Evermeet: Island of Elves (single books)

by Elaine Cunningham

  "There is a Starwing fleet on Sumbrar," Lamruil said.

  "Not so. The fleet was destroyed over five hundred years ago, during the flight of the dragons!"

  "True, but it was rebuilt in secrecy. There are ten ships." Lamruil gave a short, concise description that left Kymil utterly convinced. He had spent enough time on just such a ship to know that only firsthand knowledge could prompt the prince's words.

  The prince continued, describing the defenses of the island and the powers of its queen in such detail that Kymil was nearly convinced.

  "Give me one thing more, and we will do as you suggest," the elf said.

  A strange, almost mad light entered the prince's eyes. "It may be that for one reason or another you may wish to restore the throne of Evermeet. There is a lawful heir. The princess Amnestria had a child."

  Kymil snorted. "Don't remind me! A half-breed bastard is no contender for the throne, by any elf s measure."

  "Arilyn was my sister's second child. She had another-a son by a Moon elf of a noble family. No one on Evermeet knows this but me. The prince is not aware of his identity. I can tell you where he is. I can prove he is who I say he is. You can use him or slay him, as suits your needs."

  The Gold elf nodded, convinced of the worth of what Lamruil offered. The truth of it, he already knew. After all, it was a small matter to cast a spell that weighed the truthfulness of what was said.

  "We will do as you say," he said. "But be assured that a dagger will find your heart before one word of betrayal can escape your lips!"

  The prince shrugged. "Just let me out of this hole, and I will be content."

  The harbor guards brought Lamruil directly to the queen's council chamber, as she requested. A spasm of pain crossed her drawn face as her gaze fell upon her son's wasted form. Even thin as he was, clad in filthy garments and marked with several small wounds from the battle that freed him, he carried himself with an arrogance that brought frowns to the faces of all of Amlaruil's advisers.

  Even so, he was her son, her last child. Amlaruil flew to him and enfolded him in her arms. He embraced her briefly, then took her shoulders and put her away from him.

  "There is little time, mother," he said urgently. "I know where the other four ships are bound. One carries three score Red Wizards, determined to despoil Evermeet's magical treasures. With them are human ruffians who came for gold and elven wenches. There are more of their ilk on each of the four remaining ships. Human wizards, too, and as many fighters as they could pack into the hold like cord-wood. I know what I am asking of you, but I know too that you would wish to know this."

  Amlaruil's troubled eyes searched his face. "Ilyrana is gone," she said softly. "If I do this thing, will you take your father's sword?"

  "Bring it to me," the prince said stoutly. "I will take it up if I must!"

  The queen nodded to an adviser, who brought the sheathed weapon from its place of honor on the pedestal behind her throne. She laid it on a table nearby.

  "All of you must bear witness to this. I name Prince Lamruil my successor. Now you must keep silent while I cast the needed spell."

  Keryth leaped to his feet, shaking with rage. "You cannot, my queen! I know what you mean to do, and I know what the end will be. You are needed here! We will deal with these ships. Surely they are not such a threat as the prince tries to paint them!"

  A hesitant expression crossed Amlaruil's face. "You have seen these ships, Lamruil. Must I cast this spell?"

  Before he could answer, the sounds of a brief struggle and a woman's angry voice erupted from the hall. Maura burst into the chamber, her eyes wild. She gasped at the sight of Lamruil, but did not go to him. Rather, she ran to the queen and quickly told her all that she had seen.

  "The warrior maid is Ilyrana," Maura concluded. "And she called for you! The elf-eater is in Arvandor itself! It attacks the spirits of the faithful. I saw Zaor among them."

  Amlaruil's face firmed with resolve.

  "We need you here," Keryth repeated.

  "Not really," Lamruil said coldly. "Whether she casts the spell or not, I would demand her abdication. The sword is mine now, and the kingdom with it."

  Maura rounded on him. "And what of your queen? What of me?"

  A faintly puzzled expression crossed the prince's face. "What of you? I will chose an elf maiden of high family for my queen."

  The woman's eyes flamed. "You are nothing but a… an albino drow!" she gritted out.

