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The High Mage slipped a sheath over the blade, then handed the muted weapon to the Gold elf. Claire took the sheathed weapon without hesitation or fear, and then returned to her somber clan.
Several more Gold elves followed her example. The Nimesin, the Ni'Tessine, and the Starym all carried away unclaimed blades that day.
Silently, all the elves acknowledged that there was honor in this, for surely a time would come when the sword would chose the proper wielder. And Ethlando did not say that it was impossible that a Gold elf might gain the throne, only that it was unlikely.
Long into the night the rite of claiming went on. Some Moon elf clans claimed several blades-even a few commoners gained that night a magic sword, and with it the right to found a noble house. There was no protest, no contention over the results, for there was no denying the power at work among them. Most of the Gold elves were willing to bide their time, to wait out the succession process. Few of them believed that they were entirely excluded.
When dawn crept over the valley, it found no sign of magic, or death, or the elves whose kindred had earned one or the other. The People had returned to their homes to ponder what had happened. Many years would pass before the rulers of Evermeet were chosen. Yet every elf who now carried a moonblade knew that regardless of how the test of succession played out, a great destiny would be his.
16
The King Sword (715 DR)
A light snow fell upon the forests of Evermeet. Big, downy flakes whirled and spun as they drifted through the winter-bare trees. A few of the flakes clung to Zaor Moonflower's hair, looking like icy stars amid the twilight sheen of the elf's luxuriant, dark-blue locks.
But Zaor was oblivious to the beauty of the forest and the striking image he himself presented. He was an elf in the prime of life, and had seen and done much in his two centuries. Though the passing years had left little mark on him, no one who set eyes upon him would mistake him for a callow youth.
For one thing, Zaor was exceedingly tall, and nearly as muscular as a human warrior. At more than a hand-breadth over six feet, he was a giant among elves. His coloring was striking as well, for his hair was the most unusual color known to the Moon elf people-a deep, glowing blue that brought to mind sapphires or stormy seas.
And there was nothing of youth in Zaor's eyes. They were also blue, and flecked with gold, yet their natural luster was dimmed by a deep and profound sadness. Those eyes had seen more battle, more death, more horror, than most elves who could claim his years and more.
Zaor had not been long in Evermeet. He was one of the few survivors of Myth Dra
But for Zaor, Evermeet brought no peace. Even a year after that final siege, his ears still echoed with the cries of dying Myth Dra
Indeed, Zaor had found nothing but bitterness in the company of the island's elves. The people of fabled Leuthilspar, with their endless petty intrigues and their deeply entrenched sense of privilege, simply galled him. Perhaps if they had spent a quarter of their hoarded wealth and wasted energies on the defense of Myth Dra
But even as the thought formed, Zaor knew there was little truth in it. All his life he had battled the foes who pressed the wondrous city. That was his task, and his calling. He was a ranger, and the forests surrounding Myth Dra
Zaor Moonflower had survived, but the guilt of his continued existence pressed heavily upon him.
It did not seem right, that he should be alive when so many thousands-indeed, a whole civilization-had died. He felt he could not bear to see such a thing happen again. Yet the elves of Evermeet-who were so like the people of Myth Dra
Zaor sighed and lowered his gaze to the fresh blanket of snow, willing his mind to imitate the smooth, untroubled surface.
His eyes narrowed as they fell upon a strange mark. The elf dropped to one knee to examine it more closely. The mark was like that of a horse's hoof, but slightly cloven and far more delicate. And it was not so much a print, but a glittering shadow upon the snow.
Only one creature would leave such a trail. Wonder-a feeling that Zaor had thought was forever banished from his heart-flowed over him in rippling waves. Silently, carefully, the ranger followed the silvery prints deep into the forest and into a snow-shrouded glade.
The sight before him stole his breath. Two unicorns-wondrous creatures whose coats were so white as to render them nearly invisible against the unblemished snow-broke away from the pristine background. They minced toward the center of the glade, tossing their silvery horns and nickering softly.
This was wonder enough, but Zaor found his eyes lingering less on the rare and magical creatures than on the pair of elven maidens who awaited the unicorns with outstretched hands.
Both of the maidens were Moon elves, and by the looks of them initiates of some religious order. They were clad in simple white robes and swathed in white cloaks, and there was a stillness about them that came only with strenuous training and great personal discipline. With their snow-colored garments, milky skin and bright red tresses, they looked like statues fashioned from ice and flame.
Zaor watched, barely breathing, as the unicorns came up and nuzzled the maidens' outstretched hands. One of them, a tall girl whose hair fell in a riot of tangled curls about her shoulders, sprang onto her unicorn's back.
"Come, Amlaruil," she chided when the other girl held back. "Why do you wait? The unicorns have accepted us-we can leave behind the stuffy towers for good and all, and seek adventure at last!"
The other girl's face was wistful, but she shook her head even as she caressed the second unicorn's silky mane. "You know I ca
The girl called Ialantha snorted, as if amused by such visions of grandeur. "All I want is a bit of excitement and an open sky! A year and a day-that is all the service a unicorn will give! And after that, I will be on to the next adventure."
"We can set our feet upon a path, but we ca
Ialantha's eyes widened. "You have seen this for me, then?"
The girl hesitated. "There is need for unicorn riders," she said carefully. "I think this unicorn has chosen well. You could ride before you could walk, and you were reaching for a sword before you could do either! No one in the Towers rides or fights as well as you. Who better than you to revive the old ways, and to train and command the swordmaidens?"
"Who indeed?" Ialantha echoed teasingly. Her face turned serious, and she extended her hand to her friend. The girls clasped wrists with the gravity of warriors.
Ialantha lifted her white hood to conceal her bright hair, and then tapped her heels against the unicorn's sides. The creature reared, pawing the air with hoofs as delicate as the falling snow. With the speed of thought, the unicorn and her rider melted away into the forest. The second, riderless unicorn followed like a white shadow.