Evermeet: Island of Elves

21

"How can you ask this now?" Amlaruil said in disbelief. "How can you think of anything at all but the fact that the king is in danger?"

"I would give Zaor a lawful heir!" Lydi'aleera said implacably. "Surely you, the King's most devoted subject, could desire no less for him."

"Zaor already has an heir, as well you know! You have taken my daughter from me. How much more will you demand?"

"Just a bit of magic," Lydi'aleera said, shrugging negligently. "A potion. Any wood-witch or commoner crone could put together a few herbs and create the same effect."

"If you believe that to be so, then why do you trouble me for this magic, but for spite?"

Lydi'aleera's pale faced flamed. "Remember your place, mage, and have a care how you speak to me!"

"My place is in the Towers," Amlaruil said in a tight voice. "Permit me to return there at once."

The queen stepped forward, her hand outstretched so that Amlaruil could see the enchanted ring. Her pale eyes were set with resolve. "Go then. But do so knowing that you have been the death of your beloved king! Give me what I desire, and I will alert him of danger. If you do not pledge to do as I say, he will die, and be lost to us both. I would rather have it so, than remain as things are."

The two elf women locked eyes in a silent, bitter battle. Finally Amlaruil bowed her head, defeated. "You have my pledge. Alert the king, and I will make you your potions."

Smiling in triumph, the queen lifted the ring to her lips and spoke a single arcane word. The ring began to glow with faint, fey light. In a moment, Zaor's voice drifted into the room.

"How may I serve you, Queen Lydi'aleera?" inquired the voice in formal, distant tones.

"My lord king, I have grave news," the queen said, a faint smirk on her lips as she held Amlaruil's gaze. "Are you alone to hear it?"

"There are none with me."

At these words, Amlaruil's concern increased fourfold. What possessed the king to go into the forest alone? Where were his soldiers? Where was Myronthilar Silverspear, his pledged guard?

"You must retrace your path at once," Lydi'aleera said. "Gold elf traitors have planned that an accident befall you."

"That is most unlikely," the king said impatiently.

The queen's expression tightened. "Even so, it is true. I have before me a messenger from the Towers of the Sun and the Moon. The magi have foreseen this plot, and sent word."

There was a moment's silence. "I cannot return to the palace, but thank the magi for their diligence."

Amlaruil sprang forward and seized the queen's hand. "Zaor, you must!" she said urgently. "They have laid traps for you! I saw one myself, near the lodge at the Lake of Dreams, and one of my agents heard the conspirators speak of others! There are armed elves awaiting you, as well-two that I know of, perhaps more. How is it that you are alone, leaving no word where you go?"

"Amlaruil?" his voice said, brightening with hope. "Did you hear any word of our sons? Xharlion and Zhoron? Are they yet alive?"

Suddenly the mage understood what had lured the king into the forest. "I have come this day from Craulnober Keep," she assured him. "The boys are well, and safe. This is but a cruel ruse to draw you off alone!"

"Thank the gods," Zaor said fervently. "I will return to Leuthilspar at once."

The light in Lydi'aleera's ring winked out. "He would not consider the warning on the merit of my words alone," the queen said bitterly. "Oh no. He listens only to the mother of his children! Well, you will lose your sole claim to that place soon enough."

Amlaruil did not offer comment. "With your permission, I must return to the Towers. I will have the potions sent to you."

"Oh, no," the queen said softly. "You will bring them yourself, and place them into my hand. If there were a way to do so without offending proprieties, I would have you stay and witness the results, from the first sip of wine to the birth of Evermeet's true heir!"

The High Mage turned away, unable to face the cruelty in the elf woman's face. She fled from the chamber with no thought to dignity, and ran headlong into a flame-haired elf just entering the room.

Montagor Amarillis caught at her elbows to steady her. "Lady Moonflower," he said, his tone slightly mocking. "It is a surprise to see you here, considering that the king is not at court. Nothing is amiss with the princess, I trust?"

Amlaruil tore herself away from him and flung both arms high in a sudden, desperate gesture. She disappeared in a flash of silver fire.

The noble blinked. "Well. Unusually flashy, for our lady mage. She must have been most eager to divest herself of our presence. What mischief have you been up to, my sister?"

