and swept him up from the ground. Corellon swung back with her and hit the trunk of a massive tree with numbing force.
The storm-blasted leaves rustled down over the clearing as the monster's beaklike mandible again closed on his throat. But Corellon still held fast to his sword. He brought the weapon up through the tangle of spidery limbs, slicing deep into the bulbous body. Araushnee released him suddenly. With a small, pitiful moan, she swung out of reach on her thread of magic.
Corellon slid along the trunk of the tree and stood on the ground, watching, heartsick, as the creature who had been his love rocked slowly back and forth on her silvery thread, holding her maimed limbs close to her torn body. Despite her horrific form, she looked for all the world like an elven child trying to comfort herself. Just when Corellon thought he could bear no more, the creature's appearance shifted again, and her visage become Araushnee's beautiful, defiant face.
'Kill me,' she taunted him in a pain-racked voice. 'You will never rid yourself of me, else-even now, my limbs begin to grow anew. But you cannot do it, can you? Even in this you are weak! Kill me if you can, and end it!'
Corellon raised his sword high overhead and hurled it with all his strength. As Sahandrian spun end over end toward the former goddess, the elf lord held his breath and hoped that the sword would obey his will, rather than its own. If Sahandrian followed its inclinations, Araushnee's taunt would surely become reality.
But the elven sword merely sliced through the thread that suspended Araushnee above the forest floor. She fell, shrieking with rage.
She never hit the ground.
A dark, whirling portal opened on the forest, a gate to another plane. Araushnee spun into the portal, her spidery limbs flailing. For many long moments after she disappeared, the Seldarine listened until her voice-cursing them all and swearing vengeance upon all things elven-faded away and was lost in the howl of the Abyssal wind. When all was silent, when the dreadful portal had vanished, the new goddess Angharradh came to Corellon's side. 'There was nothing more you could do for her,' she said quietly. 'Araushnee became what she truly was. She is where she belongs. It is over.'
But Corellon shook his head. 'Not so,' he said with deep sorrow. 'The battle for control of Arvandor is over, and Araushnee and her cohorts have lost. But I fear that for the elven People, the struggle has just begun.'
14th day of Nightal, 1367 DR
To Lord Danilo Thann of Waterdeep, Harper and bard, does Lamruil, Prince of Evermeet, send greetings.
I read your recent missive with great interest. The task you have undertaken, and your reasons for doing so, are even nearer to my heart than you might suspect.
It might surprise you to learn that you are not entirely unknown to me. I remember you from the sentencing of Kymil Nimesin-although admittedly more for the company you kept than for any other reason. At the time, I was struck by the resemblance between your Harper partner, Arilyn, and my sister Amnestria. (Do not trouble your memory-you will not recall my face. I was cloaked and cowled at the time to disguise my identity. My height and size are such that I am not immediately recognized as elven, and my years among the humans have taught me to move and even speak as you do.)
I did not then know or even suspect that Arilyn was Amnestria's half-elven daughter, nor did I sense that my sister's moonblade is now in Arilyn's able hands. Unfortunately, the actual trial of Lord Kymil was private, else I would have learned of my kinswoman's part in bringing this traitor to justice, and could have made myself known to her, and to you.
My mother the queen recently told me of the great service Arilyn did for the elven people of Tethyr. She also spoke of the honor that Arilyn has done me in naming me her blade heir. I have enclosed with this letter a personal note to her, and ask that you give it to her with my highest regards and humble thanks. I hope to meet you both in the near future, to welcome you belatedly to the Moonflower family-although, regrettably, only on my own behalf.
And now, to the business of your letter. You asked me of Kymil Nimesin. There is much I could tell you. He possessed many of the virtues and qualities that define elven nobility: an ancient and honored bloodline, skill in the arts of warcraft and magic, physical beauty and grace, a wide knowledge of lore and history. Few elves can match him with the sword, and I once considered myself fortunate to have studied with him. He was also touted as a far- traveled adventurer. Years ago, I was flattered when he asked me to accompany him to Faerun for the great work of seeking and recovering artifacts from lost elven lands. At the time, I could not begin to guess what he truly sought.
As a bard, you have surely heard some of the stories told of the lost children of Evermeet. Only two of the thirteen children born to Queen Amnestria and King Zaor are still known to live-this is one of Evermeet's greatest sorrows. It may be that some are yet alive, but Lord Kymil sought to remove all doubt by seeking and destroying all heirs to Evermeet's throne.
Why did he spare me, then? You, Lord Thann, may understand this better than most. Like you, I am the youngest of many children. My reputation among my people is-forgive me-no better than yours. Unlike you, however, I am no thespian who cloaks his talents behind a mask of frivolity. (My mother the queen is kept well informed of the Harpers and their methods, and your work is known to the elves. You, a proven spell-singer, would no doubt find amusing some of the discussion concerning the utter impossibility of a human mage casting elven musical spells.) Unlike you, I am precisely what I appear to be: restless, frivolous, not sufficiently reverential toward tradition, too quick to take action, too fond of feminine charms and ill content to restrict my enjoyment to potential elven princesses, too enamored of the wide world and the many peoples in it-in short, I am hardly a suitable elven prince. Lord Kymil saw in me a moderately useful tool, and no more. No doubt he would have disposed of me, too, once he thought my usefulness had reached an end.
What motivated Kymil Nimesin? This question has preyed upon the minds of elven sages and philosophers since the death of my father the king. What would cause an elven noble of great gifts and good family to turn against a royal clan-not to mention a king chosen by the gods themselves?
This is clearer to me than it is to many elves, for I have traveled widely and, like you, I have loved a woman of mixed blood. My heart has become a harp tuned to play melodies not known to the minstrels of Evermeet. My eyes see that pride isolates the elves from the world-and pits them in endless battle against each other.
As a bard and a scholar of elven lore, you know that the elven races have often been in conflict with each other. During the terrible centuries in which the Crown Wars swept in killing waves over the People, Gold elves sought to expand their rule at the expense of Silver and Green elf settlements, Green elves joined with dark elves to combat this aggression, and finally Gold and Silver and Green elves banded together to drive the dark elves Below. The Crown Wars and other battles like them tell but a part of the tale. A subtle, constant battle has been waged between the elven races, a battle that is older than the beginning of elven history. If you would understand Kymil Nimesin and his followers, you must go back as far as lore and legend will take you and observe the ancient conflict between Silver and Gold. From such threads are woven the tapestry of Evermeet.
As you follow the story of Silver and Gold, keep in mind that clan Nimesin is a sept-that is, a minor branch-of the ancient clan Durothil. This fact alone will explain much.
I repeat: Kymil Nimesin represents much of what is valued by elven nobility. By the same token, he illustrates that which is most basically and grievously wrong with the elven People.
Prelude
10 day of Alturiak, 1369 DR
Kymil Nimesin gazed out of the window of his cell into the endless void beyond. Actually, it was not precisely a void, for points of light glimmered like stars in a deep sapphire sky. Starlight was as important to an elf as the air he breathed, and not even Kymil's human captors were so ignorant or so cruel as to deprive him of this.
His other needs had been well met as well. His 'prison' was in fact a well-appointed suite of rooms. Kymil had all the basic necessities and many comforts, as well as extras seldom afforded a captive and a traitor.
