The road rounded a low hill and met a wide lake, running along the shore. Unlike much of the city behind it, the lake and the strong outbuildings were less than a century old, new defenses added to protect the great old city. Geran had heard that the elves hadn’t cut a single tree to clear the wide open space of the beautiful lakes that now girdled the city; they’d used some sort of forest magic to move the trees, root and bole, to new places, creating a moat of sorts a good bowshot in width to protect the city from any attacking army. The isthmuses joining the city to the surrounding lands were guarded by white barbicans, their walls fashioned in the form of delicately pointed arches filled with carvings of forest scenes, but the city was unwalled otherwise. Many of the elves Geran knew regretted the fact that the city had been separated from the surrounding forest by its defenses, but he’d always found the lakes to be a very beautiful city wall indeed; on still days the city’s wondrous spires and domes were mirrored perfectly in the reflecting ring.
“A wonder,” Sarth breathed softly, taking in the sight of the slender towers.
Geran nodded in agreement. “I wish I could show both of you more of it; it’s a shame to visit Myth Drannor in haste. But I suppose that might be for the best, since I should probably avoid my old haunts.” Even though he’d lived in this city for years, familiarity hadn’t diminished its beauty. They continued along the road as it turned toward the city again, now passing along a slender point of land dividing two of the reflecting lakes, and came to one of the city’s barbicans-a freestanding gatehouse guarded by elf soldiers in long coats of silver mail.
“Last chance,” Hamil remarked under his breath. “Just so you know, I intend to completely disavow you if you get caught.”
One of the elves stepped forward, raising his hand as the travelers approached. “Halt and name yourselves,” he said in a clear voice. “Who are you, and what is your business in Myth Drannor?”
Geran stared at the guard-captain in horror. It was Caellen Disarnnyl, a kinsman of Rhovann’s. He wasn’t anyone that Geran had known very well, but he’d certainly known Geran by name, especially after Geran’s rivalry with Rhovann had turned ugly. He fought down the urge to immediately tug his hood down over his features or keep his face turned away from the captain; the last thing he wanted to do was look as nervous as he felt. He hasn’t seen me in years, he reminded himself. I was clean shaven before, I dressed in elven garb, and I didn’t wear bulky armor like this scale coat. Before the captain glanced at him, Geran turned his attention to the barbican and the towers behind, making a show of gawking just a little at the elven city. Either Caellen would recognize him, or not; nothing he could think of at the moment would make that less likely without also drawing the captain’s attention to him.
“I’m Hamil Alderheart of Tantras,” Hamil answered the captain. “You might say I speculate in antiquities and enchantments. This is Sarth Khul Riizar, a sorcerer in my employ, and my bodyguard Aram Kost. I’ve come to Myth Drannor to consult with your sages about some magical devices that have come to my attention.”
“Antiquities, you say?” The captain frowned at Hamil. “In my experience, that is a euphemism for pillaging the old palaces and treasuries of my people. You understand that you may not enter any of the old ruins or vaults in Myth Drannor without a writ of permission from the coronal’s agent?”
“Oh, of course!” said Hamil. “I don’t risk my own neck in such foolishness, I pay others to do it for me. I’m simply here for research. The libraries of Myth Drannor are the finest north of the Sea of Fallen Stars; I’m hoping that they might contain lore pertaining to the items I mentioned. It would save me a great deal of time and trouble if they do.”
Caellen studied Hamil’s face for a moment, and then looked at Sarth with a small frown. Tieflings were hardly commonplace in most lands; Sarth’s brick red skin, swept horns, and barbed tail certainly suggested a dark disposition. “There are potent wards against creatures native to other planes protecting the city,” the captain said to the tiefling. “I am simply warning you that I do not know what might happen if you should enter the city.”
Sarth nodded to the captain. “I am familiar with such measures. In my case, I am several generations removed from my … forebears, and share little with them other than a passing resemblance. I shouldn’t provoke any response from your city’s mythal.”
Caellen shrugged, as if to say we’ll see in a moment, and turned his attention to Geran. A brief frown creased his brow, and Geran wondered if he saw a glimmer of recognition in the captain’s eyes. But at that moment Hamil cleared his throat and said, “This is the first time I’ve visited your city. Can you recommend a comfortable inn that isn’t too costly for a few days’ stay?”
Caellen glanced back to the halfling, forgetting Geran for the moment. The swordmage allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief. “Many travelers speak well of the Swan House,” he answered. “You’ll find it about two hundred yards ahead, on the right-hand side of the avenue. Madame Yisiere can also arrange to introduce you to the librarians at the mage’s college.”
“Excellent!” Hamil said. The elf captain stepped back and inclined his head; Hamil tapped his heels to his pony’s flanks and rode on through the gate. Sarth followed after him, and Geran brought up the rear. He noticed that Caellen and the other guards were watching closely as he rode into the tree-shadowed lanes, but then he realized they were observing Sarth to see if the tiefling experienced any difficulties in entering the city’s magical wardings. Well, that’s one way to deflect suspicions, he thought. Travel with a tiefling, and no one will give you a second look.
Hamil glanced over his shoulder at Geran and spoke mind-to-mind, in the manner of his kind. Is this Swan House where you want to go? he asked.
It will do, he answered, keeping his eyes on Hamil’s-it was the only way the halfling could read his answer. It’s the sort of place a traveling merchant would stay, although it’s not easy on the coinpurse if I remember it rightly.
The halfling nodded and returned his attention to the city ahead. Myth Drannor seemed more like a great noble’s villa than a city; the streets were shaded by trees centuries old, and the buildings they passed-graceful towers, majestic manors flanked by slender colonnades, and elegant homes-were set well back from the street amid the trees and gardens. Even the workshops and mercantile establishments were open arcades of white stone, decorated with delicate carvings in the shape of leaves and flowers. Geran knew of no city in Faerun that was as beautiful, and he sensed the growing wonder of his companions as they rode deeper into the city of the elves. A number of people were out and about, engaged in their day’s errands, but the streets were hardly crowded. Most passersby were moon elves or sun elves who generally greeted the travelers with a polite nod or a small smile, but a few folk of other races were mixed among the elves-humans, halflings, even a dwarf or two. The elves welcomed the merchants, artists, and students of other races, although they kept a close eye on such visitors, and very few were permitted to settle in Myth Drannor. After winding along for a short distance, they came to a fine villa overlooking the ringing lake on the north side of the city. A stone slab by the lane was chiseled in Espruar glyphs beneath the image of a swimming swan. “This is it,” Geran told his companions.
The Swan House was expensive as Geran remembered, but the three companions took a suite by the lakeside and left their mounts in the house’s small stable. There were other places Geran could have guided his friends to, but they were places where he was better known, and he knew it would be wiser to avoid his old haunts. They changed out of their muddy, travel-worn clothes into better dress, and availed themselves of the midday meal provided by the house: a light repast of fruit, cheese, and bread.