Evermeet: Island of Elves (single books)

by Elaine Cunningham

  Shanyrria dismissed the students at once and sprinted down the hill toward the Tower of the Sun. Laeroth Runemaster, who had succeeded Amlaruil as Grand Mage of the Towers, would know if… Shanyrria's thoughts slammed to a stop, unwilling even to form the words. Yet she had to know the meaning of the white-draped litter. Laeroth would know what there was to be known.

  She found all the High Magi gathered in the large spellcasting chamber awaiting the Grand Mage. Too impatient to wait, Shanyrria pushed through them and went in search of Laeroth. She found the aged elf in the upper tower, in the act of removing the Accumulator from its protective wrapping. Apprehension clutched at her throat with icy fingers as she contemplated a danger that would necessitate bringing out one of the greatest of Evermeet's defenses. An ancient artifact, it stored the power of the spells around it. Shanyrria's trained senses sang in harmony with the magic-the unique magic of Evermeet-which emanated from the artifact in silent song.

  Laeroth turned to the bladesinger. "I am to take this to the palace," he said simply. "The queen is in need of all of Evermeet's defenders."

  Relief flooded Shanyrria. "The queen lives! Praise the gods! But the royal litter?"

  "The Princess Ilyrana," the runemaster said sadly. "She lives, but her spirit has flown-carried away to do battle in another place. They take her body to her mother the queen."

  "How-"

  "Ityak-Ortheel," Laeroth interrupted, his usually gentle voice dark with hatred. "The creature of Malar, unleashed upon Evermeet itself. Ilyrana carried it away-to Arvandor, I believe-but most of the elven clerics were slain during the battle I fear." He gazed down at the Accumulator. "There is much yet to come. Every child of Evermeet must rally to meet this threat, or we will all perish. We stand alone, for all the magical gates of Evermeet have been blocked. The High Magi have gathered to see if this can be countered."

  He looked up at her. "You are friends of the centaurs. Alert them, tell them to hurry to the river and hold back the sahuagin and scrags that have invaded the heartland. Then hasten to Sunrise Tower, prepare the spell-singers to defend the valley. A huge invading fleet approaches, and if any of the raiders manage to come ashore, you can imagine what prizes they might take."

  Shanyrria nodded. Sunrise Tower stood in Drelagara, a Gold elf town in the midst of the lush measures that were home to the moon-horses. The wondrous beasts often played in the sea and the white-sand beaches east of the meadows; if raiders were to catch sight of such creatures, they would surely pursue them into the valley. A single moon-horse was worth more than a red dragon's hoard.

  The bladesinger reached into the leather bag on her belt and took a small package of green powder from it. This she poured into her hand. She spat, then mixed it into a paste and streaked it across her cheeks with the fingers of her hands. It was not as elaborate a war paint as was her custom, but it was all that time permitted. Shanyrria was already a daunting sight. Her appearance was unusual for a Silver elf, for she was tall and broad of shoulder, with eyes the color of amber. Her reddish-brown hair had been plaited into dozens of braids and woven with feathers and painted stone beads. In her mildest mood, Shanyrria was fearsome to behold. Now, even the Runemaster, no coward or weakling, hung back from her.

  "Send me to Sunrise Tower," she demanded. "I will rally the spell-singers, and then go to fight beside the centaurs."

  Laeroth nodded and began to cast the spell that would carry the bladesinger to distant Drelagara.

  Shanyrria accepted the whirl and rush of magical travel, and came out of the spell running at full speed. She dashed through the Tower courtyard, pushing past the Gold elf guards who moved to block her way. They shouted that the Circle was casting and could not be interrupted.

  She had barely cleared the door when an explosion of intense power slammed into her. Shanyrria staggered back, clutching at her bleeding ears. There had been no sound, no tremor, nothing that anyone other than an elf might hear or feel, but Shanyrria knew beyond doubt that every elf on Evermeet felt the impact of that terrible silent blast. She herself, so attuned to the silent music of magic, had been deafened by the force of it.

