The Coral Kingdom

3

"You've heard of the Coral Kingdom?" By habit, Alicia asked the question of Keane. The wreckage left by the brief battle with the unnatural ambassador still smoldered around them, and they all struggled to grasp the truth-or falsehood-of the visitor's extravagant claims.

It was Tavish who replied, however. "Those legends, that's all-so foreign to humankind that it remains completely unknown, if in fact it exists at all."

"An undersea domain," added Robyn. "As immense in its own way as all the isles of the Moonshaes combined, and even more inviolate in its territory. It is ruled by the sea trolls, the scrags. They are even more horrible than the sahuagin-the fishmen, whom we've had to fight before."

"Then Father. . then the king must be dead," Alicia argued, to herself more than anyone. "How could any human survive in such a place?"

"It is possible," the mage, Keane, observed tentatively. "There are many spells that will grant one the ability to survive without breathing for a matter of hours, long enough for the sahuagin or scrags to drag a victim to an undersea lair, there to imprison the unfortunate soul in an air-filled cave. No cell can be more impervious to escape."

Alicia's heart leaped again, wanting to believe beyond all reason that her father still lived. The loss of a hand didn't matter. In fact, a powerful priest could repair such damage. What was important was that Tristan lived!

"A few hours," muttered Brandon in frustration. "That would hardly be enough time to mount a rescue even if we could swim to the bottom of the ocean."

"I have heard in the past of other ways," Tavish noted. This time no one interrupted. "It is said that the elves once waged war under the sea, using ships enchanted with powerful magic that not only journeyed below the surface but also kept their crews alive, breathing air."

"Even so, they must have been helpless beyond the hull of their vessel!" objected the prince.

"Ah, but there a wizard's spell magic can come to the aid of his crew. Enchanted by water-breathing spells, elves could sally forth from their galleys, driving the creatures of the sea before them. In this way, it is said, the elves eventually gained mastery of the surface of the sea for all air-breathing creatures."

"Look out!" Brandon cried, springing to Alicia's side before anyone else reacted. A sudden movement nearby drew their attention, and the companions whirled to face one who had not been there a second before.

"Greetings," said Princess Deirdre wryly. She gestured at the craters left by Keane's meteor shower, the singed grass where the wall of fire had roared. "Did the celebration get a little too wild?"

"Great timing," Alicia snapped. "We could have used your help a few minutes ago."

The dark-haired princess said nothing. She wore a plain woolen traveling cloak, with a large bundle strapped to her back. The outline of the flat mirror, through which she had watched the entire fight, was lost in the shapeless bulk of the mass.

Robyn's eyes flashed, and for a moment, she fixed Deirdre with a harsh stare, an expression her daughter ignored. After a moment, the queen's face softened, shadowed once more by grief.

No one stopped to explain what had transpired to the newcomer, however, and Deirdre didn't bother to ask. Instead, they turned their attention back to the discussion that had been interrupted.

"Now?" persisted Alicia. "Is such a voyage under the sea possible today?"

"There you'll have to ask the elves," Tavish said with a sigh. "And it's most unlikely that they'll tell you much!"

"But we can try, can't we?" asked the princess, suddenly excited by the possibilities. "There are elves right here on Gwynneth! The Llewyrr, in Synnoria."

"Indeed," her mother noted with a wry smile. "Have you ever been to Synnoria? Has anyone here-anyone within the borders of Corwell-been to Synnoria?"

"Yes, my queen," came the unexpected reply, from Lord Pawldo. "You have-and so have I."

Robyn laughed, and the sound broke some of the tension. "Yes, beneath blindfolds, our ears masked by the sound of a harp!" Her face grew wistful at the memory. "Yet even then our presence was not desired by the Llewyrr. And the passes into the valley, remember, cannot be seen by humans-not even with aid of a sorcerer."

"That doesn't matter!" Alicia declared forcefully. She regretted her tone immediately, but surprisingly, her mother merely nodded and waited for her to continue.

"I'll start out first thing in the morning! I'll circle every side of that mountain range if I have to until I find a way in or they come out to get me!"

"I'm with you, my princess!" declared Lord Hanrald, grinding his fist into his palm, wishing he held a sword that he could brandish.

"And I!" Brandon was quick to pledge his axe.

Unconsciously the princess found herself looking at Keane. She saw an expression of unabashed dismay cross the mage's face.

