because of this?"
Her answer seemed to please the bird. The eagle spread its wings, until the golden feathers nearly spanned the bloodstained courtyard.
"Up, up," it urged her impatiently. "Get on back, hold tight. We show how fierce we the not-elves fight for Evermeet home!"
Book Three
Constancy and Change
"Some legends say that Evermeet is a piece of Arvandor descended to the mortal world. Some consider it a bridge between the worlds, a place where the line between the mortal and the divine blurs. To some, it is merely a prize to be won. But this much is clear to all: from the day of its creation, Evermeet became the ancient homeland of Faerun's People. This is not a simple matter to understand or explain, but when has truth ever been utterly devoid of paradox?"
— Excerpt from a letter from Elasha Evanara, Priestess of Labelas, Keeper of the Queen's Library
11
Inviolate
Malar the Beast Lord considered no wild lands beyond his claim. The deep forests of Evermeet should have been his to rove, and all living things upon the island should have been his rightful prey. If elves were numbered among this prey, so much the better.
But, the bestial god was barred from the elven retreat. A net of powerful magic covered the island and kept the gods of the anti-Seldarine from making a direct attack upon Corellon Larethian's children. And this time, there was no treacherous elven goddess to open the way for him from within.
No, Malar mused, he could not reach the island. But perhaps there were others who could. Once, long ago, a coalition had come near to defeating the elven pantheon in their own sacred forest. Why could he not gather a similar group of gods and direct the combined efforts of their mortal followers? Once and for all, he would crush the mortal elves whose very existence reminded him of his humiliating defeat at the hands of Corellon.
The sea, Malar reasoned, was his first barrier to success, and a formidable one. For the most part his own followers were orcs, humans who gloried in the hunt, and beings from a score or so of the other predatory races. These hunters lived upon the mainlands and did not have the ships or the skills needed to cross the vast watery divide. In time, perhaps, he could find godly and mortal allies who could remedy this lack. But it seemed clear to him that the first, logical step in building such an alliance would be to enlist the powers and the creatures of the depths.
And so the Beast Lord sought out a remote and rocky island, far to the north of Evermeet, and took on his bestial avatar form. He sent out a summons and then he settled down upon a high and ragged cliff to wait.
The sea winds that swept the island quickened to gale force as the sky darkened to indigo. Waves reared up and dashed themselves against the cliff below, growing higher and higher until the Beast Lord's black fur was drenched by the salty spray. Just as Malar thought the angry waters might engulf the island, and his avatar with it, a massive wave rose straight up from the sea and formed itself into a beautiful, wild-eyed woman.
The goddess Umberlee loomed over the island, quivering in the crest of that great, dangerously undulating wave. "What do you want of me, land dweller?" she demanded in a thrumming voice.
Malar eyed the sea goddess with a touch of apprehension. Her powers and her watery domain were far beyond his experience or understanding. Yet it might be that he could find a common ground, or at least some blandishment that would catch her fancy and mold her purposes to his. This would not be without risks. By all accounts, the goddess of the waves was dangerously capricious.
"I come in peace, Umberlee, and I bring warning. The elves travel your oceans to settle the island of Evermeet," he began.
Lightning sizzled forth from Umberlee's eyes, and the gnarled beach plum bushes on Malar's left exploded into flame. "You presume to summon me, and then speak as if I know not what happens within my own domain?" she raged. "What does it matter if the elves travel the seas, as long as they pay proper tribute to me?"
"But they do not merely travel your seas. They think to rule the ocean, with Evermeet as their base," Malar persisted. "This I know from a goddess of the elves."
The water goddess retreated a little as if in surprise, and a different sort of wrath kindled in her eyes. "No one rules the oceans but
Umberlee!"
"The seagoing elves do you homage, that is true, but they revere only their own gods. Even the Sea elves do not worship you, but rather Deep Sashales."
"That is the way of things," the goddess said in a sullen voice. "Many are the creatures that inhabit my oceans, and all worship their own gods. But all they who live within or venture upon the waves pay tribute to me, and they say prayers to win my forbearance and stave off my wrath!"
