The battle was nearly over; Arvandor was secure. Corellon nodded in satisfaction and thrust his sword back into its scabbard.
An odd, tingling feeling sizzled up his hand as his fingers brushed the weave of the tapestry sheath. Suddenly he was struck by an overwhelming sense of evil, a malevolence more terrible than Malar's cloud of darkness.
Corellon instinctively tried to shy away, and found that he could not. He looked down at his boots. A viscous, sickly green substance had oozed from the ground, and was holding him fast.
"Ghaunadar," the elf lord murmured in horror. Ghaunadar was an ancient, elemental evil, one that had never before been seen anywhere on Olympus. Only the presence of true evil could open the door of Arvandor to such a power. Corellon knew a moment of despair as he realized the extent of the treachery within the Seldarine.
At that moment the ogrish god who fled the avenging sprites careened past Corellon. The ogre's yellow eyes widened at the sight of the trapped elven god, then darkened with bloodlust and dreams of glory. Ignoring the stinging swords of the sprites, the ogre lifted high his flail-a length of thick chain that ended in a spiked ball-and began to swing it in circles as he came at the elven god.
Corellon reached for Sahandrian. The sword would not come free; the tapestry sheath clenched around it like a malevolent fist.
Startled, Corellon glanced toward the place where Araushnee stood. The naked triumph on her face chilled him as even the cloud of Malar or the creeping horror of Ghaunadar could not do.
Before he could absorb this shock, Eilistraee's shriek torn his gaze from Araushnee's gloating face. Corellon glanced up as his daughter loosed an arrow that took the attacking ogre through the throat.
The bestial god stopped; his whirling flail did not. The chain wrapped, once, twice, around his neck before the spiked balls slammed into his chest. His outline began to fade, but not before two more of Eilistraee's arrows bristled from his throat.
A fourth arrow was already in flight. Corellon felt again the tingle running from the scabbard, saw the arrow subtly change course. As his daughter's arrow spun toward him, Corellon realized why his sword had shattered during the battle with Gruumsh One-Eye.
The pain of Araushnee's treachery swept through him in great, crushing waves. Corellon did not even feel his daughter's arrow pierce his breast.
5
End of Battle, Declaration of War
Sunset had faded from the forest, and the moon was just beginning to rise when Aerdrie Faenya, battered but triumphant, flew back to the battlefields of Arvandor. The day had been long, but it had seen Auril Stormbringer soundly defeated. The price of this defeat had been Auril's eternal banishment from Olympus; henceforth, the goddess of ill weather would have to content herself with bringing winter to mortal worlds. This, of course, would add considerably to Aerdrie's responsibilities-she would have to ensure that the vanquished goddess did not focus her icy wrath upon the elven People. She suspected that many of the defeated and banished gods would take their revenge upon the mortal elves.
As she soared over the battle site, Aerdrie was relieved to note that her brother and sister deities had also triumphed. Most of the invaders had been banished, and the battlefield, though much trampled and bloodied, was nearly quiet. The trees of Arvandor would bear the scars of Auril's storms for some time to come, but all the forest deities would join in healing and cleansing the forest. Already the huntress daughter of Corellon was perched high in one such tree, no doubt saying healing magic over the blasted limbs.
The goddess swooped down toward the soon-to-be-victorious Seldarine, her thoughts already upon the celebration ahead. Her gaze fell upon young Eilistraee just as the grim-faced huntress loosed a black arrow. With horror, Aerdrie saw the arrow streak toward Corellon Larethian. It pierced the shining mail that covered the elf lord's chest and sent him hurtling backward.
A shriek like that of a rising wind tore from Aerdrie's throat. It did not occur to her that Eilistraee's act could be anything other than treachery, for all the Seldarine knew of the Dark Maiden's skill with the bow.
The goddess of air flung out both hands. From her fingers burst a tempest whose fury would have shamed Auril. The blast of wind struck the young huntress with a force that hurled her from the tree. Eilistraee plummeted down, winter-dry branches snapping beneath her as she fell. She hit the ground hard and lay still.
Sparing the fallen goddess not so much as a glance, Aerdrie alighted and hurried over to join the surviving members of the Seldarine, who were clustering around their fallen leader. They all fell back, however, to allow Araushnee passage, and watched in respectful silence as the goddess knelt at Corellon's side to mourn her fallen love. "He is not dead," Hanali Celanil said suddenly. Araushnee lifted her tear-streaked face from her hands and affixed an accusing gaze upon the goddess of love and beauty. "How can you, of all the gods, mock my grief? My beloved is gone!"
"The Dark Maiden's arrows could not slay him," said Hanali, this time more emphatically.
"I do not know why Eilistraee would do such a thing, but I do know that her aim is certain. Never once has she missed her mark," Araushnee countered.
Without wasting time in further speech, Hanali pushed aside the elf lord's consort and knelt in her place. Corellon's protective mail parted instantly before her touch. "It is as I thought," she murmured, studying the large arrowhead partially lodged in the elf lord's chest. "Eilistraee was hunting ogres-this arrow is big enough and strong enough to punch through the beasts' hides, but it's too large to slip between Corellon's ribs. It is lodged there. Help me," she said, turning to Aerdrie.
Between the two of them, the goddesses removed the arrow from the elven god and tended his wounds. But Corellon did not revive. There was about him an aura of immobilizing despair, as if the evil that he'd fought throughout that long day had chilled him deeply, leaving him frozen within himself. The other deities began to chant softly, speeding the elf lord's healing with their gathered power. Even Araushnee rallied from her grief to produce a shining vial from the folds of her gown.
"Water from Elysium, infused with healing herbs from the heart of Arvandor. It will help restore him," she said, and lifted the vial to Corellon's lips.
In truth, Araushnee had prepared for this eventuality. She'd had ample evidence of late of how tenaciously her "love" clung to his immortal life. The potion in her vial might not be deadly enough to kill the wounded god, but it would certainly slide him deeper into slumber. With a little luck-and perhaps some repeated doses-Corellon would never awaken. And if the nature of his deathlike slumber should ever be discovered, Araushnee would disclose a simple but devastating truth: It was Eilistraee who had gathered the herbs and brewed the potion. The young huntress had prepared the deadly poison not for her use, but for the war arrows of mortal elves; however, none but she and Araushnee knew this. Since Eilistraee was beyond speech and would be for some time to come-if not for all time-Araushnee felt confident that this particular aspect of her plot was beyond discovery. And then, once Corellon's power was hers to command, she would-
A ray of moonlight, sharp as a stiletto, struck with lightning speed, shattering the goddess's dream of victory and dashing the vial from her ebony fingers. Startled, Araushnee fell back from Corellon and shrieked out a curse, one so vile that it shocked the chanting elven deities into silence.
The attacking moonlight backed away, softened, and spread into a mist-and then took on a form that by now was all too familiar to Araushnee.