Indeed, to the wizard, the difficulties of the task loomed paramount. Keane had no faith in their ability to find a path into Synnoria. It was known to be impervious to most forms of detection and orientation spells. And even if they did manage to find their way to the hidden land, he very much doubted that the elves would willingly aid them. Not that they could be of much help, he noted in his silent tally of insurmountable obstacles. He didn't believe for a moment that the secret to sailing a ship under the sea could be discovered in a landlocked mountain kingdom. But finally Keane spoke.

"What time do we leave?" the magic-user asked with a sigh of resignation.

Brigit removed the supple steel gauntlets from her hands and then stopped to doff her helmet and loosen the straps of her armor. Several young Llewyrr led her mare to the watering pool, and she knew that they would brush and feed the animal with care.

Flowing golden hair spilled across Brigit's shoulders, concealing the pointed tips of her elven ears. Barely an inch over five feet tall and quite slender even in her armor, she concealed a great amount of fighting prowess in that tiny form.

"Captain?" Another sister knight stepped through the stable door.

"Oh, hello, Myra. What is it?"

"That priest who came through the Fey-Alamtine goes to see Erashanoor today. The elder wondered if you could join them."

"Of course," Brigit replied without hesitation. Normally the elven knight preferred the pastoral quiet and chaotic splendor of the forest to the well-manicured beauty of Chrysalis, but an invitation from the elder sage of Synnoria was always an intriguing prospect.

Erashanoor was, in many ways, Brigit's mentor-at least in scholarship, if not in knighthood. She saw him only rarely, however, for the old elf could spare little time from his work. He was reputedly writing a detailed history of Synnoria. Nevertheless, on those rare occasions when the Fey-Alamtine was used, Erashanoor always spent considerable time with the refugees.

The sage's offices were located on the highest level in the Argen-Tellirynd, the Palace of the Ages in the heart of Chrysalis. The city itself occupied an island in the Crystaloch, while the stables and barracks of the knights-along with the farms, forests, and parks of all Synnoria-sprawled across the broad valley floor surrounding the lake. Three wide roadways, each smoothly paved with tight-fitting blocks of white marble, crossed the lake at different points, connecting the island city to the shore.

Brigit crossed the causeway on foot, passing through the narrow silver gates-standing open, as always. Soon the gleaming towers of Chrysalis loomed around her, and the winding roads of smoothly polished alabaster stone swerved with artistic perfection among flower bushes and delicately shaped evergreens.

But she must attend to business, she reminded herself. She strolled down the quiet avenues, passing other Llewyrr who walked with casual grace about the city. There was no sense of urgency here, though all of these elves undoubtedly had business to tend to. Such is the way of members of a race whose lifespans commonly pass five centuries.

Brigit moved with the same unconscious ease, at last arriving at a clear, multifaceted wall that cast dazzling patterns of sunlight on the ground at her feet. She stood before the crowning glory of Chrysalis, the structure that had served as the ceremonial capital of the Llewyrr for as long as their city had stood.

The Argen-Tellirynd was surrounded by a crystal wall in the shape of a perfect triangle, enclosing pools, gardens, and walkways within its bright confines. The palace itself rose in a steeply sloping pyramid in the center of the courtyard. The structure had three sides, but Brigit could only see one from her current vantage. Gates as clear as glass swung wide at Brigit's approach, and two elven footmen nodded politely to the knight as she passed.

"The elder is expecting you, Lady Brigit," offered one.

The sister knight meandered through the maze of reflective pools and graceful hedges that filled the courtyard of the Argen-Tellirynd. Finally, unconsciously quickening her steps, she reached the gates of the palace structure itself.

A triangular door in the side of the palace structure slid sideways, revealing a wide, silver-floored corridor. Walls of crystal sloped upward to meet in a point, twenty feet over her head.

A few twists and turns brought her to a wide staircase, and at the top, she reached the elder sage's library. She knew even before she entered that he was within; the telltale scent of his pipe smoke lingered in the air. With a wry smile, Brigit knocked on the door and entered.

"Ah, welcome, my child, welcome!" Erashanoor waved absently. The sage sat in his high-backed leather chair, holding a long-stemmed pipe in his hand and leaning forward, his posture intent upon Pallarynd. The Thy-Tach priest, his face streaked by tears, looked down as Brigit joined them in a third chair.