Smiling like a cream-sated cat, Lydi'aleera tucked her arm into his and drew him out onto the balcony. As they walked, she told him what had transpired. Montagor listened, openmouthed, to the queen's words. When she was finished, he chuckled softly, shaking his head in wonderment.

"Well done, little sister! I would not have thought you capable of such cunning."

The queen gave him a complacent look. "I have had an excellent teacher."

Montagor acknowledged her words with a slight bow. "Since you have all things well in hand, I will leave you."

"No, stay," the queen urged. "Zaor will not be back until tomorrow at the earliest. I would have your advice on how best to rid myself of that wretched Ilyrana. And while you're about it," she added in less pleasant tones, "you can explain to me why I never heard so much as a word of Amlaruil's latest two brats. And when you are through, then you can begin to think about how best to ensure that your future nephew will not be troubled by thrice a challenge to his rightful throne!"

As she fled from the palace, Amlaruil's first desire was to return at once to Craulnober Keep, and see once again with her own eyes that her sons were indeed safe from the Gold elf conspirators. She knew they awaited her there, hale and happy and dirty as a pair of piglets from their rowdy play, and that such a trip would avail nothing. It would be a personal indulgence, no more.

But she had a pledge to keep, whatever the keeping cost her. In a locked tower room, she consulted ancient books of folklore and herb craft, blending the old tales with the power of her own High Magic. She worked all through that night and well into the next morning. Finally she held in her hands two small vials which promised to be the fulfillment of Lydi'aleera's dreams-and the death of her own.

Amlaruil's heart was leaden as she called forth the magic that would once again bring her to the moonstone palace. This time, she found Lydi'aleera in the company of her brother, walking arm and arm with him in the wondrous gardens that surrounded the palace.

It struck Amlaruil that once Zaor was magically enthralled by the queen, Montagor Amarillis would have considerable power in the court. In all things, it was rumored, the queen deferred to her brother.

Well, it was not something that could be helped. Amlaruil gave the potions to the queen and left as quickly as she came. And when she left, she took Ilyrana with her-she did not trust Lydi'aleera with her daughter's safety. If the queen was willing to risk her own husband to bargain for an heir of her own begetting, what lengths might she take to remove any possible contenders for her child's throne?

With all possible haste, Amlaruil gathered her three children and entrusted them once again to her agent Rennyn. Before that day waned, she stood atop the walls of Craulnober Keep and watched as the ship bearing them to the safety of the Moonshae Islands disappeared from sight.

The mage's heart was heavy indeed as she returned to the Towers. Not only had she lost Zaor's love this day by magic she herself had fashioned, not only was she parted from her three children, but she felt estranged from Evermeet itself. The dire events in the forest glade had sundered her forever from the sense of security that she had always considered her birthright.

It seemed inconceivable that an elf would act the part of an assassin, or that her own children might have to take refuge elsewhere. It was a reversal of all that she held to be true-for was not Evermeet created by the gods as the ultimate refuge of all elves?

That night, as she sought rest in exhausted revery, Amlaruil had a terrible dream. In revery she stood once again upon the walls of Craulnober Keep, but the scene she gazed upon was not a white-winged elven vessel and a tranquil sea. The castle was scorched and blackened, utterly silent and eerily devoid of life, and the seas beyond were littered with the flotsam of a dozen shattered elven ships.

Amlaruil awoke from revery with a start, beset by the horrible conviction that there was more to her dream than her own troubled thoughts. Quickly she dressed herself and summoned the magic that would carry her to her kinsman's keep.

Dawn was breaking as she stepped out of the magic pathway and into the courtyard of the ancient Craulnober castle. Amlaruil had the oddest feeling that she was stepping into a waking dream.

All was exactly as she had pictured it. The ancient walls were blackened, crumbling. No sign of life greeted her. It was as if the entire thriving, vital community had been swept away by a burst of dragonfire.

A thin, piercing cry cut through the chill morning air. Amlaruil hurried toward the sound, which seemed to come from somewhere below the ground. She tugged at the heavy door that sealed the entrance to the castle's lowest level, then ran down a long, curving stairway. In a small room in the farthest reaches of the castle she found two living souls: an old elf, long past the age of warriors, and a small, squalling babe.

The elf looked up when Amlaruil entered the room, his eyes red in his soot-darkened face. A moment passed before she recognized him as Elanjar, the patriarch of the Craulnober clan and the swordmaster who had endeavored to teach the discipline to her own unruly sons.

