Evermeet: Island of Elves

Prelude

1371DR

The silver dragon swooped down on Sumbrar, flying with dangerous speed directly toward the high, rounded Tower. She was a Guardian, and her task was to warn the elves of the approaching danger. She had reason to fear that her warning might already be too late.

Her glittering wings beat against the air to halt her desperate flight, and her taloned feet caught and clung to the whimsical carvings that ringed the rounded dome roof of Sumbrar's tower. The dragon draped her wings down over the smooth stone walls to steady her perch, then craned her neck down to look into the high, arched window of the upper tower. There the magi gathered to cast their Circle magic. She only hoped that they did not die of fright at the sudden appearance of her enormous, scaly silver visage in their window!

But to her surprise, the chamber was empty. Silent. No magi gathered to meet the coming threat. The dragon's first thought was that they did not know. Then her keen ears caught the sound of a rumbling deep within the caves of Sumbrar, and her senses quickened with the surge of magic that emanated from the depths of the outpost island.

As the Guardian watched, six ancient dragons burst from their age-long slumber and took to the sky. She watched in awe as the legendary heroes of her people leaped into flight as if from the pages of the lorebooks. Even so, her wonder was overwhelmed by a deep and profound feeling of dread. It was written that only in times of deepest peril would the Sleeping Ones be called forth.

The Guardian spread her silver wings and rose into the sky, setting a course for the Eagle Hills. There she would seek out the dragonriders, and learn what fate had befallen her elven partner. Shonassir Durothil had not responded to her silent call. Though she feared the answer, she must know what she-indeed, what all of Evermeet-faced.

Far from the shores of Evermeet, in a very different tower that stood in the shadow of Waterdeep's single mountain, another of Evermeet's guardians threw back her silvery head and let out a wail of mixed anguish and frustration.

Khelben Arunsun, the human mage who ruled this tower, came forward and gently pried the guardian's white-knuckled fingers from the gilded frame of her enchanted mirror.

"It is no good, Laeral," he said firmly, taking the woman by her shoulders and turning her to face him. "Everywhere, it is the same thing. All the gates to Evermeet have been barred. There is nothing you or I or anyone else can do to change this."

"But this elfgate is different! No one should be able to close it. Do you not remember how we struggled simply to conceal and move it?"

"If ever anything in this world went as it should, rather than as it does, it is possible that we would all perish from the shock," Khelben said without thought of humor. "Laeral, I would give anything if this were otherwise. You must accept that the battle for Evermeet is in the hands of her People."

The woman moaned and sank forward into the archmage's embrace. "We could make a difference, Khelben. You and I, my sisters. There must be a way we can help!"

The mage stroked Laeral's silvery hair, a strange shade that proclaimed her elven heritage and served as a reminder of the ties that bound the woman to Evermeet. Improbably, the human mage and the elven queen had long ago become fast friends, and Laeral wore on her finger one of the elfrunes that named her a trusted agent of Evermeet's queen. But even the magic of the ring had been silenced, its fey light blotted out by the strange pall that had fallen over the distant island.

Evermeet was truly alone.

"Trust in the elves," the archmage urged her. "They have weathered many storms, and may yet find their way to a port in this one."

Laeral slipped away from the shelter of Khelben's arms. "There is more," she whispered as tears began to spill down her cheeks. "Oh, there is more. I never told you about Maura…"

Flying high above the trees of Evermeet, Maura clung to fistfuls of golden feathers and leaned down low over the giant eagle's neck. Her black hair whipped wildly about her in the rush of wind, and her face was grim as she scanned the ground below for sign of the elf-eater's passage.

Finally she caught sight of the monster as it crashed through a stream, sending water spraying wildly upward in sheets and flying droplets that glistened briefly in the bright morning light.

"Down here!" she shouted to her eagle mount, daring to let go with one hand in order to point. "Follow that thing!"

"Ooh. Big bug," the eagle commented as he eyed the domed carapace of the monstrous elf-eater. "Crack shell, get meat for many eagles. We two not-elves fight that?"

"Eventually. First we must fly past it to Corellon's Grove and warn the elves there of its approach. Do you know where it is?"

"Hmph! Know where every rabbit den is. You tell, I find. Fight soon, yes?"

"Soon," Maura agreed.