"The Thy-Tach have undergone an incredible ordeal," explained the sage, puffing absently and sending clouds of smoke into the air over his head. Smoking was a virtually unknown practice among the Llewyrr and would not have been tolerated in closed quarters from anyone less influential than the elder sage. Unlike many of her people, however, Brigit had always enjoyed the burnt-almond smell of Erashanoor's blended herbs.

"Until we encountered you yesterday," Pallarynd said to Brigit, his composure recovered, "we weren't even sure we would survive. Not just from the threat of the beast, but from the flight through the paths of ether."

"I believe they were attacked by Ityak-Ortheel," explained Erashanoor. "The one called 'Elf-Eater.' The monster has plagued our race throughout known history. Barely a century passes wherein a village or community does not feel its wrathful attack, and this attack always drives the survivors to the Fey-Alamtine. No means of defeating the Elf-Eater has ever been discovered."

"Is that creature the reason the gate was constructed?" asked Pallarynd.

"No-at least, not the only reason." Erashanoor took several pensive puffs on his pipe, leaning back in his chair and collecting his thoughts like scribbled notes scattered across a messy desk.

"You see, the destiny of our race is one of epic greatness, but also finite dimension," he began. "We live longer than the humans, or any other populous and-allegedly-civilized race. Our artists create the most glorious sculptures, our musicians script the most beautiful songs-even our weaponsmiths make the finest sword steel!"

Brigit knew of a dwarf or two who would disagree with the last statement, but she kept the notion private as the sage continued with a sigh.

"The price of our longevity, our greatness, is that our numbers shall ever remain small. If we wage war against a human realm, their numbers are replenished after a few generations. We elves, however, never recover from such conflicts.

"And this limitation is coupled with another certainty: Despite our best efforts, humans and other lesser creatures who border elven lands will eventually covet those lands. It is the way of the short-lived ones to employ hasty means, such as violence, to accomplish their goals. Too, many of them are propelled by gods of evil, or the simple pressures of growing population. They breed like rabbits, these humans," Erashanoor noted with a disgusted shake of his head. He paused to puff a few smoke rings, his narrow face creased into a scowl. He nodded to himself before he resumed.

"This is why Evermeet is so well protected. That island, the eternal elvenhome, will provide a land for our peoples that will last as long as the Realms themselves. It is guarded by wards and barriers both magical and mundane, protection against approach by the legions of creatures who threaten us; For that reason, the passages by which even we elves can approach the great island are strictly limited."

"Limited to one route only-the Fey-Alamtine," Brigit interjected.

"The reason Synnoria must remain inviolate," Erashanoor quickly explained, "is that we are the only gate to Evermeet. This is why you must bring the Alamtine triangle with you when you enter the gate, and why someone must always remain behind, to see that nothing follows when the Fey-Alamtine closes."

"That was a near thing," noted Pallarynd. "This 'Elf-Eater,' I believe you called it, reached after me as we departed. It seemed to seek the triangle. The tentacle touched it and tried to pull it from my grasp."

"It is a very good thing for all of us that it did not," Erashanoor replied sternly. "Else it could have followed you here. If the secret of Synnoria becomes known to the enemies of the elves, our existence becomes tenuous at best. Even the touch of the Alamtine Triangle can give our enemies knowledge that endangers us."

"Do you suppose that the Elf-Eater.. ?" Brigit felt an icy stab of fear. The picture of a creature such as the Ityak-Ortheel entering Synnoria brought bleak images of death and devastation to her mind.

"The creature didn't take the triangle. Therefore I suspect the risk is minimal. It may know the shape of the key, but it still does not know where the gate leads. As long as that knowledge remains concealed, we are safe."

"Walk with me for a moment, my daughter." The warmth of Robyn's tone touched Alicia, and she quickly rose and joined the queen at the fringe of the firelight cast by the hearty blaze.

The time approached midnight, Alicia knew without needing to look at the brilliant stars.

Several dozen Ffolk-Alicia's companions, and other lords, knights, and even druids-had gathered around the fire some hours before to discuss the import of the day's events. The queen had naturally canceled the upcoming Council of Lords. They could not proceed with a memorial for a king who might still be alive. They all realized that the prospects of a rescue seemed slim to nonexistent, but they also knew that the attempt must be made.