  Horror gripped the bladesinger as she realized the implications for Sunrise Tower. In times past, entire Towers of High Magi had been shattered by a powerful backlash of magic. If this unknown spell could so effect her, what must it have done to a Circle of spell-singers? Shanyrria slapped her face several times hoping to distract the terrible, ringing pain and focus her powers for the task ahead. She went with all the speed she could muster up the winding stair that led up to the spellcasting chamber at the top of the Tower, bracing herself for the sight of her friends' blasted bodies.

  Astonishment froze her in the doorway. A group of Gold elves-each of them known to her, most of whom she had selected and trained-stood in a circle, their outstretched fingertips touching. The Circle was unharmed; even now the elves' lips moved in a spell-song that Shanyrria could no longer hear. In their midst stood a single female elf. Shanyrria recognized her as a Circle-Singer, a warrior-mage who could blend the magical song into a single spell, much as a Center focused a circle of High Magi.

  Suddenly Shanyrria understood what had happened. These elves were traitors! Sunrise Tower had attacked. The destructive force she had felt was nothing less than the shattering of the Towers of the Sun and the Moon.

  Grimly the bladesinger drew her sword and advanced into the room. Evermeet had developed no defense against such treachery from within, but neither did spell-song have a defense against the magic of a bladesinger. It seemed good and right to Shanyrria that many of them would die by her blade.

  She seized the nearest elf by his golden hair and reached around to cut his throat. As she pulled the blade in a lethal slash, she spun so that the swing would take down the elf to his right. Shanyrria had no illusions about her fate. She would die in this tower room. But when she came to Arvandor, she would bring many traitors to present themselves before the Seldarine Council for judgment.

  Her only regret was that she would die before the battle's end, not knowing what Evermeet's fate would be.

  Book Five

  Queen of Evermeet

  "Amlaruil is not merely the Queen of Evermeet: Amlaruil is Evermeet."

  — Elven Maxim

  22

  Amlaruil of Evermeet

  After an indecently short period of official mourning for Lydi'aleera, Amlaruil and Zaor were wed. She was crowned queen at once, despite the outrage of House Amarillis and the murmurs of a few of the other Gold elven houses. But it was obvious to all that the moonblade had chosen. That Amlaruil had borne children to Zaor was counted in her favor.

  Montagor Amarillis was furious at these events, yet there was little he could do without bringing his actions-and his sister's disgrace-to light. Besides, the formidable bladesinger Shanyrria Alenuath sought him out and privately made it plain that she held Lydi'aleera responsible for the death of her half-brother, the alleged heir of Zaor. She vowed that she would keep an eye on him and his house, and avenge any attempt on the royal family. The bladesinger's fierce reputation was widely known, and Montagor had little desire to bring her wrath down on his head. He suspected, even if he could not prove, that Shanyrria had forced Lydi'aleera's hand. His sister would never have taken such a bold and desperate step on her own.

  Amlaruil left the Towers behind, leaving the rule of them to the trusted war wizard Tanyl Evanara and to her old friend Laeroth, now known as the Runemaster. Although Tanyl was not among the High Magi, he was one of the most powerful of solitary mages. Amlaruil was content that the Towers were in good hands, and dedicated herself fully to Zaor and their joint rulership of Evermeet.

  Though some of the elves worried that a warrior and a mage would make for a grim royal couple, the arts and music that had been the former queen's passion were nurtured as never before.

  Elven minstrels began to travel abroad, bringing the lore and music of many lands back to Evermeet. In particular, the elves became
intrigued with the many new instruments developed by ingenious human bards. The harp and the flute, the traditional instruments of elven music, were soon joined by a host of other instruments. Elven nobles and minstrels soon vied with each other in composing new verses to popular lute songs, and groups of elves began to delight in singing the exuberant, multi-voiced music enjoyed by humans.

  As a gift to the new queen, the Tower magi cast magic that enlarged and transformed the Moonstone palace. A vast garden maze was added to the grounds and filled with magical displays, softly playing fountains, and wondrous flowers. It was Nakiasha, Amlaruil's mentor, who added to the palace the touch that showed a true understanding of the queen. In a feat of magic and forestry that consumed three years of diligent work, the forest elf had transported to the palace grounds the very forest glade in which Amlaruil and Zaor had first met. Set like a jewel in the midst of an ancient grove, this glade rapidly became the royal couple's favorite retreat, and the place most sought out by the children that filled the palace nearly to overflowing.