The eagle banked sharply as the elf-eater veered toward the east. Maura clutched at the bird's feathers as the eagle redoubled his efforts. The speed stole her breath; the buffeting force of his beating wings alone nearly tore her from her perch.

Fast though the eagle was, several moments passed before the giant bird was able to pull ahead of the monster. An eternity seemed to slip by before Maura caught sight of the elven temples.

"Set me down over there," she shouted, pointing to a domed, green-crystal shrine.

"Not sit there," the eagle countered. "See elf enemy by river, many many. Fish-people, very bad. We fight now, yes?"

"Fight now, not!" Maura screamed, letting go of one handhold to pound on the eagles' back. "Warn elves first!"

The bird darted a puzzled look over his shoulder. "You talk funny."

Maura shrieked in pure frustration. She leaned forward and talked loud and fast into the eagle's ear. "Your people know of the elf king? Well, his daughter is there in one of those buildings. If we don't get her away, the big bug will eat her!"

The eagle let out a piercing cry that matched Maura's for rage and surpassed it in sheer power. "Bug eat Zaor's elf-chick, not," he promised grimly. Without further warning, he swung around in a tight circle and then dipped into a screaming dive.

Kacing wind tore at Maura's streaming clothes and stung her eyes into near-blindness. She buried her face in the eagle's neck feathers and clung to the creature with all her might. The sudden, frenetic battering of wings against wind warned her of their eminent landing. She lifted her head and squinted. Her eyes flew open wide, heedless of the painful wind.

They were flying directly toward the elf-eater's churning maw.

There was little that Maura could do, but she instinctively seized a knife from her belt to throw into that gaping, ravenous cavern-although she doubted it would inconvenience the monster in the slightest. Nor did she have any confidence that the eagle's attack would avail. The creature apparently thought that his giant hooked talons and rending beak were sufficient to the challenge. Unlike Maura, he had not seen the elf-eater at work.

"Up! Up!" she shrieked.

The eagle responded to the urgency in her voice. He tilted his wings to get the flow of wind beneath them and began to pull up into a soaring rise.

Too late. A long tentacle shot forward and seized the eagle by the leg. The bird came to a painfully abrupt halt. Maura did not. She sailed over the eagle's head and landed with bone-jarring force amid the flowers of one of the temple gardens.

Ignoring the surging pain that coursed through her every limb, the woman leaped to her feet, her dagger ready.

Sprays of golden feathers filled the air, mingling with the furious screams of the captured eagle. The giant bird put up a brave fight, but despite its struggles the monster drew it slowly, inexorably, toward its rapacious maw. Maura lifted her dagger high and started forward.

"Don't!" warned the eagle as its fierce eyes fell upon his fellow "not-elf." "Go find Zaor's elf-chick!"

For a moment the woman hesitated. It was not in her to leave an ally, or turn away from battle.

"Go!" screamed the eagle. He was jerked sharply toward the monster. There was a horrid crunching sound, and then his massive wings dropped limp.

Maura turned and ran for the tower that was Angharradh's temple. Even as she did, she realized that she was probably too late. If Ilyrana was anything like her younger brother, she would not use her clerical magic to flee from this place. The princess would try to stop the elf-eater, even at the cost of her life.

Maura found herself in sudden and complete accord with this, even though Ilyrana's death would mean Maura would almost certainly lose Lamruil to the duties of his clan and its crown.

The thought made her chest ache with a dull, hollow pain, but somehow her sorrow seemed a small thing compared with the evil facing her adopted home. She understood with her whole heart the choice that Lamruil had made, the choice that Ilyrana would almost certainly make. Nor could Maura do otherwise. If she could help Ilyrana, she would do it.

Wave after wave of sahuagin invaders swarmed the coasts of Evermeet, overwhelming the elven vessels and slipping through to fight the elves hand to hand on the red-stained shores.

For two days the battle raged. When at last some of the creatures broke past the elven defenders, they roiled inland, taking to the Ardulith river and swimming up into the very heart of Evermeet. Behind them came the scrags, terrible creatures that devoured with grim delight any being that had fallen to the talons and tridents of the fishmen.

Along the way, villagers and fisherfolk gathered to do battle. Bonfires dotted the shores of the Ardulith, and clouds of oily smoke roiled into the skies as the elven fighters consigned the slain sea trolls to the flames.

