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After a moment, Amlaruil turned toward the thicket where Zaor crouched. "You might as well come out now," she said in a clear, bell-like voice. "I will do you no harm."
Zaor's first response was mingled surprise and chagrin that the elf maid perceived his presence so easily. Then the irony of her remark struck Zaor as rather amusing. The girl seemed to be little more than a child, and slim as a birch tree and by all appearances fragile as a dream. She might make half his weight, had she been soaking wet.
But he rose and entered the clearing, stopping several paces from her as propriety demanded.
He managed a bow that he thought would not disgrace him too badly. "Zaor Moonflower, at the etrielle's service," he said, using the polite term for an elven female of honorable birth and character.
The girls' large, blue eyes lit up like stars. "Oh! Then we are kin! I am of the Moonflower clan, also. How is it we have never met?"
Zaor managed, just barely, to hold her gaze. "I am recently come from Cormanthyr."
He steeled himself for the usual barrage of questions, or the formal expressions of regret, or the words of acclaim lavished upon the "heroes" of Myth Dra
"I heard."
"I know." Her sudden smile lent her face such beauty that Zaor had to drop his eyes to keep from staring. A moment before, she had seemed nothing but a ski
Zaor took a moment to compose his thoughts. "You spoke of a Tower."
"Yes. I am a student of High Magic at the Towers of the Sun and Moon. They are not far from here."
The ranger frowned. "I have never seen these towers."
"Nor will you, unless you know where to look." The girl laughed at the aggrieved expression that crossed Zaor's face. "Do not take offense-the magic that shields the towers hides them even from the birds and wood nymphs. But rest assured, you will see them one day."
Zaor's brows lifted at this odd pronouncement. There was a strange note in her voice as she spoke these last few words, an abstracted tone that had been missing a moment before.
"You sound very certain of this. Can you read portents, then?" he asked, thinking to humor the child.
"Sometimes," she said in all seriousness. "It is easier to do if the person carries an object of power. I do not know why that is, but it is so."
Her eyes fell to the sword on Zaor's hip. Although sheathed, the ornate hilt with its crowning moonstone gem was clearly visible. Before Zaor could divine her intent, she reached out and ran her fingertips over the smooth, milky surface of the stone.
With an oath, Zaor jerked away. No one could safely touch such a sword but the wielder-surely the foolish child knew that!
But apparently she did not. Amlaruil regarded him in surprise, her eyes wide. After a moment Zaor realized that she had gone unscathed. The slender fingers that by all rights should have been blackened by a blast of killing magic were as smooth and white as the winter snow.
For some reason, this shook Zaor almost as deeply as the thought that the girl had come to harm through his carelessness. "You should never touch such a sword," he told her sternly. "This is a moonblade, and can mean death to any but he who wields it."
Amlaruil's eyes grew still wider. "A moonblade. Oh, then that explains…" Her voice trailed off uncertainly and her gaze slid to one side.
"You really did see something, didn't you?" he asked, intrigued.
The girl nodded, her face grave. "This is the king sword. Who rules this sword, will also rule Evermeet."
Zaor stared at her, not wanting to believe the words she spoke with such unca
"There is nothing of the king about me," he said dully. How could there be? It was the final duty of any elven king to die for his people. Myth Dra
"Perhaps," she echoed in a tone that gave away nothing of her thoughts.
Zaor shook aside the girl's troubling pronouncement and turned to something that lay closer to his ken. "You touched the sword without harm. How can that be?"
Suddenly, Amlaruil did not look so much a child as she had a moment before. A faint flush stained the snow of her cheeks. "As to that, I ca
"Ca
Again, that incandescent smile. "Yes," was all she said.
The elves joined in a burst of laughter. It seemed to Zaor that suddenly the burden that had weighed down his heart for so long was easier to bear.
After the shared laughter faded, they stood gazing at each other for a long moment. Amlaruil was first to break the silence. "I must return to the Towers. I have been away too long."
"We will meet again, though?"
The girl hesitated, as if not sure how to answer. Then slowly, deliberately, she reached out and curled her fingers around the hilt of Zaor's sword.
And then she was gone, disappearing into the forest as quickly and silently as the elusive unicorns.
In the white silence of the woodland glade, Zaor bowed his head and struggled to absorb what had just happened. In the passing of a few moments, his life had been utterly changed. One burden-the terrible load of guilt and grief-had been lifted; another, still greater burden had taken its place.
Amlaruil's vision for him was beyond anything Zaor had ever imagined. Even so, he found he had no desire to shy away from it.
The ranger turned and headed southward with a swift and determined stride. All that he had seen and suffered, all the lessons he had learned to his sorrow, he would share. He would find a way to make the complacent elves of Leuthilspar hear what he had to say. Evermeet would not suffer the same fate as Myth Dra
Even as he made this silent vow, Zaor drew the moonblade-the king sword-from its sheath. He was not surprised to note that a new rune was etched upon the blade. Amlaruil's vision was now his own, and the magical sword he carried had responded with the needed power. No longer did he fear or doubt the destiny before him.
Who ruled the sword, would also rule Evermeet.
Keryth Blackhelm shook his head. "It won't work, Zaor," he said ruefully. "I'm too young-I've yet to reach my first cente
"I know that you possess the finest mind of any battlemaster I've met," the ranger insisted.
With a wry grin, Keryth lifted his cup as if to toast himself. "And the strongest sword arm, too."
"We'll contest that matter another day," Zaor retorted good-naturedly. "But if you haven't the sense to pick a battle you've a hope of wi
The friends joined in a brief chuckle. The third member of their trio, a slight, silver-haired Moon elf about Keryth's age, fixed a thoughtful gaze upon Zaor. "You have a plan," he observed.
"A plan? I wouldn't put it quite that high," Zaor said in a dry tone. "A notion, perhaps. If it works, then we'll call it a plan."
"Agreed. What's your notion, then?"
"It seems to me that an elf's worth must be proven, and that there is no time like the moment at hand."
Myronthilar Silverspear nodded, as if this made perfect sense. He put down his cup and swept the tavern with his calm silver gaze. "By Corellon, it looks as if half the city guard drinks in this place!"