Страница 81 из 107
A place of honor near the very center of the gathering had been granted to the delegation from the Towers of the Sun and Moon. In her own private pavilion, Amlaruil prepared herself for the festivities with more than her usual care. As Lady of the Tower, she held a position nearly the equal of the soon-to-be chosen ruler. This was her first state appearance, and she would be the focus of many eyes this day.
Amlaruil wished to do honor to the Towers, but in her preparations she answered another, more personal motive. Several months had passed since she and Zaor had made their pledges in the heady aftermath of battle. She had not seen him since. Everything must be right for this, their first meeting.
The elf woman carefully arranged her red-gold hair in elaborate curls, and do
"And a good thing, too," Amlaruil murmured. A small, secret smile curved her lips as she smoothed her hands over the clinging silk of her gown. Though she took nothing but joy in the tiny life that slept within the growing curve of her belly, she wanted Zaor to see her, first and foremost, and not the child who would be his heir.
His royal heir.
Of this, Amlaruil was as certain as sunrise. In her few months as Grand Mage, and under the careful tutelage of the sorceress Nakiasha, she had come to accept the unusual link between her spirit and the gods of the Seldarine. Attuned to Evermeet in ways that she could not yet begin to understand, Amlaruil knew and recognized the power of the sword Zaor carried. She also felt the i
"My lady?"
The sound of Nakiasha's voice, coming from outside the pavilion, startled Amlaruil from her thoughts. She snatched up her mantle and quickly draped it about her shoulders.
"Come," she said, schooling her face to serenity before turning to meet her mentor.
Nakiasha brushed aside the tent's closing and surveyed the young elf woman with a mother's pride. "You are beautiful, child," she said, forgetting for the moment the formality due to Amlaruil's position. "It's nearly time for the ceremony-you must take your place among the members of the Council."
Amlaruil nodded, and followed the sorceress from the pavilion. In her heightened state of excitement, she was keenly aware of the eyes that followed her as she ascended the platform to her assigned place. This was the first time that she had appeared at any ceremony as Lady of the Towers, and the elves were understandably curious about the new Grand Mage.
But even without the mantle of office, Amlaruil would have drawn wondering stares. She was exceedingly tall-a full head taller than most elves, and she moved with an ethereal grace that lent her even more presence. Her red-gold hair was an unusual and striking shade, and she knew without vanity that she was accounted beautiful. Even Laeroth, her fellow mage and the most unromantic and practical elf of her acquaintance, once commented that her face tended to linger in memory like a haunting melody. Amlaruil found herself hoping that Zaor's memory had been thus afflicted.
She took her place next to the matron of the Nimesin clan, a Gold elf woman hugely rounded with child. A sympathetic smile curved Amlaruil's lips, but her words of congratulations died unborn as the elf woman met her friendly smile with a gaze icy enough to freeze the tides.
"Well. Now that I see you, I understand why a Gray elf wench rules in the Towers," the elf said coldly. "Ja
A slow, hot flush spread over Amlaruil's face. "You do not know me, Lady, yet Ja
The bitter lines around the elf woman's mouth deepened, and she continued to regard the Grand Mage with the disdain usually reserved for the half-eaten offerings of a hunting house cat. "Is it not enough to demand that the People endure a Moon elf royalty? Why must the honor of the Towers be sullied, as well?"
"I have done the Towers no dishonor, nor will I," Amlaruil said. Her voice was calm and soft, yet full of power.
The animosity in the Gold elf's eyes faltered, as if she suddenly felt uncertain of an easy quarry. "The ceremony is soon to begin," the elf woman said grudgingly, but she sounded oddly grateful for the excuse to turn away from the conversation-and the young Moon elf's unshakable dignity.
As the heirs to the unclaimed moonblades stepped forward, Amlaruil forgot the Nimesin matron's bitter comments. Though her own brother possessed such a sword, Amlaruil had never seen the ceremony in which the swords were claimed.
It was beautiful, and it was terrible. The recent battles had left several swords unclaimed. Ten elves, all nobles of ancient house and good reputation, pledged themselves to the power of the swords and the service of the People. Of them, only six survived the ceremony.
For two of these survivors, there was no triumph. The magic in the blades they held went silent and dormant in their hands. They had been proved unequal to the task of wielding the powers within their family blades; as the last living descendant of the original wielders, they were spared a sudden death. The expression of stu
In the heavy silence that followed the first claiming, the four Moon elf houses who had lost their first and best hope of the future tried again, and yet again, to claim the honor of Evermeet's throne.
Amlaruil's eyes burned with tears of mingled pride and grief as she watched one young elf after another step forward to die, like so many moths flinging themselves against the seductive promise of a lantern's heat and light.
Yet not one of the elven houses yielded, not until the last surviving member of the clan stood alive, but defeated. Their moonblades, their task of selection completed, went dormant at last.
In the grim and reverent silence that followed the claiming, Lady Mylaerla Durothil rose to speak, the last time in her office of High Councilor of Evermeet.
"The Council of Elders honors all those who came this day to stand before the People and the gods of the Seldarine, and to dare the crucible of the moonblade's magic. No dishonor tarnishes the houses who were not selected, and a place in Arvandor awaits all those who had the courage to take up a moonblade. To those new moonfighters among us, we extend congratulations."
The Gold elf's gaze swept the small group of Moon elves before her. "The task ahead is more difficult still. There are yet five-and-twenty living moonblades. Legend says that when four-and-twenty remain, the king sword will a
The keepers of the magic swords shifted, each coming to stand beside his or her family standard. In all houses but two, there was but a single wielder. Of these, the Moonflower clan clearly possessed the stronger claim.
Three Moonflower fighters gathered under the ba