Alicia and her companions would embark for Synnoria on the morrow, seeking a secret that would allow them to take a ship under the sea. Robyn had returned to the castle after the disastrous banquet, and this was her first reappearance on the commons.

"Are you all right?" inquired the princess, laying a hand on her mother's arm. Robyn replied by placing her own hand over her daughter's and pressing gently.

For a time, they did not speak, and Alicia realized with surprise that her mother led her toward Corwell's small druids' grove and its sacred Moonwell. Soon they passed under the flat-topped stone arch, the entrance to the grove, and approached the small, milk-white pool of water. Even beneath the starlight and a half-full waxing moon, the illumination of the water cast a pale wash of light throughout the sacred clearing in the heart of the grove.

"I had a talk with your sister before I departed from Callidyrr," Robyn opened the conversation.

"Deirdre has changed-a great deal," Alicia remarked thoughtfully.

"You've seen it, too." For a moment, Robyn was silent. "This spring she mastered a great deal of sorcery in a very short period of time. Keane swears that he doesn't know how she did this, though he, too, has observed her power. Do you know anything more?"

Alicia shook her head regretfully. "We were apart for most of that month, and when we met again, at the Fairheight Moonwell, she had the powers of an accomplished sorceress. But she'll tell me nothing about what happened to her in that space of time."

"A mystery-and a disturbing one," Robyn noted. "There is danger here, for Deirdre and for all of us, that I don't believe she fully understands."

Alicia remained silent. She had sensed the same threat as her mother, and it comforted her somewhat to know that she was not alone in her apprehensions. Nevertheless, she didn't know what she could do to open a door of communication with her aloof sibling.

Robyn strolled along the shore of the shallow pond, as if looking for something on the ground. "Here," said the High Queen finally. "I placed this here this morning to let the blessings of the goddess surround it."

The High Queen knelt at the edge of the pool and lifted up a long shaft that had lain in the shadows. Rising and turning, she offered it to Alicia.

"Your staff?" questioned the younger woman. "But surely you'll need it now!"

Robyn raised a hand. "Not my staff. Yours."

"But-"

"This is a changestaff. I made it for you in honor of your accomplishments. It may aid you in your service to the goddess."

Alicia touched the wood, which was smooth and vaguely warm beneath her fingertips. A sense of wonder overwhelmed her. The surface was carved intricately in the design of a leafy tendril that coiled about the staff over its entire length.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "I'll cherish it more than anything I know."

"When you need an ally, plant the base of the staff in the ground. Use the command word 'Phyrosyne'."

"What will it do?" Alicia wondered.

"You'll see. It's not what the staff does, but what the goddess does through the agent of the wood." The queen's smile was wistful, and Alicia waited for her to continue. "I fear you'll need it, and much more, in the days and weeks to come."

"But Father lives! Doesn't he?" The disturbing fear that the ambassador might have been lying pushed its way to the forefront of Alicia's mind, but angrily she forced it back. "He must be alive! Can't you tell somehow?"

"Aye, Daughter. I believe that I can." Robyn sighed, sinking to a stone bench beside the pool. Alicia sat beside her. "I didn't realize it at first. When the news came that the ship was lost and everyone had drowned, I tried to accept the fact that Tristan was dead. There could be no other explanation, no other real hope.

"Yet as the days and weeks went by, I couldn't bring myself to believe it. I dreamed about him almost every night, and there was something so real about those dreams that I came to believe that he must be alive somewhere.

"Now this messenger comes, with these claims that they hold the High King prisoner, and I find it all too easy to believe."

"Then you must have faith, Mother!" Alicia insisted. "He's lived this long, and when I get to Synnoria I promise that I'll find a way to go after him!"

Robyn smiled, forcing her expression to brighten. "I believe you, my daughter-and more than that, I will help."

"What do you mean?"

"Tomorrow, when you begin your journey along the Corwell Road in search of the Llewyrr, I intend to ride with you."

During the long afternoon and evening, Deirdre watched the preparations of her sister's party in the mirror of scrying. She viewed the scene with the same wry amusement with which she had greeted the images of the disrupted festival. She kept the fact of her spying crystal a secret, spending long hours secluded in her room while she observed the activities around the castle in the glass.