"What happened here?" she asked, coming to kneel at the elf s side.

Elanjar's eyes hardened. "We were overrun by creatures from Below."

"No," Amlaruil said in disbelief. "How is that possible? Never have the people of the Underdark set foot on the island!"

"Nor have they-yet," the elf replied. "You know the island of Tilrith, do you not?"

The mage nodded. The tiny island, which lay just north of the Craulnober holdings, was much like northern Evermeet in terrain. It was a wild place, with rocky hills honeycombed with caves. The Craulnober and their retainers kept sheep on the island, and a few servants lived there year-round to tend the flocks. With a sudden jolt, Amlaruil realized that this was the season when spring lambs were born, and the sheep sheered of their winter coats. Most of the villagers and nobles would be on Tilrith for the work and the festivities that followed.

"They were attacked on the island," she murmured, aghast.

"Most were slaughtered along with the sheep," Elanjar said with deep bitterness. "A few escaped. The drow followed-not in ships, but with magic. They sent a firestorm upon the ships and upon this castle such as I had never imagined possible. Those few elves who remained behind were reduced to ash. I survived only through the magic of the sword I carry," he added, touching the glowing hilt of the Craulnober moonblade. "This babe, my grandson Elaith, was in my arms when the firestorm struck. He and I are all that remain of this clan." The elf's singed head sagged forward, as if this revelation had taken the last of his remaining strength.

Amlaruil lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and then reached out to take the baby from his arms. She folded back the charred blanket to look at the infant. An involuntary smile curved her lips. Little Elaith was a beautiful boy, with large solemn eyes the color of amber and a cap of short, silvery curls.

"This child is kin to me," she said softly. "His parents sheltered my sons; I will do the same for theirs. Elaith will be my fosterling, and I swear before all the gods that I will hold him as dear as any child of my own body. He will be taught magic in the towers, and raised in the courts of Leuthilspar in a manner that befits a noble elf, and the heir to Craulnober."

She looked up at Elanjar. "Come. I must get the two of you to the safety of the Towers. The drow will be back with the coming of night."

"Craulnober Keep is well-nigh impregnable," Elanjar said, a frown of worry deepening the furrows of his forehead. "If the drow gain control of this keep, they will have a stronghold from which to strike at the whole island!"

"They will not set foot on Evermeet," Amlaruil assured him as she helped him to his feet. "If it takes every warrior and every mage on Evermeet to complete the task, we will stop them on Tilrith and seal their tunnels forever!"

Alone and on foot, Zaor walked through the northern gates of Leuthilspar and set a brisk pace for the palace. He had not gone far before Myronthilar Silverspear appeared at his side like a small gray shadow.

"I told you to await me," the king grumbled.

"And so I have," his friend asserted. "This business that took you off alone, that which was so important that none could accompany you-it is completed?"

Zaor's face set into grim lines. "It seems it is just beginning. Is Amlaruil still at the palace?"

The warrior hesitated. "She has been and gone more than once since you left, and since she came bringing news that you were endangered, the queen's brother has been very much in attendance. He eyes the palace maids as if he were selecting his evening's entertainment, and he studies the chests as if contemplating which one would best hold his spare cloaks and boots. I tell you, my lord, I like it not."

"You were always cautious of Montagor Amarillis," Zaor said. "If he wished to lay claim to the throne, he would have done so twenty-five years before."

"Montagor is no king, and he knows it. But perhaps he desires a regency," Myron told him gravely. "His hope for an Amarillis heir is nearly gone, for the Princess Ilyrana nears the age of accountability. She will be crowned as your heir before the year is through."

Zaor stopped dead. "Do you think the princess is in danger?"

"The lady Amlaruil does," Myron said. "She took the princess and sent her and the twins away to safety. And she bid me meet you as soon as I could do so without breaking my word." His face turned grave. "Is it true? There was an attempt upon your life, here on Evermeet itself?"

"Do you doubt the lady mage?" Zaor said dryly.

As he expected, Myronthilar's face took on a look of near reverence. "Not in this or anything," he said quietly.

"Thank you for your faith, my friend," said a feminine voice behind them.

Both warriors jumped, and whirled to face the speaker. Their countenances wore identical expressions of chagrin that they could be taken unaware. Taking pity on the powerful blend of male and elven pride, Amlaruil reached out and touched the ring on Myronthilar's hand.