In the waters beyond Evermeet's shore, the Sea elves struggled to hold back the tidal wave of invaders. But they, too, had been taken unawares by the massive, multisided attack. Those Sea elves on patrol fought as best they could, but all others were trapped inside their coral city by a siege force of enormous size. The kraken and the dragon turtle that patrolled the waters fed well, but even they could not hold back the swarms of sea creatures that swept over the elven shores.

The elven navy, the wonder of the seas, fared somewhat better. In the waters beyond Evermeet's magical shields, elven man-o-wars and swanships battled against a vast fleet of pirate ships. They sent ship after ship into Umberlee's arms. And better still, they cleared a safe way for several vessels that fled for Evermeet, closely-and deceptively-pursued by the pirates.

"Fools," Kymil Nimesin observed as he watched the fiery battle raging behind his ship.

Captain Blethis, the human who commanded the flag ship Rightful Place, licked his lips nervously. "That's nearly the last of our fleet, Lord Nimesin. There will soon be but six ships left."

"That will suffice," the Gold elf said calmly. "The elven ships will go one to various ports, as we agreed. One will go aground on the beaches of Siiluth, and from there our forces will march inland to take and hold Drelagara. The next will sail around to Nimlith, and hold that city. Continuing northward, we will take the Farmeadows. This victory is key, both for food supplies and the horses we will need to ride south and inland. From the east we attack three points: The Thayvians will sail to the northern city of Elion to engage and destroy the drow scum that hold the keep there-certainly, the dark elves' usefulness is ended."

"From what I've heard of drow, that task might be harder than the telling suggests," Blethis muttered.

Kymil Nimesin cast an arch look in his direction. "And have you also heard of the red wizard's magic? The two are well matched-in power as well as loathsomeness. Those few vermin who survive the encounter will be easy enough to dispatch. The problem with this invasion," he concluded dryly, "is not so much in the conquering, but in knowing how best to rid ourselves of our allies."

The captain kept silent, though the elf's words set him to wondering how well he and the other humans would fare once the island was taken.

"We will accept the surrender of Lightspear Keep at Ruith," the elf continued. "And this ship, as planned, will enter the Leuthilspar bay to take over the court."

"You make it sound easy," Blethis commented.

"It has been anything but!" snapped the elf. "All my life, for more than six hundred years, I have been working toward this final attack. I have won and spent a dozen fortunes in funding it, formed alliances that will leave a stench on my soul throughout eternity! You have been told what you need to know. Believe me when I say that our ships will make port in a land that has been ravaged almost beyond repair.

"Almost, but not quite," Kymil added. "In times past, the People have rebuilt from less than we will leave them. The elves will merely be purified by this crucible, and the gold will rise above the dross at last. Evermeet will be restored in the image of ancient Aryvandaar. And from this place, the elves will once again reach out to expand and conquer."

It occurred to Blethis that the elf was no longer talking to him. Kymil Nimesin was reciting a litany, reliving the image that had ruled and shaped his centuries of life. Whether or not there was any truth in this vision, or even any sanity, the human could no longer say.

If Kymil Nimesin could have seen the battle playing out amid the temples of Corellon's Grove, it is possible that he himself would have doubted the sanity of his quest. Not even his blind zeal could excuse the unleashing of Malar's vengeance upon the elven homeland.

The elf-eater battered through a circle of standing stone, and a score of writhing tentacles reached out to ensnare the cluster of forest elf shaman who chanted spells of warding. As carelessly as a courtesan might pluck at a bunch of grapes, the monster thrust one elf after another into its churning maw. A few of the elves fled into the forest. Most stayed, fighting back with whatever weapons of steel or faith or magic they had at hand.

From her window in a high tower of Angharradh's temple, the princess Ilyrana gazed in horror at the carnage below. Her memory cast up an image of the last time she had seen this creature-during the terrible destruction of the Synnorian elves of the Moonshae Islands. It had been a day beyond horror, and the worst of it was witnessing the disappearance of a blue-haired elven lad into that ravenous maw. Which of her younger brothers had met this fate, she never knew, nor had she ever been able to learn if the other twin had somehow survived. The failure she had felt then, the utter impotence of a young and untried priestess, washed over her anew.