Then, when Alicia, the queen, and their companions rode through the gate in the morning, she amused herself by watching their progress, trying to imagine the substance of their undoubtedly trivial conversations. The mirror provided no sound for the scene being observed.

Eventually she tired of this eavesdropping and turned back to her books. She went about her own business, relieved that the burden of court and council could be delayed to some nebulous future hour. Deirdre had brought several tomes with her, carried in a large sack over her shoulder, and she spread these on the desk near the room's window. Bright sunshine flooded the land of Corwell, and in its light, she would be able to read easily.

She returned to a book she had started the day before, a treatise on travel-both voluntary and involuntary-through the ethereal stuff that connected the planes of existence. Her nimble mind absorbed each detail, recognizing where the writer overextended his arguments and where he had touched upon a real germ of truth.

As she progressed through the book, the sun sank into the west and the household servants brought her some food and lit several candles for her reading. The former remained untouched and the latter burned low as the princess learned more, and more, and more.

The supple bay raced along Corwell Road, and Alicia gave the horse her head. Her companions trailed along the smooth surface of the highway, riding at the easy lope that for two days had carried them across central Corwell. Hanrald led the way, alternately lumbering forward on his huge war-horse or probing possible places of concealment along the road to either side, while Alicia and Robyn alternately raced, trotted, or walked. Keane, Brandon, Pawldo, and Tavish followed at a more sedate pace, trailing some distance behind the others for hours at a time.

The journey to the borders of Synnoria would take three or four days. The first part of the trip followed good roads, but for the last day or two they must branch off the highway and enter the rougher country of the highlands. Once there, they intended to seek some entry into the elven realm. Alicia was determined not to worry about that problem until it confronted them.

The companion who had most surprised Alicia rode at the side of the princess: the High Queen herself. The younger woman had not expected that her mother would want to accompany the party, yet now, as they rode together, Alicia couldn't imagine traveling without her.

Her mother had seemed like a new woman since the start of the journey. Years of age seemed to melt away from her, and she rode with a spirit almost equal to Alicia's, who was quite skilled as a horsewoman. Robyn carried her own staff lashed to the saddle behind her and wore a plain silver torque around her neck, the symbol of her status as Great Druid.

Both of them rode with renewed hopes, however tenuous. For the first time since Tristan's disappearance, they had a course of action to follow; they could do something besides sit around and grieve. The challenges of their quest remained daunting, to be sure, but both mother and daughter felt confident that they would be able to deal with any obstacles that might arise.

Rather than tiring, the horses had seemed to gain in strength and excitement as each day passed. Now, in the late morning of the third day, Alicia knew they must soon turn off the wide road, following the winding vale that the High Queen had described.

Soon they found the turn, marked by a hill called Freeman's Down. That night they made camp in a high valley, where an unseasonably chill wind scoured the ground and whistled through the trees. They built a great fire and huddled around its warmth, each of them wrapped within private thoughts, weighing their chances for success or failure.

"Somewhere along here, off to our right, will be the valley that Tristan, Pawldo, and I came down when we left Synnoria," Robyn told them, describing as best she could her experiences of twenty summers before. "I'm not sure that I'll recognize it, though. We might have to try a few different routes."

"One of them will take us there-I'm sure of it!" Alicia proclaimed, and the others found her confidence heartwarming, but not necessarily contagious.

"It can't be that hard to find," suggested Hanrald. "After all, Gwynneth itself isn't very big, and we're talking about a good-sized, populous valley located in a specific range of highlands!"

"It's not the size of Synnoria that gives it concealment," argued Tavish heatedly. "It has more to do with the nature of the place. Legends say that a person can walk straight toward it, and then turn aside without even taking notice of the fact that he is near it. You'll walk past and never know that you've missed it."

"But surely farmers and herdsmen around here must have some kind of idea!" objected Alicia.

"You've seen the state of the country," Keane pointed out, pleased with the verbal opening that would allow him to join the conversation. "We didn't pass a single farm once we moved beyond the Corwell Road. And the grass was long-I don't think the land is used by herdsmen either."

"The Ffolk sense that this land is not for mundane employment," Robyn said. "Synnoria is a place of enchantment, of power that is drawn from the earth itself, not from the skills of mortal wizards. It's the same power that gives life to the goddess and makes the Moonshae Islands a place of special beauty."

