payment for what I have lost this day.'
The orc dashed blood from his face and squinted at his foe with his one remaining eye. 'You don't know the half of it, elf,' he growled. 'And you can't begin to understand what you've lost-you don't even know the names of your foes! As for defeat, I admit none! Kill me now, if you can, and your own silver whore will bear witness that you struck down a wounded and unarmed foe!'
Corellon glanced moonward, and knew that, at least in this much, the orc spoke truth. The goddess of moonlight and mystery would see all and would be compelled by honor to speak of such dishonor before the Seldarine Counsel. Even if Corellon wished to do so, he could not slay the downed orcish god. Nor, by the terms of their agreement, could he banish Gruumsh from Olympus before the orc chose to go.
'You spoke of others,' the elf lord said, glancing over the silent hills, 'but I see no one ready to take up your fallen weapons.'
The orc smirked. 'As long as you're on the open Moor, I need no help from anyone. It's a long walk to Arvandor, elf, and you're swaying on your feet like a sapling in a strong wind. Go if you can-I'll not be far behind you. One eye is more than I need to follow a trail through these hills. If you're still standing when I find you, we will fight again. If not, I will kill you where you lie!'
Corellon found that he could not scoff at this grim promise. The heat of his battle fever was fast slipping away, and the weight of his wounds pressed heavily upon him. It was possible that the orc, grievously wounded though he was, could do exactly as he promised. Without another word, Corellon turned once more toward Arvandor.
Dense and deep was the forest curtain that surrounded Arvandor. Lost beings could wander in the woodlands beyond its borders for many days, never once passing over the invisible boundary, perhaps never even realizing that their way was barred. Ancient trees shifted to confound the passerby, paths appeared seemingly at random only to disappear into a forest pool or a bed of ferns; brooks suddenly widened into vast yawning chasms; thick tangles of vines suddenly sprouted thorns or simply refused to part. Arvandor was a haven and a fortress.
Hidden among the green shadows that surrounded and protected Arvandor, an elven goddess clung to the uppermost branches of a tree and peered out over the woodlands. Her slender black fingers clenched tightly around her handhold, and her beautiful face was taut with foreboding.
Three long days had passed since Corellon Larethian, her lover and her lord, had gone to meet with the orcish god. Araushnee awaited the outcome with tense anticipation. She had much at stake. There was no telling what might happen among the Seldarine if Corellon did not return. Although none among the elven gods could truly replace Corellon, many would certainly try.
Araushnee's relationship with the Seldarine's leader was unique. Corellon Larethian was all things elven: warrior and poet, mage and bard, even male and female. But since the coming of Araushnee, the deity had settled into a single aspect: that of a Gold elven male. In Araushnee, he had seen his perfect counterpart: female to his male, artist to his warrior, the mysteries of midnight to balance the brightness of day. Though Araushnee was but a minor goddess, Corellon had been utterly enchanted with her beauty and had made her his consort. She had borne him children-twin godlings as darkly beautiful as herself. As the beloved of Corellon, Araushnee held a place of honor among the Seldarine, as well as new powers that the elven god had bestowed upon her. By Corellon's decree, the destiny of the mortal elves who shared her dark beauty was in her keeping. She had learned to enjoy that power, and she feared its loss at least as much as she feared the battle's outcome.
Her sharp ears caught a faint sound-the distant hiss and rustle of underbrush trampled underfoot. No elven god would make such a clamor. Araushnee had her answer, at last.
The goddess slipped down from her perch on a thread of magic. Her slippers touched the forest floor without a sound, but before she could take a single step toward the victorious orc, her eyes fell upon a most unexpected sight.
Corellon.
The elf lord was but a few dozen paces away. His progress was slow, and he looked as battered as a trod- upon flower, but still he moved through the woodlands like a breath of wind. Araushnee's gaze dropped to his hip. The sheath she had woven and enchanted was gone, and the sword Sahandrian was whole. An invisible aura clung to the sword-the unmistakable touch of Sehanine's moon magic.
Araushnee's crimson eyes flamed at this new evidence of her rival's hand in her personal affairs. Dizzy with rage, the goddess flung out one hand as if to erase Sehanine's handiwork. Magic burst unbidden from her ebony fingertips, spinning out into a vast curtain that blocked the forest in either direction, as far as her eyes could discern.
Corellon stopped, clearly puzzled by the glistening barrier that presumed to bar Arvandor to him.
Chagrin tore through Araushnee. Surely the god would know whose hand this was. Even as besotted as he was with her, he would certainly see this act as treachery. And even as weakened as he obviously was, he could easily overshadow the magic of a minor goddess. Then where would she be? Damned by a single impulse, all her work undone.
Thinking quickly, Araushnee began to weave another sort of web. She stepped out of the shadows into plain sight, her face alight with feigned relief and welcome.
Pass through, my love, she said silently, willing her words into Corellon's mind. The web will not hinder you but will bar the orc. Go, and find healing.
She felt the answering surge of Corellon's gratitude and love-and was buffeted by a nearly overwhelming wave of exhaustion. As if he sensed this, Corellon quickly withdrew his painful touch. The elven god slipped through Araushnee's net as easily as a falcon pierces a cloud. He kissed his fingers to her in a salute, then disappeared into the forest to seek the trees of Arvandor.
Araushnee stayed where she was. Distasteful though the prospect might be, she had to speak with Gruumsh, for she had questions that only the orc could answer.
She did not have long to wait. Gruumsh apparently had caught an elven scent-whether hers or Corellon's she did not know or care-and he came crashing wildly through the forest toward her.
Toward the web.
The orc blundered right into it. Flailing wildly, he roared and cursed and accomplished nothing but getting himself hopelessly entangled. From the forest beyond, Corellon's laughter floated back toward him like golden bells-beautiful even in mockery.
The orc lord's struggles redoubled, but he was well and truly stopped. Of course, Araushnee mused with a wry smile, the natural defenses of Arvandor would have accomplished that with or without her 'intervention.' Apparently that thought had not occurred to Corellon. He was too much entangled in Araushnee's charms to see any tapestry but that of her own weaving.
'Fool,' she hissed as she regarded one captive and contemplated the other. And as she spoke the epithet, Araushnee wondered whether orc or elf deserved it better.
2
It was no simple undertaking to slip away from the plane of the gods, to take on avatar form and to seek a godly ally in the unfamiliar forests of a mortal world. Not easy, but then, nothing about the task to which Araushnee had set her hand would come without price.
The elven goddess slipped silently through the forest, following unseen threads of magic to a place of unusual power. The Weave was strong on this world. It was a singularly beautiful place, with its single vast expanse of land set like polished jade upon a sea of lapis blue. Dragons roamed the forests and ruled the skies, but other magical races were drawn to this land as bees to clover. New races were rising, as well, increasing their numbers rapidly. Even gods saw promise in the burgeoning world-of late, there had been a veritable migration of powers both great and minor. Araushnee hoped to find an ally among these gods, one powerful enough-and malleable enough-to replace the recalcitrant Gruumsh.
After his battle with Corellon Larethian-not to mention the adventure's ignominious end as a orcish fly in the