  The union of Zaor and Amlaruil was unusually fruitful, and the coming of spring usually saw the house of Moonflower increased by yet another prince or princess. Ilyrana, who had no desire for court life, was content to remain upon the Moonshaes. There also the twins, Zhoron and Xharlion, grew to maturity learning the fighting arts of the elves of Sonoria. Although Amlaruil missed them sorely, she rejoiced in each new babe that filled her arms, and she devoted herself to their training.

  The next-born son, Chozzaster, showed an early talent for magic and in time aspired to become a High Magi, like his mother. The following spring brought a daughter, a fierce, fire-haired lass that they named Shandalar in honor of the bladesinger Shanyrria Alenuath. Female twins followed, Tira'allara and Hhora, lovely, serious girls who devoted themselves at an early age to train as clerics of Hanali Celanil. Next came Lazziar and Gemstarzah, twin girls who seemed by nature and inclination destined to take the warrior's path.

  Amlaruil's days were not all consumed with the raising of her brood, however. The chance to prove herself a worthy consort to a warrior king came all too soon.

  Far to the west, off the coast of the fertile and troubled land known as Tethyr, a cluster of islands was drawing pirates as surely as bees to clover. The archipelago seemed designed for stealth, with its myriad small islands and hidden bays, and it lay between the ancient southern kingdoms and the thriving cities of the north. As the pirates grew wealthier and more daring, they turned their sights toward the sunset sky, and to the fabled riches of Evermeet.

  From time to time, a pirate ship ventured westward, never to be heard from again. But there were successes, too, although the goods that pirates brought back to port were mostly wonders looted and exotic slaves taken from elven vessels on the open seas. When word came to the Nelanther that the elves of the mainland were secretly slipping away and sailing for their isle, the pirates began to patrol the seas in earnest.

  One day in early spring, a young dragon sentinel brought news that an approaching elven ship was pursued by a small fleet of Nelanther pirates. Though the swanship was fleet and agile, the pirates were closing and would capture the ship before she could reach the shields of Evermeet.

  Zaor called upon the trio of dragonriders to go out and meet the pirates. He wished to lead the eagle riders in attack himself, but the distance was too great for the giant eagles to fly.

  Amlaruil, however, had an idea of her own. The High Magi took to the sky in a chariot drawn by a team of six pegasi. With her she carried the ancient scepter known as the Accumulator, which held High Magic powerful enough to teleport the flagship away from the island. This she did, in a spectacular display of magical fireworks that lit up the sky and was seen from Evermeet to distant Waterdeep.

  Exactly where the ship landed, the queen declined to say. That did not stop the minstrels from speculating, and their odes to the queen's bravery joined those that praised her beauty and grace.

  But sorrow and tragedy soon befell the royal family. Malar the Beast Lord unleashed upon the elves of the Moonshae Isles his most fearsome creation. The monster known as the elf-eater attacked the once-secure valley of Synnoria. Many of the elves fled though the gate to Evermeet.

  The princess Ilyrana was among them, but she brought with her terrible news. As she was pushed through the gate by the elven defenders, she caught a glimpse of a blue-haired lad gripped in one of the monster's many tentacles. She did not know which of her twin brothers was slain that day, nor did she ever learn the fate of the other. But Zhoron and Xharlion were lost to Evermeet.

  Nor were they the only children of Amlaruil and Zaor whose fate was never determined. The ship carrying Lazziar and Gemstarzah was lost at sea while the twins sailed on a mission of diplomacy.

  Even the simple passage of years took a toll. Chozzaster passed on to Arvandor at a young age, and Shandalar, Zaor's pet and favorite, was accidentally slain by a fellow student, a gifted spell-singer, during her training as a bladesinger.

  Zaor, grieving and aging, privately began to feel the call of Arvandor. As the years passed, as security of Evermeet made the warrior king feel unneeded, and as his children slipped away from him, Zaor began to withdraw from the daily life of the palace.