The queen paused, her face relaxing into a reflective smile. After a moment, she looked up, aware that the others waited for her to continue. "King-then he was 'Prince'-Tristan and I came through here near the start of the Darkwalker War. It was the detour through Synnoria that allowed us to reach Corwell Road before an invading army of northmen, and also to gain the aid of dwarves from Myrloch Vale, and even a company of the Sisters of Synnoria."

The history of that war was well known to them all. The aid of the elven riders and their resolute captain, Brigit Cu'Lyrran, had proven decisive in stopping the original attacks against Corwell.

"But the passage through Synnoria lingers in my mind," continued the queen. "Perhaps because I didn't see it. They blindfolded us, remember, Pawldo?"

The halfling nodded, suppressing a shudder as he looked into the darkness beyond the camp.

"They told us that the fabulous beauty of the place would surely drive us humans mad, and perhaps it would have, judging by the sounds we heard. Even those-the trilling of waterfalls, the mingling of birdsong and breeze-would have captivated us all. . "

"Except for the bard!" finished Tavish with a smile.

"Indeed. The harpist Keren banged against his harp and made the most awful sounds you could imagine. For a full day, he kept it up while the sisters led us along their trails. Those jarring notes, I'm sure, were all that kept us alive. Finally we came out on a broad and rounded ridge. Synnoria was behind us. …"

Robyn's face grew sad as she remembered the darker moments in the path of her life since then. Suddenly she missed Tristan terribly, and it was all she could do to hold back her tears.

"So you see, there's a lot of magic to contend with," warned Pawldo, wiggling a finger at Alicia. "I wouldn't be surprised if half of us are turned into bugs before this is over!" His face was jocular, but his tone indicated more than a little apprehension on this point.

Alicia slumped backward but didn't concede defeat. "You can argue reality all you want," she said, "but I've never doubted, from the moment we started out, that we'd find our way into that valley somehow!"

"Hold that faith, child," said Tavish with a soft laugh. "It may be all we need."

"Arise, Ityak-Ortheel, and answer your master's summons!"

The command of Malar rang through the ether, past the vortices of the gods and down-far, far down-into the Abyssal depths of the lower planes. Here the one known as Elf-Eater raised its muck-streaked maw from the primordial sludge that was its home and, upon hearing the call, uttered a rumbling belch of assent.

Talos observed the activities of his ally with cruel pleasure. The discovery of the platinum triangle on the Moonshae Islands had infused Malar with vengeful hatred. The Beastlord would waste no time in setting his pet creature against those insolent elves-and this vengeance suited the Stormbringer's plans as well.

The image of Malar's muzzled skull, bristling with fangs and resting upon huge, many-taloned paws, appeared before the Elf-Eater. Slowly, with gruesome majesty, Ityak-Ortheel rose from the sheltering sludge until it crouched before the figure of its god. Only the illusionary presence of the deity allowed Malar to loom over his pet, for Ityak-Ortheel was itself the size of a massive dragon.

But size was the thing's only resemblance to those comparatively noble serpents. The Elf-Eater had a mouth but no teeth. Instead, the aperture was a moist, sucking hole in the side of the thing's domelike body. The maw was capable of expanding to a gaping width or compressing into a long, probing snout, and it was surrounded by many long tentacles, each equipped with multiple, weblike pods used to trap a victim and drag it toward that obscene orifice.

And also unlike a dragon, Ityak-Ortheel had no tail nor wings-and only three legs, each as broad as a gnarled oak stump. Upon those limbs, however, it could lumber as fast as a galloping horse. It had no eyes nor ears, but it could sense the presence of warm-blooded beings on all sides, and could easily distinguish which were elves.

With the summons of Malar, all the Elf-Eater's dim intellect focused on the gnawing emptiness within the great body. Quivering in eagerness, the elephantine shape awaited the further words of its god.

The words it wanted to hear were not forthcoming. Instead, Malar seized the spiritual essence of Ityak-Ortheel and hauled it upward into the ether. Malar focused his attention on the target, and Talos used his still-awesome power to enact a powerful spell.

Ityak-Ortheel, the Elf-Eater, shook its great body, exploding through a dark wall of stone to plant its three feet firmly on grassy soil. No longer did it fester in the pits of sludge, it knew. Instead, it had come to a place surrounded by a world of mortals. . a place called Synnoria.

A place of elves.