Evermeet: Island of Elves (single books)

by Elaine Cunningham

  "The Accumulator," Vhoori said, stroking the smooth metal with a lover's hand. "With this, I can store power from each spell that I cast. In time, I will have stored so much power that I can act alone, and cast High Magic as a Circle of one."

  Brindarry let out a victory whoop. "And then you need no longer answer to the dotards who rule and restrict the use of magic! Your power will be tremendous. It will be an easy matter to oust the Amarillis pretender," he concluded happily.

  "Not so easy as you seem to think," Vhoori cautioned him. "Tradition, my friend, is a powerful thing. Tammson Amarillis is armed not only with his own merits, which are considerable, but also all those of his illustrious forebears. Even if every disgruntled Gold elf upon this island were to rally under my standard, we would have little hope of staging a successful coup-at least, not by traditional methods of warfare. No, it is time to find not only new powers, but new ways. And perhaps," he mused, "new allies."

  The Nierde snorted. "And where will you find these allies?"

  "By doing what I do best," Vhoori said dryly, "by being the very best 'messenger boy' that Evermeet has ever known."

  The elven ship was dying. Captain Mariona Leafbower knew that even as she gave the order for a reciprocal attack.

  She felt its death as a physical pain. Not in all her decades of travel among the stars had she known a ship that was its equal. In appearance it was rather like a titanic butterfly, with its two sets of sails that glimmered every shade of green known to her verdant homeworld. So vast were these winglike sails that the body of the ship-a sturdy structure with a keel length of over one hundred feet-was almost lost from sight among them. Mariona had inherited the graceful man-o-war from her uncle, who had grown and nurtured it himself, and she had carried on the Leafbower tradition of exploration, trade, and travel for the sheer joy of the journey. She knew this ship as well as any mounted warrior knew her pegasus, and she felt its dying agonies as keenly as if it were in fact a beloved steed.

  The captain watched stoically as her crew cranked the ballistae into firing position and loaded the catapult with grape shot. Hers was a well-armed ship, with two mounted ballistae that shot enormous metal bolts with the accuracy of an elven archer's longbow, and a catapult capable of delivering a large load of scattershot missiles with devastating force. Even so, it would not be enough, and she knew it. The ship would die, that was certain, and the elven crew, as well. But at least they would take a few of the Q'nidar with them.

  Mariona cursed under her breath as she watched the next approach of the Q'nidar. A flock of them flapped toward the ship in precise, single-line formation. The Q'nidar-hideous, batlike creatures with a fifteen-foot wingspan and long, barbed tails like those of a wyvern-were as black as the wildspace in which they hunted, but on their crystalline wings glittered every color within both the light and heat spectrums. Q'nidar were heat-eaters who traveled the vast spaces between the stars. They spoke by breathing intricate patterns of heat and energy that were detected and understood by others of their kind. Disaster usually occurred whenever they attempted to "speak" with star-traveling ships. Indeed, they were often drawn to such ships, attracted by the heat and light and activity.

  These Q'nidar, however, were not merely curious. This was a hunting party, and they desperately needed to feed. Mariona could tell this from the unusually close-knit formation of the flying monsters. They flew nearly nose-to-tail, so that each Q'nidar could feed upon the heat emitted by the creature in front of it.

  Their first attack on the ship had been unexpected-from a distance they unleashed a blast of breath so hot that it had ignited the protective bubble that surrounded the ship and kept the life-giving envelope of air and warmth in place. The off-duty helmsman, a wizard of considerable power, had drained his magic to put out the flames. He had succeeded-but not before their air supply had been dangerously heated and thinned.

  It was still hot on the ship. Mariona's hair clung to her scalp in lank silver strands, and the pain in her blistered hands and face was intensified by her keen awareness of the ship's ills. The ship's crystal hull had been cracked by the sudden burst of heat, and the wings were seared and brittle. Her ship yet lived, but barely. It could not survive another hit. And the Q'nidar were closing in, eager to ignite the ship and feed upon the energy of the flames.

  Mariona waited until the lead Q'nidar was within range, and then screamed out the order to fire. The first ballista thudded, sending a giant bolt streaking toward the creature. The weapon caught the Q'nidar squarely in the upper chest, sending it hurtling back into the ranks of its followers. A few of the Q'nidar at the far end of the formation managed to peel off in time, but for several moments most of the creatures struggled and thrashed in a tangle of bat wings and barbed tails.

