"Such as?"
"The other ships," Lamruil said bluntly. "We tell her where they are bound. Amlaruil has the power to cast a spell that can teleport a single ship away from Evermeet. She might be able to manage to send two away, and live. But more?" The prince shook his head. "She will try, all the same."
"And I lose my ships."
"And gain a kingdom," the prince said. "How many of the elven survivors of Evermeet would follow you if your hand was raised against their beloved queen? Zaor might forgive you. But never Amlaruil. No, we go in playing the part of heroes. Amlaruil dies defending her people. I am no king," he said negligently, "nor do I wish to be. Nor, for that matter, will the people of Evermeet embrace me. I’ll happily set aside the sword of Zaor-and take myself off to the mainland for a life filled with soft women and hard cider. It would suit me far better than a crown. Then you, in whatever guise you choose, will be free to restore the Council of Elders. We both get what we want."
Kymil stared at the prince, astonished by the grim tone, the venal light in his eyes. He had known Lamruil was a self-centered wastrel, but he hadn't thought him capable of such focused thought, even in the effort of self-preservation. He would test just how far the prince was willing to go.
"Convince me," Kymil suggested. "Tell me more."
"You have a spelljammer. I heard the others talking. Do not send it in until the island is subdued. Sumbrar has defenses that would bring it down with ease."
"The Guardians. The sleeping dragons have already been released, and most have exchanged their age-long slumber for a more permanent one. The same goes for the dragonriders. I am not troubled by the thought of a few pegasi."
"There is a Starwing fleet on Sumbrar," Lamruil said.
"Not so. The fleet was destroyed over five hundred years ago, during the flight of the dragons!"
"True, but it was rebuilt in secrecy. There are ten ships." Lamruil gave a short, concise description that left Kymil utterly convinced. He had spent enough time on just such a ship to know that only firsthand knowledge could prompt the prince's words.
The prince continued, describing the defenses of the island and the powers of its queen in such detail that Kymil was nearly convinced.
"Give me one thing more, and we will do as you suggest," the elf said.
A strange, almost mad light entered the prince's eyes. "It may be that for one reason or another you may wish to restore the throne of Evermeet. There is a lawful heir. The princess Amnestria had a child."
Kymil snorted. "Don't remind me! A half-breed bastard is no contender for the throne, by any elf s measure."
"Arilyn was my sister's second child. She had another-a son by a Moon elf of a noble family. No one on Evermeet knows this but me. The prince is not aware of his identity. I can tell you where he is. I can prove he is who I say he is. You can use him or slay him, as suits your needs."
The Gold elf nodded, convinced of the worth of what Lamruil offered. The truth of it, he already knew. After all, it was a small matter to cast a spell that weighed the truthfulness of what was said.
"We will do as you say," he said. "But be assured that a dagger will find your heart before one word of betrayal can escape your lips!"
The prince shrugged. "Just let me out of this hole, and I will be content."
The harbor guards brought Lamruil directly to the queen's council chamber, as she requested. A spasm of pain crossed her drawn face as her gaze fell upon her son's wasted form. Even thin as he was, clad in filthy garments and marked with several small wounds from the battle that freed him, he carried himself with an arrogance that brought frowns to the faces of all of Amlaruil's advisers.
Even so, he was her son, her last child. Amlaruil flew to him and enfolded him in her arms. He embraced her briefly, then took her shoulders and put her away from him.
"There is little time, mother," he said urgently. "I know where the other four ships are bound. One carries three score Red Wizards, determined to despoil Evermeet's magical treasures. With them are human ruffians who came for gold and elven wenches. There are more of their ilk on each of the four remaining ships. Human wizards, too, and as many fighters as they could pack into the hold like cord-wood. I know what I am asking of you, but I know too that you would wish to know this."
Amlaruil's troubled eyes searched his face. "Ilyrana is gone," she said softly. "If I do this thing, will you take your father's sword?"
"Bring it to me," the prince said stoutly. "I will take it up if I must!"
The queen nodded to an adviser, who brought the sheathed weapon from its place of honor on the pedestal behind her throne. She laid it on a table nearby.
"All of you must bear witness to this. I name Prince Lamruil my successor. Now you must keep silent while I cast the needed spell."
Keryth leaped to his feet, shaking with rage. "You cannot, my queen! I know what you mean to do, and I know what the end will be. You are needed here! We will deal with these ships. Surely they are not such a threat as the prince tries to paint them!"
A hesitant expression crossed Amlaruil's face. "You have seen these ships, Lamruil. Must I cast this spell?"
Before he could answer, the sounds of a brief struggle and a woman's angry voice erupted from the hall. Maura burst into the chamber, her eyes wild. She gasped at the sight of Lamruil, but did not go to him. Rather, she ran to the queen and quickly told her all that she had seen.
"The warrior maid is Ilyrana," Maura concluded. "And she called for you! The elf-eater is in Arvandor itself! It attacks the spirits of the faithful. I saw Zaor among them."
Amlaruil's face firmed with resolve.
"We need you here," Keryth repeated.
"Not really," Lamruil said coldly. "Whether she casts the spell or not, I would demand her abdication. The sword is mine now, and the kingdom with it."
Maura rounded on him. "And what of your queen? What of me?"
A faintly puzzled expression crossed the prince's face. "What of you? I will chose an elf maiden of high family for my queen."
The woman's eyes flamed. "You are nothing but a… an albino drow!" she gritted out.
The prince shrugged again and turned to the queen. "Well, mother? What will it be? Duty as always?" He let out a brief, scornful laugh when Amlaruil nodded, and then turned to the cowled elf at his side. "Convinced, my lord? Will you tell her where these ships might be found?"
The elf slipped off his hood, to reveal a handsome but unfamiliar golden face. He spoke briefly and precisely. When he was done, Lamruil took up one of the queen's pale hands and pressed it to his lips.
"Farewell then, mother," he said lightly.
The queen stared at him a moment, and then turned and walked to her throne. She sat upon it, and closed her eyes. An aura of magic gathered around her as she began the casting that would send the dangerous ships from her shores-and that would send her to fight once again at Zaor's side.
The elves watched with tears in their eyes as their queen summoned her final spell in their defense. Silent power gathered, swirling through the room like a whirlwind and whipping the elves' hair and cloaks wildly about. Suddenly there was an explosion, a second terrible silent blast.
Amlaruil was gone.
In one quick movement, the prince lunged for the king sword and drew it from its ancient scabbard. The stunned and grieving elves were dealt a second shock to see the prince standing, alive and unharmed. The sword of Zaor gleamed in his hands, and the magical blue light seemed to hum with righteous wrath.
"I name you, Kymil Nimesin, traitor to Evermeet, and I call upon the magic of the sword to dispel the illusion you have cast. All of you, bear witness."
The features of the Gold elf's face shimmered and blurred, quickly rearranged themselves into a familiar visage-that of the elf whose machinations had led to the deaths of King Zaor and Amnestria.