"The elfrune I gave you enables me to find you when needed," she explained. "Would that I had the sense to give one to Zaor, rather than worry about propriety and appearances! But there are other matters at hand that demand your attention, my lords." In a few terse words she told them about the invasion of Tilrith.

Zaor's face darkened. "All the forces of Evermeet will march north at once. Can you take us to the palace, my lady?"

Amlaruil called the magic that carried all three instantly to Zaor's council chambers. With the brisk efficiency of a seasoned war leader, the king sent forth messengers to all corners of Evermeet to gather the elves for battle.

At last he turned back to Amlaruil, who had stood silently by. "Can you bring a Circle to the northern shore? We will have need of powerful magic to close the tunnels. If Tilrith must be dropped into the sea to ensure Evermeet's security, then so be it."

"It will be done," she assured him. At that moment the doors to the chamber flew open, and Lydi'aleera swept into the room Montagor close on her heels. Her gaze kindled when it fell upon Amlaruil, and her smile turned feline. With deliberate motions, she took up a decanter of wine and poured two cups. She took the vials from her sash, holding them so that Amlaruil could see them and read her intent.

"Welcome back, my lord. Will you drink with me, to celebrate your return?" she purred.

Zaor shook his head. "I cannot stay. Have you not heard the news, or at least suspected that something might be amiss? The palace is in an uproar, and soldiers swarm the streets of the city. This is not a time for celebrations."

The smug expression on the queen's face faltered. "You are not leaving, surely!"

"At once. The northern shores are under threat of invasion-not from sahuagin this time, but from creatures from Below."

"No. It is impossible," Lydi'aleera said, her eyes huge with fear.

"I wish that were so," the king said in a grim tone. "But do not be concerned. You will be quite safe in the palace," he assured her, misunderstanding the true source of her concern. He bowed to the elf women and strode from the room.

Lydi'aleera whirled toward the mage. "This is your doing," she hissed. "You have always taken Zaor from me! And now you conspire against me, even if that means an alliance with the drow!" The queen drew back her arm as if to hurl the goblet at Amlaruil.

"Enough!" the mage said softly.

The chilling fury in that single word froze the queen in place. Amlaruil stepped forward, her eyes blazing in her pale face. "Do not dare to accuse me of crimes that you, and you alone in this room, have committed. Do you wish to speak treason? Then speak of a queen who would not lift her hand to save her husband, until she was assured of getting her will."

"I must give Zaor an heir," the elf woman repeated stubbornly.

"Perhaps you will, but not by my power, not now and never again," Amlaruil swore. "The magic of the fertility potion will not outlive this night; the magic of the love potion also diminishes with time. You might yet be able to lure Zaor to your bed, but you will not find your way into his heart! You have lost your chance, and I will not give you another." She turned away.

"I did not give you leave to go," the queen snapped.

The High Mage whirled back, her blue eyes dark with wrath. "I have more important concerns than your personal vanity and your need to resort to magic-aided seduction! Have you forgotten that the island over which you purport to reign is even now under threat of invasion? I am needed, even if you are not."

"You will fight at Zaor's side, I suppose?" scoffed Lydi'aleera.

Amlaruil's answering smile was cold. "Did you think the Tower magi spent all their time dancing beneath the stars? This will not be the first time I have used my magic in battle. And if the need arises, yes, I will take up a sword."

The High Mage disappeared in a sharp, angry crackle of magic.

After a moment's silence, Montagor came forward, shaking his head in bemused admiration. "Amlaruil in battle! Now that would be a sight worth seeing!"

Lydi'aleera's hand flashed out and cuffed her brother sharply on the side of the head. "Do your thinking with this, brother! You heard everything. Whatever am I to do now?"

Montagor considered her carefully. "You realize the importance of an Amarillis heir, do you not?"

"Yes, yes-of course! Would I go to such lengths to ensure one, otherwise?"

The elf nodded. "Then this is what you must do. You know Adamar Alenuath, of course. Have you ever noticed how closely he resembles Zaor?"

"No," she retorted. "He is nowhere near the king's stature, nor is anyone on this island."

"Perhaps 'closely' is overstating the case." he admitted. "But Adamar is a Moon elf warrior and strongly built, though not nearly of Zaor's height. He has the same odd coloring-the blue hair, the gold flecks in his blue eyes. If you were to seduce Adamar, the resulting offspring should be like enough to the Moonflowers to pass as the king's own."