  At that moment, the elven fighters fired the catapult. A spray of small spiked metal balls, lengths of chain, and odds and ends of nails and scrap metal burst toward the tangle of Q'nidar. The shrieks of wounded and dying monsters reverberated through the ship's atmosphere like a chorus from the Abyss. Some of the less-wounded Q'nidar took off in rapid, desperate flight toward the nearest star. A few of the creatures, torn and silent, began to drift off into the blackness of wildspace. One of these floated directly toward the man-o-war.

  "Hard astern!" Mariona shouted into the speaking tube that led from the deck down to the navigation room. The helmsman-the wizard whose magic combined with the power of the magical, thronelike helm to give power to the ship-acknowledged her order. Mariona noted with deep concern that his voice sounded thin and weary. Passilorris had been at the helm for much too long. His strength and his magic were nearly depleted.

  The ship began to trace a leisurely arc toward the right as the helmsman urged the ailing vessel in an evasive maneuver. Not fast enough. The Q'nidar flopped down onto the ship's envelope, its black wings spread wide like a pall over the ship, its body bouncing slightly from the impact with the protective shield. So diminished was the air envelope that the creature hung low, bobbing gently between the ship's paired wings.

  To Mariona's horror, the creature's eyes opened, focused, and then narrowed with malevolence as they glared directly into hers. The Q'nidar's chest slowly expanded as it prepared to expend its last breath in a killing blast.

  "Fire!" she shrieked, pointing up toward the Q'nidar.

  The ballista crew threw their weight against the massive weapon, swiveling it around and tilting it up to aim at the new threat. The bolt tore upward and plunged through the creature's heart.

  A shimmering glow spread outward from the dead Q'nidar to engulf the protective bubble. The bubble's surface began to seethe and bulge like water just coming to a boil. A blast of hot air burst down through the opening, scalding the ballista crew before the magical shield could close in to repair the gap.

  Mariona noted with grim relief that the ballista bolt had gone clear through the creature, thus allowing much of the hot air from its lungs to escape into wildspace. Had it not, the full force of the blast might have killed many more elves. Either way, however, they were better off than if the creature had "screamed." At such close range the force from such a heat weapon would have reduced the ship to ash.

  But the threat did not die with that single Q'nidar. The creatures who had scattered and fled were regrouping. Mariona could see the distant flash of reflected starlight on their wings as they hurtled in for the final assault.

  The final assault. Of that, there could be no doubt.

  "Captain, we're receiving a communication!"

  The navigator's voice echoed up through the speaking tube, shrill with excitement and hope reborn.

  Mariona's heart quickened. To the best of their knowledge, there were no spelljamming ships in this section of wildspace, and no civilization on the nearest world capable of star travel. It would be wonderful to be proved wrong!

  "On my way," she said, taking off at a run for the narrow steps that led down into the hold.

  Her eye fell first upon the he
lmsman, a Silver elf of middle years. He was nearly gray with exhaustion, and his white-knuckled hands gripped the armrests of the helm as if to squeeze from it just a few more drops of power. Mariona rested a hand on his shoulder, briefly, and turned to the navigator.

  Shi'larra was bent over a scrying crystal, her black eyes intense in her tattooed face. She glanced up at the captain. "The crystal has been pulsing, as if receiving a message. It is powerful magic-definitely elven-but subtly different from anything we know. According to the latest report from the Imperial Fleet, there are no elven ships in this area."

  Mariona understood at once the implications of the navigator's words. From time to time, an elven civilization upon some outpost world found its own way to star-flight. The first contacts between these fledgling ships and the well-established elven navy that ruled wildspace was usually jarring in the extreme to the newcomers. There were strict protocols concerning how these encounters should be handled. Protocol, however, was a luxury that the desperate crew could not afford.

  The elf woman lay her palm on the crystal, letting the powerful material absorb her personal magic. And powerful it undoubtedly was-the globe had been fashioned from the crystallized remains of a Q'nidar that had flung itself into a star. Such artifacts were rare and powerful, and she'd considered herself fortunate to have happened upon it in the debris that floated along a common trade route. Now the crystal offered a chance to stave off the utter destruction of ship and crew. Later, perhaps, she would ponder the irony of this.

  "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 Selune?" 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 others 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.