A young human female, scarlet-clad and decidedly disheveled, skidded into the room. It took Ilyrana a moment to recognize her as Laeral Elf-friend's daughter.

The woman propped her fists on her hips and glared at the princess. "The way I see it, you can either fight or flee-but you've got to pick one of those now!"

"Maura, isn't it?" Ilyrana murmured in her gentle voice.

"Not for long it isn't, unless you take action." The woman drew her sword and stepped to the door.

For a moment the elven priestess thought Maura intended to force her to flee. She realized, suddenly, that she did not wish to do so. She would stay and she would fight

Maura, who was keenly observing the princess's face, nodded with satisfaction. "Do what you must-I will stand guard as long as I am able."

The elven priestess reached out for the magical threads that bound her to Arvandor. A familiar presence flooded her mind in silent rebuke even as a tendril of warmth and strength stole into her benumbed thoughts. She sank deep into the mystic prayer, opening herself fully to Angharradh, her goddess.

The mystery that Ilyrana had contemplated her whole life suddenly seemed to have been laid out plainly before her. Angharradh, the goddess that was three and yet one, was not so very different from the other gods of the Seldarine. Nor was she so different from the unique magic that sustained Evermeet. Many, and yet one. Perhaps the magi were not the only elves who could summon a Circle's combined magical strength.

Ilyrana closed her eyes and sank deeper still into the meditative prayer, until the power of the goddess seemed to flow through her like air, binding her in silver threads to the web. She reached out, seeking the power of the other priest and priestesses. One by one, she reached out to touch the startled minds of desperately praying clerics of Hanali Celanil, Aerdrie, Sehanine Moonbow-all of the goddesses whose essence was mirrored in Angharradh. They were many, yet they became one, even as the goddess herself had been given birth.

As an awareness of Ilyrana's spell spread through the embattled grove, the priests and priestess of all the gods of the Seldarine followed the princess, lending the force of their prayers and their magic to this not-quite-mortal child of Angharradh.

Ilyrana gathered their combined power, instinctively forming it into a new and terrible goddess form. In response to the collective prayer, a warrior maiden clad in gleaming plate armor rose from the soil of Evermeet. Tall as an ancient oak, she held a spear the size of a ship's mast.

The warrior stood her ground as the elf-eater thundered toward her, and thrust her spear's point deep into the monster's mouth. With all her strength she pushed the blunt end of the spear down, levering it toward the ground. Then she dug in her heels, and held on.

The impaling spear thrust deep, abruptly stopping the monster's headlong rush. Although the mighty shaft bent like an arched bow, although the wood shrieked and groaned and crackled from the strain, the warrior did not release her hold. Then, suddenly, she threw herself backward, releasing the spear.

As the lowered end of the spear sprang straight and high, the creature was thrust violently in the opposite direction. It flipped, landing on its rounded carapace and rocking like an up-ended turtle. Its three massive legs churned the air and its tentacles flailed wildly, but it could not right itself.

One of the tentacles found and seized the warrior, wrapping around her arm and pulling her close. The magical elf drew a knife and severed the limb, then ripped the clinging length from her arm. Circles of blood welled up on her arm where the tentacle's suction cups had found purchase, but the warrior paid no attention to these wounds.

The warrior maiden took a gossamer net from her belt and whirled it briefly. It flew over the creature, entangling it in a silvery web of magic. She turned to the tower, nodding toward the watchful elven princess who had given her form and substance. And then she was gone, and the elf-eater with her.

Gone, too, were many of the clerics, for their spirits had been bound up in the casting. Of all the elves who had raised the warrior goddess from their combined power, only Ilyrana lingered.

But her spirit, too, had flown. As Maura knelt beside the too-still princess, she noted a pattern of bloody circles upon the flesh of one white arm.

The woman ran to the window and called for help. The surviving clerics hurried to her aid, but nothing any of the survivors could do had any effect on Ilyrana's deathless slumber.

At last they somberly prepared to take the princess to Leuthilspar. If anyone would understand this unfathomable blending of the mortal elf with the divine, it would be Queen Amlaruil herself.

Maura went with them. As she tended the princess, she noted with dread and fascination that other wounds appeared on the elfwoman's silent form. It seemed that somewhere, in some battle that only the gods could witness, Ilyrana was fighting still.