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Before he could castigate himself further, the elf heard a faint clicking sound not far away. He trailed it to a large, circular garden ringed with flowers that attracted clouds of bright butterflies. Many paths led out of the garden, which was dominated by pale blue roses in a bed shaped like a crescent moon. At one tip of the blue-rose moon stood an elderly elven gardener, snipping away at the rosebushes with more vigor than expertise.
Again the elven intruder smiled. By all appearances, this was the maze's center and surely his quarry had passed through. The old gardener would tell him, at knife point if need be, which path the wench had taken.
The elf edged into the garden. As he entered a flock of the butterflies took flight, and the gardener looked up, his silver-blue eyes lit with gentle inquiry at the disruption.
His gaze fell upon the intruder, but he merely waved and cleared his throat as if to call out a greeting.
No, not that! thought the intruder in a moment of panic. He could not alert his quarry now!
A dagger flew, and a look of surprise crossed the gardener's face. The old elf's hand came up to fumble with the blade in his chest, and he fell heavily to the ground. His rough cap tumbled off. From it spilled an abundance of long, dark blue hair shot through with silver threads.
Blue hair!
Excitement gripped the assassin, and he sped across the distance between him and the fallen elf. As he crouched beside the corpse, a flash of gold caught his eye. He reached for it. From beneath the gardener's rough linen tunic he drew a medallion bearing the royal crest. The elf felt a clasp and flipped the medallion open. Within was a tiny painting. The exquisite, unmistakable face of Queen Amlaruil gazed up at him, a tender, very personal smile upon her lips.
It was true! The assassin dropped the medallion and sat back on his heels, dizzy with elation. Through the most fortunate of errors, he had killed King Zaor!
A keening scream, anguished and female, interrupted his private celebration. In one quick motion the elven assassin leaped to his feet and whirled, twin swords in his hands. He found himself facing his original quarry. So white and still was she, that for a moment she seemed carved from marble. No sculptor, however, could have captured the grief and guilt that twisted her pale face. The knuckles of one hand pressed against her mouth, and with her other hand she clung to the arm of the tall man at her side.
Ah, the fates were kind today, the elven assassin gloated. Swiftly and confidently he advanced on the pair, blades leading. To his surprise, the wench's oversized companion had the presence of mind to snatch a small hunting bow from his shoulder and let fly an arrow.
The elven assassin felt the stu
"This way!"
A vibrant contralto voice rang out, very near. The female's scream had alerted the palace guard. The assassin could hear the rapidly approaching footsteps of at least a dozen guards. He must not be captured and questioned! He would die for the cause and do so gladly, but the Gray rulers would surely not grant him the dignity of death. With her foul magic, the Gray queen would surely pry from his mind the name of his master, and the names of the spell-singers lying in wait-here, in Evermeet itself-with Gold elven patience as they anticipated the signal to strike.
The elven assassin hesitated for only a moment, then turned and fled toward the glade and the magic portal that stood there.
Breathing hard and feeling lightheaded from pain and loss of blood, the elf plunged through the circle of blue smoke that marked the magical doorway. Strong, slender arms caught him and eased him to the ground. "Fenian! Tell me what happened!"
"The portal leads to Evermeet," the wounded elf gasped. "King Zaor lies dead!"
A triumphant, ringing cry escaped the elf's companion, echoing over the mountains and startling a pair of songbirds into flight. "And the elf wench? The Harper?" he asked excitedly.
"They still live," the assassin admitted. The effort of speaking brought a fresh spasm of agony. He grimaced and grasped with both hands at the arrow shaft.
"Take ease," his friend consoled him. "Amnestria and her human lover will soon follow Zaor into death." He gently moved the elf's hands aside and began to work the arrow out. "Were you seen?"
"Yes." The answer came from between gritted teeth.
The hands on the arrow stilled, then tensed. "Even so, you have done well." With a quick motion, he plunged the arrow up under the elf's rib cage and into his heart. When the flow of lifeblood stilled, he wrenched the arrow free and thrust it back into the elf's body at the original angle. He rose to his feet and gazed with a touch of regret at the dead elf. "But not well enough," he murmured.
The elf fled swiftly down the mountain, racing for the teeming anonymity of the human city beyond. It wouldn't take the elves long to trace Fenian back to the magic portal, but by then he would be long gone. He would lose himself in Waterdeep, and begin to fashion a way to exploit the discovery he had made this day. A gate to Evermeet was just the thing he needed to fulfill his life quest. And it was fitting that Amnestria, the former and disgraced heir to Evermeet's throne, would be instrumental in helping him reach that goal.
Kymil Nimesin smiled faintly as he ran, unaware of the two pairs of eyes that watched him go.
"He might be the one," Lloth mused, turning away from her scrying pool to eye her longtime comrade.
Malar the Great Hunter snorted in disgust. "He is an elf!"
"Who better?" she retorted. "The plans these Gold elves have put in place are quite ingenious, and they might be the added touch we need to accomplish what we have so long desired. Let us watch him, at any rate, and if he shows promise, we can bolster his efforts with our own."
25
Malar's Vengeance (1371DR)
The goddess Lloth was well content. In a tu
Of course, it would be far more pleasant to observe in person, but this was as near to Evermeet as they could get. The weave Corellon had placed over the island barred all evil gods from entering. But it did not keep the drow from using the gate that Kymil Nimesin had so conveniently arranged, or prevent the passage of the deadly creature of Malar: the elf-eater.
The gate. Many elements had gone into this attack, but it was the gate that dealt the deadliest blow. A wonderful thing, this art of Circle-singing-using spell-song to combine many magical effects into one-especially when one considered the ingenious use Kymil had made of it. Under his direction, the circle-singers had gathered the power of all the gates to Evermeet, combining them into a single gate, effectively cutting the island off from outside magical interference.
It was a masterful plan, and Lloth was quite impressed with Kymil Nimesin. The Gold elf had nurtured his plans for years, gathering and training every talented elven spell-singer he could find. If only there were a way to imbue her drow followers with such patience! How quickly they would rule all of Aber-toril!
Well, they would soon overrun Evermeet, and for the time being she could content herself with that. No doubt Malar thought that his creature would destroy them, as well, thus giving him a victory over his dark-elven ally. Lloth, however, was ever alert to the possibility of treachery. To be on the safe side, she'd tried feeding a few of her faithful drow to the elf-eater, and found the monster had no appetite for them. Malar would disperse his creature soon enough, when there was no more sport to be had on Evermeet.