Lydi'aleera gasped. "You cannot be serious!"

"Why not? Can you think of another way?"

"But even if I wished to do such a thing, Adamar would never agree to it!"

"Again, why not? You are very beautiful. He admires you-I know that to be so."

The elf woman shrugged impatiently. "And what of it? Adamar is loyal to the king. To lie with Zaor's wife would be an act of treason and personal betrayal. He would not do it, even if he desired me more than his next breath of air!"

A crafty smile twisted Montagor's lips. "Then it is time to test the potency of Amlaruil's spell. I will arrange for Adamar to come to the palace on some pretense. Give him the potion in a glass of wine, and he will not resist your offered charms."

Lydi'aleera wrung her hands. "But he will confess, after!"

"And besmirch his honor and that of his clan? To publicly dishonor his queen?" Montagor smirked. "I think not."

The elf's face grew deadly serious. "But do not concern yourself overmuch, my sister. Adamar thinks me his friend and consults me on all matters. Oft-times I know his mind before he is entirely certain of it himself. If he is driven to confess, he will start by unburdening himself to me. If necessary, I will challenge him to battle over my sister's honor. And do not doubt that I will win."

She laughed without humor. "I have seen you fight, brother. You are not Adamar's equal."

"The duel will be a pretense," Montagor said softly, though his burning eyes acknowledged that her words had struck home. "Adamar is a noble fool-he will think he deserves to die. He will think his defeat the only rightful end, and will have more to do with bringing it about than I could think to accomplish. In fact, he may simply do the deed himself and save me the trouble of lifting a sword."

"But either way, Adamar will be dead."

"And Zaor will have an heir by his lawful queen."

Lydi'aleera was silent for a long moment, gazing out the open window over the city with eyes blinded to the turmoil of battle preparations below. "Very well. Send for Adamar, then," she said, the words coming out in a rush. She whirled to face her brother, hatred naked in her eyes. "But may Lloth claim you as her own," she said in a venomous whisper.

The curse, perhaps the most deadly and offensive words that could pass between two of the People, merely brought a smile to Montagor's lips.

"Be that as it may, dear sister. But bear in mind that the Abyss is a very large place. Be very careful whom you consign to damnation, lest you be judged by the same measure."

He turned and swaggered out of the chamber. At the door he paused, as if some new thought had come to him. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "I have not seen Amlaruil for many years. She is wondrous fair, is she not? It is little wonder the king is so obsessed with her."

"Get out," Lydi'aleera gritted from between clenched teeth. She snatched up a gem-encrusted vase and brandished it.

But Montagor was not quite finished. "A word of advice, my sister. Save a few drops of that potion for Zaor's return. You'll need to bed him to complete this farce. And without Amlaruil's magic-even that which comes in a vial-you haven't a chance."

The queen hurled the vase at her brother. It missed him with room to spare and shattered against the wall. The tinkle of falling crystal mingled with the sound of Montagor's mocking, and triumphant laughter. He would have what he wanted at last, and why should he care that she had to pay the price for it?

Despite her anger, Lydi'aleera understood her brother's mind. He had worked long and hard for this, and would get what he desired: an Amarillis heir to the throne of Evermeet. Lydi'aleera would also have her due: a child of her own, the regard of her lawful husband, the esteem of Evermeet. What was a small, needed deception compared to such gain?

Under the command of King Zaor, the drow were driven from the island of Tilrith and the tunnels sealed. The king also sent warriors and mages into the caves of Sumbrar and the Eagle Hills to explore and to seal off any possible openings to the world below. The only tunnels left undisturbed were those that led to the sleeping places of Evermeet's dragon guardians. If by chance the drow should ever find their way into those caverns, they would be well met indeed.

Within a year of the battle, a boychild was born to the royal family. If there were those who wondered at the begetting, they kept their suspicions to themselves. Zaor did not speak of the matter even to his closest friends, but he proclaimed Rhenalyrr his heir, and raised the young elf to be king after him.

Time passed, and Rhenalyrr reached the age of accountability. All the elves of Evermeet were to attend the ceremony that named him heir to the throne, and to stand witness as the young prince took an oath upon his father's sword, which he would one day wield as king.