  The prince shrugged again and turned to the queen. "Well, mother? What will it be? Duty as always?" He let out a brief, scornful laugh when Amlaruil nodded, and then turned to the cowled elf at his side. "Convinced, my lord? Will you tell her where these ships might be found?"

  The elf slipped off his hood, to reveal a handsome but unfamiliar golden face. He spoke briefly and precisely. When he was done, Lamruil took up one of the queen's pale hands and pressed it to his lips.

  "Farewell then, mother," he said lightly.

  The queen stared at him a moment, and then turned and walked to her throne. She sat upon it, and closed her eyes. An aura of magic gathered around her as she began the casting that would send the dangerous ships from her shores-and that would send her to fight once again at Zaor's side.

  The elves watched with tears in their eyes as their queen summoned her final spell in their defense. Silent power gathered, swirling through the room like a whirlwind and whipping the elves' hair and cloaks wildly about. Suddenly there was an explosion, a second terrible silent blast.

  Amlaruil was gone.

  In one quick movement, the prince lunged for the king sword and drew it from its ancient scabbard. The stunned and grieving elves were dealt a second shock to see the prince standing, alive and unharmed. The sword of Zaor gleamed in his hands, and the magical blue light seemed to hum with righteous wrath.

  "I name you, Kymil Nimesin, traitor to Evermeet, and I call upon the magic of the sword to dispel the illusion you have cast. All of you, bear witness."

  The features of the Gold elf's face shimmered and blurred, quickly rearranged themselves into a familiar visage-that of the elf whose machinations had led to the deaths of King Zaor and Amnestria.

  "He is revealed and accused. You, the advisors of Queen Amlaruil, say now what must be done. What judgment do you render?" Lamruil cried.

  The traitor's sentence was passed in a single word, spoken as if from a single throat. The young king of Evermeet lifted the moonblade to pass sentence.

  Kymil Nimesin saw death coming, and took the only escape he knew. He touched the gem Lloth had given him, releasing the powerful spell that contained the elfgates of Evermeet in a single entity. Some of this released power opened a gate he had prepared as a last eventuality.

  The sword of Zaor swished harmlessly through the empty air. Once again, the Gold elf had escaped.

  Amlaruil was thrust into Arvandor with a force that sent her reeling. Strong arms closed around her, familiar arms. She looked up into the face of her only love-Zaor, looking as vital and as young as he had when they first met in their glade. She touched his face, then reached out a hand to her daughter's powerful new form.

  "Both of you, lend me your strength," she murmured.

  The queen of Evermeet turned to face Malar's monster, not entirely certain what she would do to counter it. To her astonishment, two godly forms followed in the creature's shadow, their crimson eyes gleaming with malevolent delight.

  A grim smile formed on the High Mage's lips, and she began to gather magic. No longer hampered by her mortal body, she drew lavishly from the power of the Seldarine, and from the strength of Ilyrana's faith and Zaor's love.

  Magic flew at the evil gods in a streak of blue radiance. It enveloped them in a burst of bright light, and then just as quickly disappeared. In place of the huge, black-furred creature Malar once had been stood a tall being who, to any observer, might as well have been an elf. At his side was a dainty, white-skinned elven goddess.

  Lloth, who had l
ifted her hands to hurl retaliatory magic at the hated elf queen, shrieked at the sight of her own hands.

  The elf-eater whirled toward the sound, and then darted at this meal that had been presented so close at hand. The evil gods, sensing imminent destruction at the hands of their own creature, turned to flee. They disappeared with a burst of sulphur-scented smoke, and the creature of Malar followed in close pursuit.

  Amlaruil smiled and turned to Zaor. "The spell will not hold in the Abyss-I have no power there. But oh, the look on her face!"

  The united family burst into relieved laughter, holding each other close in the joy of an eternity begun.

  After a few moments, Amlaruil pulled away. "There is something I must show you," she said softly. "A final message from our youngest son, the king. He pressed it into my hand during our final farewell."

  She pulled a tiny note from her sleeve and showed it to him. On it was written a single phrase: "Once again, for the good of the People!"

