Although the journey might have felt seamless, there was no mistaking that a momentous change had taken place. She and Ganamede were still in a forest, but one quite different from the dense, cool shade of Tethir. The trees were taller, more majestic, and like nothing that Arilyn had ever seen before. The air was warmer, more alive. But the most compellingly apparent change was that the waning night had been replaced by the long golden shadows of late afternoon. This was the time of day Arilyn loved most, the moment near the end of a
perfect spring day that was almost heartbreaking in its beauty, a time that was almost, but not quite, twilight.
Almost twilight.
Suddenly Arilyn understood why Ganamede had insisted she cling to his back: no mortal could make the passage to these fabled realms unassisted. She slid from the lythari and rose slowly to her feet.
"Faerie," she whispered, naming the land which legend claimed to be the elves' first home, a land left behind in a time far beyond memory. According to elven myth, Faerie was a place of incredible beauty that would last for a single day, albeit one nearly immeasurable in its length. Some of the elves, knowing that then-day here would eventually end, had ventured beyond Faerie into other worlds in hope that they might find a way to escape the coming night. Or so legend claimed. Arilyn had always assumed that Faerie was an allegory and not a literal place. She seized Ganamede's face between her hands and repeated the word, this time as a question.
The lythari's wolflike form shimmered and gave way to that of the otherworldly elf, Ganamede smiled at his awestruck friend, his blue eyes gently indulgent.
"Faerie? Well, not quite. This is a place between the worlds-quite fitting for people such as you and I who are neither wholly one thing nor another. But come- you wanted to meet the others."
Too stunned to give voice to the thousand questions that whirled through her mind, Arilyn followed as Ganamede set off toward the sound of felling water. There, by a waterfall in a glade the color of an emerald's heart, the lythari made their home.
After one glance, Arilyn understood that her quest was futile. She could think of nothing that could entice the lythari into the conflict of war. The peace and beauty of this place made the very thought of it an unspeakable obscenity, as was the notion of disturbing the serenity and joy of these magical beings. *
Several adults in elven form danced to the haunting music of a bone pipe, played by a lythari woman so delicate she seemed carved of moonlight. Two more elves bathed in the splashing waters of the falls, laughing as they watched the antics of a trio of wolflike young that tumbled and played at the edge of the pool.
An involuntary smile curved Arilyn's lips. This was how Ganamede had looked when she first met him- although not nearly so carefree and joyful.
The young lythari had ventured into the outer world too soon, only to be caught in a snare. Arilyn had been a child herself at the time, willful enough to ignore the warnings about venturing alone into the wild Greycloak Hills that surrounded Evereska, young enough to be charmed with the idea of keeping a pet wolf. Her mother, Zlwryl, had had other ideas. She sent word to the lythari's tribe-exactly how, Arilyn had never learned- and a stern, pale-haired male elf came the next day to whisk away the errant cub. But it seemed that the young lythari had a contrary streak to match Arilyn's own. Many times over the next several years he slipped away to seek out his half-elven playmate. When Arilyn left Evereska after her mother's death, Ganamede had given her a summoning pipe and a knowledge of the "doors to the gate" where she might find him. Only now did Arilyn understand what that meant. Although there was but one gate to the lythari's lair, they could probably emerge at will in Tethir or Evermeet or Cormanthor. But why would they choose to do so, other than to hunt?
"The lythari will not come," Arilyn said softly.
"No," agreed Ganamede, "but I had to show you, else you would not have understood why."
He took her arm and drew her away from the peaceful glade. "But I myself will take you to the nearest settlement of the green elves, a place known as Talltrees. It lies a day's walk to the north, but I can get you there in a matter of hours. I wish there were more I could do for you."
Despite her disappointment, Arilyn couldn't help but smile as she pictured the impact Ganamede's appearance would make. "That's more helpful than you know," she said in a wry tone. "If an entrance like that doesn't impress the forest people, 111 know enough to turn around and go home!"
The palace of Pasha Balik was without doubt the largest and most impressive building in all of Zazesspur. At its core was a summer palace built by Alehandro III. Amazingly, it had escaped the destruction of the royal family-followed by the demolition of most of the royal properties-virtually unscathed. When Balik came to power he'd taken it over, bought up the surrounding land, and expanded the original buildings into an enormous marble complex ringed by even more spectacular gardens.
One of the newer additions was a large chamber suitable for meetings of state. Here met the Council of Lords-a dozen men and women of noble rank-to hear important cases, debate policy, and make decisions that would address the good of all the people of Zazesspur. At least, that was the Council's original and stated intent. The Council, inspired by the lords who ruled Waterdeep, had been created shortly after the downfall of the royal house. Though it was intended to be the ruling body, most of its members came to view their seats as stepping stones toward greater power. In recent years, however, the Council had done little more than carry out the will of the pasha.
Balik was a vain man who allowed himself to be seduced by the notion of his own importance. He had grown increasingly deaf to the voices of the coalition of southerners, royalists, and merchants who had brought bim to power. Seldom these days did he hear anything but his own inclinations.
Today, however, Pasha Balik seemed unusually willing to listen to counsel. "You are all aware of the growing threat from the elven people," he began. "Caravans ransacked, trade lost, farms and trading posts attacked. We will set all other business aside and consider how best to deal with this problem."
Lord Faunce, one of the few noblemen present who had actually inherited his title, rose to speak. "What do the elves have to say about this matter?"
"That is something none but the gods can tell you. The Elven Council has been destroyed, the settlement burned to ash," supplied Zonguiar, a priest of Ihnater, speaking this dire news with lugubrious relish.
Lord Hhune, guildmaster, rose to his feet. "My lords, must I remind you that in less enlightened times an effort was made to push the elves from this country? Their lands were seized, many were slain, some were pushed deep into the forest. I speak for patience and urge forbearance," he said passionately. "At the very least, let us take time to examine the reports against the elves and see if perhaps the tales have grown somewhat in the telling. To move too quickly would certainly result in a waste of fighting men and most likely in the deaths of many innocent elven folk!"
A few of the other lords exchanged arch looks. Hhune had been quite young during the less enlightened times" he spoke of, yet few present doubted that he would not have been among the most zealous in carrying out his king's desire to exterminate the elves of Tethyr. But ever changeful were the winds of fortune, and few among them could match Hhune's skill as a social weather vane. For the most part, they admired him for it.
Even so, the Marquessa D*Morreto couldn't resist putting in a dig. "The memories of the elves are long. It may well be that they act in retaliation for the wrongs done them," she suggested piously.