  More interested in gardening than in governance, he increasingly abandoned the rulership of Evermeet to his capable and apparently ageless queen.

  23

  Rapport

  Zaor of Evermeet, now aged far beyond the years of most elves, busied himself in the palace gardens. He lowered the clippers and cocked his head to one side as he admired the effect. In the very center of the palace gardens, he had planted a hedge of pale blue roses and shaped it into a crescent moon. In the faint light of a summer twilight, the rare flowers seemed to glow with their own inner radiance.

  "Very lovely," commented a voice behind him, a voice that still had the power to quicken Zaor's heart despite the passage of centuries.

  He turned to face Amlaruil. A mixture of longing and pain smote him as he gazed upon her beautiful face. She looked exactly as she had when he'd met her more than four hundred years before. And he? He was an old elf, useless to Amlaruil and to Evermeet, homesick for Arvandor. Amlaruil took a single step forward, her hands clenched at her sides and her face blazing with incompressible wrath. "I would never have thought I'd have occasion to call you a hypocrite!" she said in a cold voice. "Do you not remember the pledge you demanded of me, those many years past? You made me promise that I would remain on Evermeet for the good of the People, for howsoever long I was needed."

  "I am old, Amlaruil," he said simply, "and I am very tired."

  "Spare me your tales of creaking joints!" she raged at him. "Do you think that it has been easy for me, or always pleasant, to do as you requested? If I could see my youth pass by, each year like a wasted spring day as I endured seeing you wed to another, can you not summon the courage to live your venerable years? You are needed!"

  "You are Evermeet's queen, and all the ruler the elves truly need."

  "What of my needs, my lord? And truly, what would befall Evermeet if I, like you, were to become so self-absorbed that I did not tend to the future? Which of our children could you truly envision on the throne? Tira'allara? Hhora?"

  Zaor slowly shook his head. He loved his daughters, but neither would make a queen. Priestesses of Hanali Celanil, they were both completely caught up in the cult of love and beauty, so much so that at times he worried about them. Tira'allara was involved in a potentially disastrous liaison with a young Gold elf known as a rake and a wastrel. Zaor suspected that the youth's interest in the princess had more to do with her rank and wealth-for Tira'allara happily repaid his gambling debts with her jewels and dowry-than with the princess herself. Yet Tira'allara loved the elf with all her passionate, intense nature. Zaor wondered if she would survive the disillusionment that was sure to come. And Hhora was preparing to sail for distant Faerun, for she was determined to wed a chance-met commoner w
ith whom she'd shared a festival.

  "Evermeet is without an heir," Amlaruil continued bluntly. "The sword of Zaor is a warrior's blade, and neither of our surviving children could draw it and live. We must give Evermeet an heir."

  "I am old, Amlaruil," he repeated.

  She came to him in a rush, framing his weathered face in hands as smooth and unlined as a maiden's. Tears filled her eyes and soul-deep grief softened her angry face. "Do not leave me, my love," she said with quiet intensity. "I could not bear it."

  He stroked her bright hair. "You can handle anything. I have never known anyone as strong."

  "Together we are strong!" she said urgently. "Do you not see it? What we have accomplished, we have done together. The bond between us is deep and unique, but it could be even more."

  Zaor stared at her, stunned by what she was offering. The rare, deep bond of elven rapport would bind them together soul to soul. He would be sustained by the same divine fire that linked her to the Seldarine-at what cost to her, he could not begin to imagine. He could make, and make good, the pledge she demanded of him. He could vow to remain on Evermeet for as long as he was needed.

  "It is midsummer," she whispered, clinging to him with an urgency that warmed his blood and sent it singing through his veins. "It is the time for making promises. Come with me to our glade, my love."

  The king found that he could not deny the entreaty in his love's eyes. He swept her up in arms still strong despite his years, and carried her from the garden as if she were again a bride.

  The palace guard parted to let them pass, the servants and gardeners melted away. Not a single elven face held anything but smiles of understanding and joy. None saw anything incongruent in the sight of beautiful springtime in the arms of late autumn. It was midsummer, and pledges made had a magic of their own.