"Do the elves who now live upon Evermeet so entreat you, or are they too content with the protection of their own gods?" Malar asked slyly. "Aerdrie Faenya has cast about the island wardings such that no ill wind or weather can ever destroy the island. The elves of the Seldarine believe that Evermeet is beyond the power wielded by other gods. And yet, surely there is something that Umberlee, one of the great Gods of Fury, can do to thwart these presumptuous elves!"
Malar watched as this shot sank home, as Lloth had predicted it would. He would have preferred to bring Umberlee into line with brute force and rending talons, but, as the dark goddess had pointed out, there comes a time in many a hunt when the prey must be herded to a place of the hunter's choice.
"There are many things I could do," the proud goddess boasted. "If there is chaos enough in the seas surrounding Evermeet, the elves will come to know and revere my power!"
The Beast Lord listened as Umberlee began to spin her plans for the Coral Kingdom, a vast and disparate group of enemies who would trouble the elves whenever they set sail. Some of these creatures could even venture onto the island itself, for the protection of the elven gods did not- could not-exclude all the followers of other gods. For such revenge as Malar had in mind, mortal beings would do what the gods could not.
And as he listened to the sea goddess boast and plot, Malar marveled at the cunning of Lloth, who had so deftly planned how to bring Umberlee's power against their elven foe. He tried not to dwell overlong on the end results of the dark goddess's last campaign, or on his dawning suspicion that he himself might have been as handily manipulated, both then and now, as was Umberlee.
Such dark thoughts served him best when they were turned into anger-a fine and killing rage that Malar could focus utterly against Corellon's children.
In the years that followed, large communities of strange and evil creatures began to gather in the warm waters surrounding Evermeet.
The scrags were the worst of them. These ten-foot, seagoing trolls were nearly impossible to defeat, for they healed themselves of battle wounds with astonishing speed. They could easily swarm over an elven ship, regenerating as fast as the elves could cut them down. Setting them aflame only ensured the destruction of the ship, and left the elven crew at the mercy of those scrags still in the sea. Few elves survived the swim through troll-infested waters. Travel between the mainland and Evermeet grew exceedingly perilous, and more ships were lost than made harbor.
In addition to the marine trolls were the sahuagin, dark and hideous fish-men who were driven by a soul-deep enmity toward Sea elves. Many were the battles that raged beneath the waves between these ancient enemies. In a few short decades, the peaceful Sea elves who lived near Evermeet, who guided elven ships and scouted ahead for dangers that hid beneath the waves, were nearly destroyed.
It was a dark time for the elves of Evermeet. Cut off from the powerful kingdom of Aryvandaar except for the Tower-sent messages, bereft of the formidable protective barrier once provided by the Sea elves, they found to their horror that their sacred homeland was not, as they had fondly hoped, impervious to attack.
Nearly four hundred years had passed since the first ships from Aryvandaar had sailed past the mountainous island outpost known as Sumbrar and into the deep, sheltering bay on Evermeet's southern shore. Here, at the mouth of the Ardulith river, they had founded Leuthilspar, "Forest Home."
From gem and crystal, from living stone and mighty ancient trees, the High Magi of Aryvandaar brought forth in the forests of Evermeet a city to rival any in the kingdoms of Faerun. These buildings of Leuthilspar grew from the land itself, increasing in size as the years passed to accommodate the growing clans who dwelt within, as well as the settlers who came later. Even in its infancy, Leuthilspar was a city of incomparable beauty. Spiraling towers leaped toward the sky like graceful dancers, and even the common roadways were fashioned from gems coaxed from the hidden depths.
Although complete harmony among the elven nobility remained an elusive goal, Keishara Amarillis served well in bringing the contentious factions together. And when the time came for her to answer the call to Arvandor, Rolim Durothil accepted the duty of High Councilor with a humility and resolve that would have astonished those who had known him as a proud Gold elven warrior of Aryvandaar.
Rolim and his wife, the Silver elf mage Ava Moonflower, set an example for harmony among the clans and the races of elves. Theirs was an unusually large family, and their children increased both the Durothil and the Moonflower clans. Those children who took after their Gold elf patriarch were counted among the Durothils; those who favored their mother added to the numbers and power of the Moonflower clan.