As that day neared, not all of Evermeet's people rejoiced in the honor due to their prince. Lydi'aleera withdrew into silence whenever the ceremony was mentioned. And what the Grand Mage thought of Rhenalyrr, no one knew, for Amlaruil never spoke a word against Zaor's son or denied his claim to the throne.

Along with all of Evermeet, Amlaruil prepared to attend the high ceremony. She dismissed all the Towers' elves from their duties so that they might attend as well.

Shanyrria Alenuath, the bladesinger who taught this uniquely elven blend of swordcraft and magic at the Towers, was reluctant to go. She was a solitary elf by nature, and not at all fond of state gatherings or the gaiety of festivals. Indeed, she had not even stepped foot in her family mansion for many years. Yet her sense of clan was strong, and she stopped in Leuthilspar on her way southward so that she might attend the ceremony with the rest of her clan.

She walked into her childhood home to find it strangely silent. The mansion was deserted, but for one elf: her father Shanyrria could feel his presence. She had always been close to Adamar, and she loved her father with an intensity that bordered on rapport.

Thus it was that she felt the weight of his despair, and the sharp, bright pain that promised release. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat, fluttering like a caged lark as she ran up the curving stairway to her father's chamber.

Shanyrria found Adamar there, his hands clenched around the grip of the family's moonblade-which protruded from below his ribs. She stared in horror. This was beyond imagining! Never did an elf take his own life, and certainly not with the weapon that symbolized the family's honor!

"Why?" she asked simply.

In a few words, with the scant time remaining to him, Adamar told her.

The bladesinger listened in stunned, grieving disbelief as her father confessed his own dishonor, and told at last the terrible secret that he had never been able to bring himself to reveal: that he would be the cause of his own son's death. Prince Rhenalyrr was not of Zaor's blood. The king's moonblade, the sword of Zaor, was not his to claim, and soon all of Evermeet would bear witness to the disgrace of House Alenuath.

When Adamar fell into final silence, Shanyrria raced from the mansion and leaped upon her waiting moon-horse. Rhenalyrr might not be a true prince, but he was her own half-brother. She owed him the loyalty and protection due any member of the clan.

But when her lathered moon-horse pulled up in the valley of Drelagara, the bladesinger was greeted by a chorus of keening elven voices. She did not need to ask to know that Rhenalyrr had not survived the ritual.

Her face set with wrath, Shanyrria swung down from her mount and went off in search of vengeance.

She slipped into the pavilion where the queen sat alone, weeping silent, helpless tears. Quietly she walked up to the grieving elf woman. With a quick, smooth movement, she drew her sword and thrust the tip against Lydi'aleera's throat.

"I name you, Lydi'aleera Amarillis, false queen of Evermeet, to be a coward, a liar, a whore, and the murderer of my father Adamar Alenuath-and of my half-brother Rhenalyrr."

The queen stared up at the fierce bladesinger like a mouse awaiting the claws of a striking owl. "I did not know-"

"You knew," Shanyrria said vehemently. "You knew that Rhenalyrr was not of Zaor's blood, yet you remained silent while he took the trial of the moonblade! Surely you knew that he would not survive."

"He was a fine, noble young elf," she persisted. "There was a chance that he might succeed. And if the moonblades are to be held as sole measure, Amarillis is as worthy of royalty as Moonflower!"

Shanyrria stared at the queen through narrowed eyes. "It is said that only those truly worthy of ruling can bear the sword of Zaor. Very well then. Come."

She put away her sword with a quick thrust and snatched a small knife from her belt. With one hand she grasped a handful of Lydi'aleera's hair and jerked her to her feet. She put one arm firmly around the queen's shoulder, and pressed the knife hard into the elf woman's ribs.

"I will support you in your grief, my queen," the bladesinger said with heavy irony, "and take you where you must go."

The elf woman struggled to pull away, but Shanyrria was strong and held her fast. "What are you going to do?" Lydi'aleera demanded.

"No more than what you did to my brother. You will draw the sword of Zaor and test your worthiness to rule Evermeet. You are Amarillis born, so your chances are as good as Rhenalyrr's!"

"I will not do it!" gasped Lydi'aleera.

"You will," Shanyrria asserted. "If you do not, I will proclaim before all of Evermeet what you have done. Zaor will put you away, and you and all your clan will be shamed. Or, if you prefer, I will kill you now, and then speak."

