"I understand more than you think," Lamruil said, suddenly grave. He reached out and touched the weapons belt at his sister's waist. The clasp had been loosened a notch, displaying the well-worn notch to the right of it.
Amnestria's gazed followed his gesture. She frowned and shrugged. Though beautiful almost beyond measure, there was nothing of vanity in her.
"So? One notch is as good as another, as long as it keeps my sword on and my trousers up."
"Speaking of which, what was the manner of your leave-taking with Elaith?"
The princess's face darkened, and she turned away to snap shut the clasps on the trunk with more force than was needed. "That's none of your business."
Her brother saw that she truly did not understand. "Four moons have passed since Elaith left the island," he said gently. "Before too many more pass, you will have to set aside that belt altogether."
Amnestria spun back to him, her eyes wide with shock. She sank down on the bed and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, I feel such a fool! How could I not have known?"
The prince sat down beside her, hating what he must tell her next. "I know why Elaith left Evermeet. His grandfather passed to Arvandor, and the Craulnober blade passed to him. It went dormant in his hands, as there is no heir to Craulnober."
She sat up, abruptly. "There is now. Damnation! If only he had waited to draw the moonblade until after we-"
"If he had waited, he would be dead," Lamruil interrupted bluntly. "The sword did not accept him. If there had been an heir, it would have slain him and you would have kept the sword in trust for your babe."
They sat in silence for a moment as Amnestria tried to sort it through.
"There is more," Lamruil said reluctantly. He drew a letter from his tunic. "This came through the Relays, from a human ranger and a comrade of Elaith's. He says he feels he knows you a little, from Elaith's descriptions, and he urgently bids you not to come."
"I haven't told anyone I was coming," the princess muttered.
"Well, perhaps he does understand you. There is more. The adventuring group with whom Elaith has taken up has left the city. They seek to find the ancient burial grounds of Aryvandaar-and to despoil them."
Horror dulled Amnestria's eyes like mist, only to be rapidly burned off by the heat of her wrath. "And this human?"
"He does not approve. He will try to stop them, by whatever means needed."
The princess nodded, grimly approving. "And I will help."
"But what of the child?"
"I can still travel for a while, and I can still fight. When I cannot, I will find a place where I am not known, and bear the child in secrecy. For I swear to you before all the gods of the Seldarine, Elaith will never know of this child! I will give the babe up into the hands of another to raise, before I would link my house with a traitor and a rogue!"
She glared at Lamruil, daring him to gainsay her.
"That is your right," he said. "I will help you all I can, but you must promise me two things. First, you must tell me where the child is. Second, he must be raised in the skills and knowledge required of a potential king. Evermeet may have need of him."
Amnestria glared. "Damn it, Lamruil, that's the sort of thing our mother would think of. You're starting to talk like a king yourself."
A wide grin split Lamruil's face. "Not a chance," he said, genuinely amused by the idea. He rose and extended a hand to help her to her feet. "I'll help you slip away," he said softly. "Bran Skorlsun was not the only one to suspect that you would come storming after Elaith. There's a ship waiting for you off the shore of Ruith, and I've bribed enough of the palace servants that you can slip away in secrecy."
The princess thanked him with a brief, fierce hug, and then drew away. "Who is Bran Skorlsun?"
"The human ranger. I have sent word, and told him where to expect you. He seems a fine man, and I think you and he will do well together."
Lamruil was long to remember these words, and oft to rue them. Amnestria did indeed join with Bran Skorlsun, and they were successful in thwarting the efforts of Elaith and his comrades. The ancient burial grounds of Aryvandaar, the resting place of the mortal remains of those who died in defense of that wondrous land, remained sacred.
Elaith was never to learn of his son. The babe was born into the hands of a human, and hidden away to be raised in secret fosterage. Amnestria did all that she promised.
But she did not return to the island. The elven princess found a deeper love than that which she had lost, and she wed Bran Skorlsun. With him she established a rapport as deep as that shared by her royal parents. And in so doing, she inadvertently set in motion events that were to have grim consequences for her family, and for all of Evermeet.
24
2nd day of Ches, 1321 DR
The elf emerged in a glade, a small verdant meadow ringed by a tight circle of vast, ancient oaks. His path had brought him to a spot of rare beauty that, to the untrained eye, appeared to be utterly untouched. Never had the elf seen a place more deeply green; a few determined shafts of early morning sunlight filtered through leaves and vines until even the air around him seemed dense and alive. At his feet, emerald droplets clung to the grass. The elf's seeking eyes narrowed in speculation. Dropping to his knees, he studied the grass until he found it-an almost imperceptible path where the dew had been shaken loose from the ankle-high grass. Yes, his prey had come this way. Quickly he followed the dew trail to where it slipped between two of the giant oaks. He parted a curtain of vines and stepped out of the glade, blinking away the bright morning sun. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a narrow dirt path winding through the trees.
His quarry did not know that they were being followed, so why wouldn't they take the easiest way through the forest? The elf slipped through the underbrush and set off down the path. There was little to indicate that other footsteps had preceded him, but the elf was not concerned. The two he sought were, despite their deplorable origins, among the best rangers he had encountered. Very few could walk through the thick, deep grass of that sheltered glade and leave behind no more than a dew trail.
The elf glided silently along the path, his blood quickening at the thought of the victory that lay ahead, so long awaited and now so close at hand. Elves, particularly Gold elves, were not hasty people, and behind this morning's mission lay years of planning, decades of discussion, and almost four centuries of waiting for the proper means and moment. The time to strike had come, and his would be the first blow.
The path ended at the stone wall, and again the elf paused, alert and observant. He crouched in the shadow of the wall and examined the scene spread out before him. Beyond the wall was a garden, as lovely as anything he had ever seen.
Peacocks strutted about an expanse of lawn, some with tail feathers spread to flaunt dozens of iridescent blue-green eyes. Brilliantly colored kotala birds chattered in the spring-flowering trees that ringed a reflecting pond. The elf's innate love of beauty welled up within him, pushing aside for a moment the urgency of his mission. It would be easy, he mused as he observed the garden scene, for elves to be seduced by such splendor.
As indeed they had been, he concluded as his gaze lifted above the garden to a distant castle, a marvel of enspelled moonstone and marble. His golden eyes glittered with hate and triumph as he realized that the trail had led him to the very center of Gray elf power. The ancient Gold elf race had succumbed to the rule of their inferiors for far too long. With renewed purpose the elf began to plan his attack.
His situation could hardly be better; no guards patrolled the outer palace gardens. If he could catch his prey before they got close to the palace, he would be able to strike and withdraw undetected, and return another day to strike again.