It was a wise solution and a fine example-on this the elves of Leuthilspar were quick to agree. Few of them, however, followed in the High Councilor's footsteps. Unions between the various races of elves had become increasingly rare, and although relationships among the Gold, Silver and wild elves remained amicable, the various peoples began to draw off from each other.
As time passed, some of the more adventurous elves left Leuthilspar and spread across the island. A few of these travelers mingled with the wild elves that lived in the deep forest, and in doing so gave themselves over fully to a life lived in harmony with the sacred island. But most settled on the broad, fertile plains in the northwest to raise crops or train their fleet and nimble war-horses.
In the far north of the island were rugged, heavily forested hills and mountains. Wresting a living from this wild northern land was not an easy task, but it was a task well suited to the energies of the burgeoning Craulnober clan.
Theirs was a minor noble family, brought to Evermeet as honor guards in service to their liege clan, Moonflower. At the head of the family was Allannia Craulnober, a warrior who, despite her diminutive size, had survived the battles of the Crown Wars and had fought back the waves of monsters, orcs and dark elven raiders that threatened Aryvandaar. She knew all too well the horrors of battle, and the need for constant vigilance.
The growing complacency of Leuthilspar's elves, their utter certainty that Evermeet was an inviolate haven, were matters of deep concern to Allannia. She therefore chose a land that would test her strength, and would demand that she keep both her wits and her sword's edge sharp. Amid the struggles of life in their wild holdings, Allannia raised her children to be warriors.
Chief among these was Darthoridan, her eldest son. He was unusually tall for an elf, and more powerfully built than most of his kin. When he was yet a boy, still growing toward his full height, Allannia foresaw that no sword in the Craulnober armory would suit his strength. She sent word to the finest swordsmith in Leuthilspar, and had him create a broadsword of a size and weight seldom seen among the elves. Sea-Riven she called it, for reasons that were not entirely known to her.
As he grew toward adulthood, Darthoridan became increasingly restless. He spent his days in endless training, drilling with his warrior mother and his brothers and sisters for a battle that never came. Though he did not complain, he felt a keen sense of frustration over the singular focus of life in Craulnober Keep. Yes, he and his kin were becoming fine warriors, even by elven standards. Even so, the young elf longed to be so much more. He could not rid himself of the growing premonition that skill with the sword was not enough.
One day, when his hours of practice were over, Darthoridan sheathed Sea-Riven and wandered down to the shore. He spent many hours there, ignoring the dull aches in his battle-weary muscles as he challenged his strength and agility by climbing the sheer cliffs. More ofte
n, though, he merely sat and gazed out to sea, reliving the stories brought by travelers from the wondrous cities to the south.
This evening his mood was especially pensive, for his mother had decreed that the time was coming soon when he should travel to Leuthilspar and find a wife. This news was not at all unpleasing to the young elf, but he found that the prospect of transforming dream into reality was a bit daunting.
After all, the Craulnober clan holdings were isolated, and their keep was a simple tower of stone lifted from the rocky cliffs. Darthoridan knew little of the customs or culture of the great city. In her concern for a strong defense, Allannia Craulnober had focused on nothing else, and had taught her children nothing but the art of warfare. Darthoridan was hardly prepared for life in Leuthilspar; he did not feel confident in his ability to court and win a suitable bride.
If Allannia had her way, he mused with mingled frustration and wry humor, then he would simply march into the elven city, challenge a likely looking battle-maid to a match, defeat her, and carry her off to the north.
Darthoridan sighed. Ridiculous though this image might be, in truth, this was all he was equipped to do.
When he was head of the clan it would be otherwise, vowed the young warrior. If he had only his own will to consult, his chosen wife would be a lady of high station and exquisite grace. She would teach their children what he could not. In addition, all Craulnober younglings would be sent into fosterage with noble families in the south, were they could learn the arts and the magical sciences which flourished in Leuthilspar. They would learn to master the magic that was their heritage-and the results would far outstrip the few experimental spells that Darthoridan managed to fashion in his scant spare time.
Despite the dreams that swirled pleasantly through his thoughts, Darthoridan remained alert to his surroundings. He noted a small blotch of darkness in an oncoming wave. He squinted against the light of the setting sun as he tried to discern its nature. As he watched, the surging waves tossed the unresisting object back and forth, as if toying with it before casting it upon the shore.
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