  Zaor looked into her eyes and smiled. "So you were right, after all. Lamruil will be a fine king."

  The queen saw that her love did not yet fully understand their son's words. Lamruil knew of the sacrifices his mother had made. Once before she had renounced her love that Evermeet's needs might be met. Lamruil was urging her to once again set aside her deepest love; he himself would do so, if needed.

  "Yes," she said softly, "He will be a fine king. But not of Evermeet."

  Epilogue

  Dawn

  Lamruil and Maura stood alone together on the high cliffs where they had last taken leave of each other. Both knew that this farewell would be their last. The woman's eyes were sad, but set with determination.

  "I am no queen, and you know it well," the girl said calmly. "Your destiny has been handed to you. You cannot turn away from Evermeet."

  "You know I love you," he said. "What was said in the palace was a needed thing. I had to convince Kymil Nimesin of my perfidity."

  "As well I knew," she retorted, "And I responded in kind."

  "Yes. If I recall correctly, you called me an albino drow."

  The woman colored and shrugged. "I wanted a really good, convincing insult."

  "You did well," he said dryly.

  They laughed briefly, then the sadness returned to Maura's eyes. "I must go now."

  The young elf knew better than to try to dissuade her. Even so, he felt as if his heart had turned to ash and crumbled away. "Where will you go?"

  Maura shrugged. "Somewhere new, someplace wild. That is all I know or care."

  "Would that I could go with you!" Lamruil said with deep fervor.

  "Perhaps, my son, you can," said a familiar voice, a voice like air and music.

  Lamruil turned wondering eyes toward the sound. The familiar, much-loved form of his mother took shape in the air just beyond the cliff's edge. At first she was just a glimmering shadow, a transparent image. Motes of light like sparkling, multicolored gems-silver, gold, blue, green, and obsidian-winked into being and swirled through the glassy form.

  Lamruil and Maura clung to each other, awestruck, as the apparition took on form. In moments, a ghostly Amlaruil stepped down from the air.

  As her foot touched the soil of Evermeet, color swept through her, adding creamy tints to her white skin and setting the cloudlike hair aflame with red-gold fire. A tangible wave of power swept through her as the magical pulse that was Evermeet flowed through her and reclaimed her as queen.

  Without a word, Lamruil took his father's pendant from around his neck and offered it to the queen.

  Smiling, Amlaruil shook her head. "You have proved yourself Zaor's worthy successor, my son. The time has come for you to rule a kingdom of your own."

  "But you are Evermeet," Lamruil said. "Why else would you return, but to rule where you are needed?"

  A moment's sadness touched the queen's lovely face. "It was no easy thing to leave Arvandor, and Zaor. But you are right. I had to return, for the good of the People. Evermeet has need of me yet. The island's defenses are badly weakened, the confidence of the People shattered. Though perhaps the latter was a needed thing, we will have to rebuild. This undertaking must be mine. Yours, my son, is quite different."

  Amlaruil lifted both hands and made a complex, fluid gesture. Suddenly she cupped a green bowl, in which was planted a tiny, exquisite tree with leaves of green and blue and gold. "Do you know what this is?"

  The prince nodded, his eyes wide with wonder. He had long shared his mother's passion for the ancient treasures of elvenkind, and he knew the old legends as well as any seer or loremaster.

  "That is the Tree of Souls, one of the greatest artifacts of Evermeet!" he exclaimed.

  "Its time has come. The Tree of Souls will be planted on the mainland, creating a second stronghold for the elves," Amlaruil decreed. "Where would you place it, if the choice were entirely in your hands?"

  Lamruil considered the matter. "My first thought is to restore Cormanthyr to its lost glory. But that time is past. No, the new kingdom must be more defensible. An island, like Evermeet, yet different in its strengths and defenses."

  The prince fell silent. "I think," he said at length, "that I would set this kingdom in the midst of another vast sea, one even more forbidding than Umberlee's domain. There are vast, unexplored regions far north of the Spine of the World. A verdant island, surrounded by ice, would be a worthy haven."