The queen stared at her, all hope draining from her eyes. "And if I draw, and succeed? Will you keep silent concerning all of this?"

"Whether you live or die is for the moonblade to decide. I will content myself with that. Either way, you will win: a kingdom or an honorable death. It is more than you deserve."

Since she had no recourse, the queen walked with Shanyrria toward the place where Zaor's sword lay, gleaming still with faint blue magic, upon the ceremonial pedestal. Before any could divine her intent, Lydi'aleera stepped forward and grasped the sword in her two hands and began to slide it from the scabbard.

A flash of terrible blue light lit the plain. When it faded, the elf woman was gone, but for a pile of pale, drifting ash.

Shanyrria nodded in grim agreement to the sentence that the moonblade had pronounced. The bladesinger felt no guilt over her part in the queen's death. She considered Lydi'aleera guilty, not only of her brother's death and her father's, but also of treason against the crown. It felt right to her that Lydi'aleera's fate was one that she had chosen, though her pride, ambition, and cowardly silence, for her own son.

Many were the witnesses to Lydi'aleera's death. In the stunned murmurs that swept the group, the elves surmised the queen had been maddened by grief, or determined to prove the worth of Amarillis after her son's failure. Shanyrria did not care what they thought, as long as they accepted one very important truth: Lydi'aleera Amarillis was not fit to rule. She was not and never had been Evermeet's queen.

The bladesinger turned to face the gathering crowd. Her eyes sought out Amlaruil, who stood pale and stunned among the Tower magi. Shanyrria bowed deeply, then pulled her blade and raised it to her forehead in a gesture of respect.

"The queen is dead," she said, and her words seemed to echo in the stunned silence. Then she strode forward and lay her blade in a gesture of fealty at Amlaruil's feet.

"The queen is dead," Shanyrria repeated. "Long live the queen."

Zaor understood at once the importance of this moment. He strode to the alter and drew the sword. Holding it high overhead with one hand, he held out the other to Amlaruil.

The mage hesitated only for a moment. She walked to Zaor's side and entwined her fingers in his. Then with her other hand, she reached up to grasp the hilt of the king sword.

Fey blue light poured through the moonblade and enveloped them both. They stood together, in full sight of all of Evermeet, joined by the ancient magic.

One by one, the somber elves went down on their knees to acknowledge what no one could deny.

Evermeet had a true queen, at last.

20 Flamerule, 1368 DR

To Lord Danilo Thann does Lamruil, Prince of Evermeet, send fond greetings.

Thank you for your latest letter, my friend, and for the lovely ballad that you sent for my Maura. Today is midsummer, and I have saved your song to sing for her as a midsummer gift. I have but little skill at the harp, but I have been practicing the simple accompaniment you fashioned for me and hope to do it credit. Maura is no critic where music is concerned. She is about as placid as a squirrel in autumn, and I have seldom seen her sit still the length of time needed to hear any piece of music from end to end. But few are the women who will not linger to hear their charm and beauty praised, and I feel confident that she will find enjoyment in this tribute.

It sounds as if you are progressing well in your endeavor. I can readily understand the frustrations you expressed, for the history of Evermeet's elves is so long and complex that no single work can do more than touch the corner of its shadow. But it is a worthy effort, for all that.

You asked me to speak of the queen. To do so is very much akin to the task you have undertaken: Anything and everything that can be said will fall far short of the possibilities. Amlaruil of Evermeet is revered and loved by the elves of the island and widely respected abroad. Even many of those who do not owe her political allegiance acknowledge that in a mystical sense she is indeed Queen of All Elves. The queen epitomizes all that the elven people value: beauty, grace, magic, wisdom, power. That is just the beginning. Just as your friend Laeral is Chosen of her goddess Mystra, Amlaruil is something more than mortal. She stands alone in a special place between elf woman and goddess. She is also my mother, and as such she often drives me to near madness in the time-honored manner of any mother and son. And in all candor, I must admit that I return the favor.

One of Queen Amlaruil's most remarkable accomplishments is that she has transcended many of the petty divisions between the elven races. Gold elves join with Moon elves to sing her praises. Green elves would set fire to their ancient forests if such could serve and protect her. The Sea elves adore her, and it is rumored that the Sea elven monarch of the Coral Kingdom has repeatedly asked for her hand in marriage. I can attest to this, as I was eavesdropping during one such appeal. Even some of the drow recognize Amlaruil as their rightful queen. Not many years ago, the queen secretly received a representative of the goddess Eilistraee. Though drow will never be permitted on Evermeet, the Moonflower family now has alliances with some of the goodly followers of the Dark Maiden.

