face as their gazes met. The elf lord’s deep old eyes danced with… mischief?
“We meet now as equals,” Faerlthann said, rousing himself with an effort. “As leaders of our people. Let us come to terms now.”
“If you would be king, you must have a crown,” said the elf, raising his slender hands to the circlet that banded his own brow. Behind Iliphar, the warrior-elf spat a protest, but the old elf took off his crown and held it aloft over Faerlthann’s head.
“I cannot make you king, for your own people have done that,” said Iliphar, and though his voice seemed quiet, it called forth echoes from trees outside the pavilion. “I only recognize that fact in granting you this crown, Faerlthann Obarskyr, son of Ondeth, lord of Suzail, master of the humans within it, and King of Cormyr, the Wolf Woods… the Forest Kingdom. I call upon you to protect this land as the elves have protected it, to recognize the rights of the elves to hunt within its domains, and for you and your heirs to show wisdom and compassion in the dispatch of your duties. Your father ruled for twenty years while rejecting any title. You will have the harder job, for much will be expected of you.”
With that, the elder elf laid the circlet on Faerlthann’s head. Jaquor Silver led a shout of acclaim from the watching humans.
Othorion, the warrior-elf, let out a cry of rage as his radiant blade slid out of its scabbard once more. “Has age finally addled you, my lord,” he snarled, “that you invest such children-such rough, uncultured, unfeeling, unwashed cubs-to protect our forest? I say we should drive them like the rothe before us and make this land truly ours again, washing free the stain they’ve left upon it with their own blood! Let us be masters of this forest once more!”
There was a murmur of assent, small but definitely present, from the watching elves. The men drew together, hands straying to their blades. Arphoind Bleth strode to Faerlthann’s side, his blade half drawn.
Baerauble broke in. “Your first challenge, Lord of the Land of the Purple Dragon. How do you respond to this?” There was a trace of mockery in his tone.
No, not mockery, thought Faerlthann, putting out a hand to stay Arphoind. The wizard was stressing the title of the land. The fledgling King of Cormyr looked at Baerauble, seeing if the mage’s tone meant sarcasm. No, the wizard was nervous now… more anxious than before. What did he mean, then? And why did he keep mentioning the mythical purple dragon?
Suddenly it dawned on Faerlthann Obarskyr what the wizard meant and whose side Baerauble was on, after all.
“When I was but a child,” he began, nodding toward Baerauble, “a venerable and wise elf-friend betimes would sit by our fire and tell stories. His tales were wondrous and great, and chief among them was the saga of an elven king who bested in single combat a great dragon whose black scales had turned purple with age. This elven king’s battle skill was mighty, but his words were mightier still. He showed the dragon that twenty elves might fall to slay a dragon, but twenty more elves would come to replace them-to face no dragon, for the loss of a dragon is a harder thing to recover from than the loss of a band of elves.”
The young man looked at Iliphar. Yes, the lights of mischief were dancing in the elf lord’s eyes, and something else, too. Respect.
“So I offer you the same hard lesson, Othorion. You may step down from your high throne and slay me, and perhaps kill all my companions. You might even burn Suzail as other human camps have been burned. But that will not be the end of things, for more humans will come. And these may not be as friendly or as kind as we of Ondeth’s people. If they find our bones, they will know peril awaits in the woods. They may be armed with fire, with steel, and with magic. They may choose to destroy your woods to take the land for themselves. And even in our graves, we will have won, if only in bringing your world to ruin. Is that what you choose, warrior-elf?”
Othorion opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at Lord Iliphar. The elder elf raised an eyebrow, daring the elf to speak. Slowly, and very reluctantly, Othorion sheathed his blade once more.
“You take on a heavy mantle,” said Iliphar, turning back to Faerlthann. “Your father’s work and lands and these woods of the elves are great and carry a great weight. There will be more humans, and you and your kindred must teach them, as Ondeth was taught, to use the land but to respect it. It is a daunting job.”
Faerithann nodded.
“For that reason, I think you need an advisor,” said the elf lord, “one who will remain with you and aid you and your descendants. One vested in the knowledge of the elves and in the passions of humans.” He turned toward Baerauble.
For the first time, the mage was surprised. “Me? I cannot! Lord, I have served you well these many years!”
“And you shall serve us well again,” said Iliphar, “for humans have short memories and short lives, and you must guide them.”
“But I have a life among the elves!” the wizard protested, motioning to the elf woman on the throne. “I have my love and children here… and my grandchildren!”
“And they shall be cared for as well,” said Iliphar, stepping before the mage. “I know you well, Baerauble Etharr. You calculated that these other humans would follow young Faerlthann here, and you contrived to make them search their hearts and honor Ondeth’s memory and his son with a crown. And you aided this young king in finding the perfect tale to cool hot Othorion. You prodded, poked, and manipulated us all. And all-I trust-because you desired to protect this land.”
The elder elf smiled. “And now you will protect this land and its rulers. You will advise, and calculate, and teach now among humans. I charge you with protecting the crown of Cormyr.”
Baerauble sputtered a few protests but trailed off into silence. Looking into Iliphar’s eyes, he nodded in surrender and acceptance.
The elder elf muttered a few words in a tongue Faerlthann did not recognize, then placed his hands on either side of the wizard’s brow, as if he, too, were being crowned with an invisible helm. There was a brief, soft glow where the elf’s hands touched Baerauble’s face.
The elf lord stepped back. He looked older now, but his eyes still danced. “We will go now. You shall see less and less of us with each passing generation. Perhaps we will become legends like Thauglor the Black, the great purple dragon. But know that we lived, as did he, and remember that old legend you spoke of as well, for it holds both a promise… and a warning.”
It was then that Faerlthann realized that the elves were disappearing. One at a time, they were turning translucent and fading from view like fog on a sunny summer morning. The elven court held some powerful magic, it seemed. As the men gaped around, knuckles white on the hilts of their blades, the elves simply vanished, in ones and twos, like wisps of smoke. As Iliphar spoke, more disappeared, until at last all that remained were the humans and the three elves who had sat on the thrones.
The warrior-elf Othorion nodded grimly to the humans as he faded away, and as he did so, the voluminous tent began to fade as well.
Alea Dahast rose and gently descended the steps, standing at last before Baerauble. Under her feet, the steps melted away into smoke, and as the throne dwindled into drifting shadows, the elf lady parted the human wizard’s reaching hands and reached up her hands to his face.
The mage looked devastated as she took his head in her hands and kissed him, gently and yet deeply almost hungrily. For two breaths and more, the kiss went on, and everyone heard Jaquor Silver shift and swallow at the sight. And then suddenly Alea was gone, leaving Baerauble staring at nothing, with tears running down his cheeks, holding only empty air.
Iliphar placed a hand on Faerlthann’s shoulder. “Rule well, child,” he said gently.
And then he, too, was gone, and with him the great pavilion. King Faerlthann and the nobles of Cormyr were alone in the smoky dawn of their first day.
Chapter 11: In the Shadow of the King
Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)
“If you should… ever cross into Sembia there’s a little place called Yuthgalaunt, on the road from Ordulin to