  "But unlike Evermeet, it would be a secret land, known only to the elves," Amlaruil added in an approving voice. "You have chosen well. Though this will be a hidden valley, strengthened by the presence of High Magic and protected by an ocean of ice, it will be a wild and dangerous land. This, perhaps, is the challenge that the People need."

  The queen's gaze slid to Maura. "And for such a kingdom, there could be no better queen than she whom your heart has chosen."

  Amlaruil extended one hand to Lamruil, and the other to the human girl. "I have no other daughter remaining to me," she said softly. "Thank you, my son, for this great gift."

  The girl hesitated for a moment, then her small brown fingers curled around the queen's offered hand.

  That night the streets of Leuthilspar were brilliant with festival lights, and a thousand forested hillsides flickered with bonfires and rang with the sound of music and celebration. The weary and battered elves found joy in the return of their beloved Amlaruil, and hope in the possibility that the elves of Evermeet would regain what they had lost.

  And yet, there dawned in the heart of every elf the reluctant knowledge that Evermeet would never again be the same-that perhaps it had never been all that the elves had wished to make it.

  The promise of a haven from change, the vision of a place where the passage of time and the sweep of distant events could be ignored, was ultimately an empty one.

  Evermeet would endure. But as their ancestors had done so many times before, the elves would move on.

  Most would remain and rally behind the queen, rebuilding Evermeet's strength and adding to it in new ways. Many of them would find a new homeland, as had the desperate Gold elves from another world whom Lamruil had surprised with a welcome and an offer of haven. Many of these newcomers would follow the restless Lamruil and wrest a new kingdom from a world of ice and solitude, as would some of Evermeet's natives. Still others would pass on to Arvandor, perhaps before their time, unable to adapt to their fuller understanding of the mortal world around them.

  And perhaps still others would find ancient gates to other lands, and begin again as their ancestors had once forged a home in the new land of Faerun. They would create still more legends, and do so knowing that they would never truly die as long as the old stories were told, and the ancient songs sung.

  There is magic in such things, and where there is magic, there will always be elves.

  30th day of Eleint, DR 1371

  To Danilo Thann does Khelben Arunsun send greetings.

  Thank you for sending me your manuscript of elven stories. Thank you, al
so, for your assurances that no one else would see it until I had the opportunity to read and approve the content. That you would think to take such steps shows a level of discretion and judgment that I had once despaired of you achieving.

  I read your manuscript with great interest. As you surmised, there is much in it that is highly sensitive. To publish this work in its entirety would certainly arouse the ire-and endanger the security-of Evermeet's people.

  You are quite right in saying that it might be wise to give one version to Arilyn, and submit another, truncated edition to Candlekeep as Athol's due for his part in this. I thought it best, however, that an elven scholar review the manuscript before it is reproduced in either format. Therefore I have sent the manuscript on to Evermeet for review by Elasha Evanara, a noted scribe and keeper of the Queen's Library.

  This scribe is ancient even by elven standards, and is known to work slowly-again, even by elven standards. Although you've stated your eagerness to give this work to your lady as a midwinter gift, you should not count on its return in time for this year's festival. Or next year's, for that matter. You are familiar with the ways of elves, and I trust you will await the return of your manuscript with the necessary patience. Do not despair altogether of seeing it again. Members of the Thann and Arunsun families are known to be extremely long-lived.

  I trust this letter finds you well. You picked an excellent year to remove to Silverymoon for a season of study. Winter has set in extremely early this year, and the roads and harbor have been closed by a barrage of early snow and ice this last ten-day. I assume that Arilyn is enjoying good hunting in the forests near Silverymoon. Give my fond regards to her.

  I am enclosing with this letter several spell scrolls which I would have you learn. Yes, I do respect the bardic path you have chosen, but that does not preclude your need to attend to more important matters. (Laeral informs me that I am being pompous and insufferable-again. That may be true, but when one is right, one need not apologize or prevaricate. Magic is important, and you should not neglect your gifts.) You should know, Danilo, that I have not altogether given up my fond hope that you might return to a serious study of magic. Someone will need to hold Blackstaff Tower when the time comes for me to move on, and who better than my nephew and former apprentice? I know your mind on this matter, I urge you not to dismiss the possibility entirely.