Permit me to tell you a personal tale that I believe will illustrate the unique color-blind reverence that elves hold for Amlaruil.

Long before you were born, when I was a mere sapling and just beginning to feel my sap rising, I celebrated the summer solstice in the time-honored manner of my people-with feasting and song, revelry and dance. By custom, the royal Moonflower family attends revels in various parts of the island: that year, we celebrated amid the lush meadows of the Horse Fields that cover much of the northwestern part of Evermeet.

The morn of midsummer day was fine and bright, and I felt myself blessed by the bright attention of one of the spring maids who danced in the morning rituals. She was a Gold elf, a girl of good if not noble family. Before long it was clear to me that this year, I would join in the evening revels in a manner I had not before.

The girl and I, in our youthful exuberance, were ill content to wait for the coming of night-after all, midsummer is the longest day of the year! She was older than I, and wise in the ways of midsummer revels. Gifted with her soft smiles and sweet words of promise, I found myself in scant supply of that supposedly elven virtue: patience.

Before the dew was off the grass, we stole away and found a place for our private revels. I blush to admit that this place was her father's hay barns. At the time, however, we felt gloriously unburdened by this singular lack of originality and imagination.

Later, as we were picking bits of straw from each other's hair and laughing together at small things that would not, under any other circumstances, have seemed half as witty or clever, we were interrupted by her father. Yes. So far, this has all the makings of a second-rate minstrel's ballad, does it not?

The elf stood over us, grimly dignified and nearly shaking with controlled wrath. "By your leave, Prince Lamruil, I would like to have private speech with my daughter," he said in a tight, clipped manner.

I gathered up my clothes and fled from the barn. What else was I to do? Yet I did not go far, for though I respected the elf's right to rule his family as he wished, I would not allow the girl to come to any harm at his hands.

And so, as I hurriedly donned my festival garments just outside the barn door, I shamelessly eavesdropped upon the small drama played out within.

"You have shamed yourself and your family, Elora," the farmer told her in that same grimly controlled tone.

I could envision the pert, defiant toss of her golden head. "How so? It is midsummer. I am of age and promised to no male. I can do as I will-not even my respected father can gainsay me in such matters."

"That is not what I mean, and you know it well!" he thundered, his control suddenly spent. "How could you lie with a Gray elf? How could you?"

There was a moment of heavy silence-to which, I might add, I added the weight of my own surprise. Then my lass responded, "Lamruil is a prince of Evermeet. Who in your mind is an elf worthy for me to bed-the king himself?"

"Do not even speak of such treachery against the crown and the queen! With my own hands would I kill any elf woman who so betrayed Evermeet's Amlaruil, even my own daughter!"

"Then how can you object to Prince Lamruil?" she retorted, reasonably enough-or so it seemed to me. "He is his mother's son."

"What of it?"

Another puzzled silence, as the lass and I struggled to comprehend her father's logic.

"Well, Queen Amlaruil is a Gray elf too," she pointed out.

A ringing slap echoed through the morning air. "Have a care how you speak of Evermeet's Queen!" he snarled.

I was about to dash in to protect the girl from further mistreatment, but my intervention was not needed. The farmer stormed out of the barn, too consumed with wrath at his daughter's sacrilege to notice me standing there in my undergarments, wearing one unlaced boot and brandishing a ready and avenging sword. Admittedly, I doubt he would have been overly impressed by the spectacle.

And thus it is. Whatever enmities exist between Silver and Gold, Amlaruil the queen is truly Queen of All Elves. The efforts of a few stray zealots such as Kymil Nimesin have done great harm-to which my family can attest with sorrow-but I do not believe they will succeed in bringing down what Amlaruil has built.

But in all honesty, I must admit that I have been known to be wrong before.

By the sun and stars! What a dismal sentiment to add at letter's end! Let me then end by thanking you again for the gift of Maura's song, which I fondly trust will add sweetness and heat to my midsummer night. Give my regards to Ardyn and the little one. I look forward to seeing you all again soon.

Your uncle and friend, Lamruil