we will consider the matter settled.'
The noble turned and extended a peremptory hand. A small, golden-haired elf woman came forward from beneath the green dolphin crest that marked the pavilion of House Amarillis. Montagor took her hand, which he in turn presented, in obvious symbolism, to Zaor.
Stunned into immobility, the warrior stared down at the girl. She was very beautiful, though her pale coloring set her apart from the ruddy elves of Amarillis. Her gown was spring green-which in ancient legend was considered the color of elven royalty-and a wreath of flowers clung to her hair as if she were already prepared for a wedding.
As he gazed at the elf maid, Zaor silently cursed Montagor for putting him in this untenable position. His eyes darted to the place where the Grand Mage of the Towers sat.
Amlaruil's blue eyes were unreadable, her face utterly still. Not even her posture yielded any clues as to her thoughts, for the flowing mantle of her office obscured her form.
Since he could hardly refuse to acknowledge the girl, Zaor took the elf maid's offered hand and bowed over it. Yet as soon as he decently could, he released the slim white fingers and turned his attention back to Montagor.
'I am honored by the offer of union with Amarillis, and by the consent of this noble lady,' he said carefully. 'But the decision of what house will rule Evermeet was never mine to make. The moonblades alone must decide.'
'You would chose battle between our clans rather than union?' Montagor asked incredulously. 'What would be the cost of such a blood war to Evermeet? The Moonflowers and the Amarillis are ancient families with ties to many houses. Craulnober would surely come to your defense, and behind them the northland commoners who have given allegiance to them! The Silverspear newcomers are aligned with you, as is the commoner captain of the Leuthilspar guard! But the Hawksongs, the Eroths, the Alenuath-they have blood ties and close loyalties to Amarillis. Think carefully on what you would begin.'
'Battle, if such there must be, would not involve all these elves!' Zaor protested. 'Only those who hold the moonblades must contend for the throne.'
'I have declined mine in favor of my heir. Would you let the question of kingship wait until I have a son or daughter to challenge you for it? Would a delay of a hundred years or more serve Evermeet?'
With great difficulty, Zaor held onto his temper. He recognized the layers of sophistry in the elf's argument, and he did not feel equal to meeting them. And there was enough truth in Montagor's words to be disturbing. Perhaps his rejection of the Amarillis alliance would not trigger a full-scale civil war, but it would cause a deep resentment, a division among the Moon elf families. And there were many Gold elves who would be quick to seize
Montagor's suggestion, in hope of holding onto the Council rule for a few decades more.
'It seems to me that this matter cannot be resolved between you and me. I should consult with both the Council of Elders and with my advisers,' Zaor said. 'Let us all meet again this night, when the Tears of Selune are in midsky. Perhaps the reminder that we are all of the blood of Corellon and the tears of the Lady Moon might help us unite as we must.'
Montagor's jaw tightened with anger, but he could not refute such a reasonable and pious request. He inclined his head to Zaor-a bow between equals, no more. 'I agree. It will be as you suggest.'
He turned and stalked away, leaving Lydi'aleera standing alone with the Moon elf. Zaor bowed to the young elf woman and strode from the field, not entirely sure where he should go.
Lady Mylaerla caught him by the arm and led him into her pavilion. 'I have sent messengers to gather some of the People you'll wish to consult: some of the Elders, leaders among the warriors, a few of the clerics and magi, your circle of trusted friends,' she said as she settled down in a chair. 'They will be along shortly. I thought it best that we speak alone first.'
Zaor paced restlessly about the tent. 'What do you think of Montagor's claim?'
'He shows more subtlety than I had thought him capable of mustering,' she admitted. 'And he's in a good position to carry out his threat of delaying the selection of a royal house.'
'And the possibility of clan warfare between Amarillis and Moonflower?'
'Unlikely. But you know that many of the Gold elves resent their exclusion from the process of selection. Of all the Moon elf families, Amarillis has the most demand upon their loyalties. High Councilors, when not of the Durothil lines, were usually from Amarillis. The family is one long, nearly unbroken line of warriors, mages, legendary heroes. If you turn away from an alliance with Amarillis, you stand to alienate most of Evermeet. Believe me, Montagor knows what you will refuse if you refuse Lydi'aleera. And doing that, in and of itself, would give Amarillis-and most of Evermeet-ample cause to take offense.'
'I have no wish to insult the girl,' Zaor said in deep frustration, 'but even less desire to wed her!'
'It was unconscionable for Montagor to put either you or his sister in such a position,' the elf woman agreed. 'Yet Lydi'aleera is a reasonable choice for queen, even apart from her high family. The girl is beautiful and well mannered. She is an accomplished singer, and well versed in the arts. Many would consider her an ornament to the court. Ah, here are the others,' she said, turning to beckon to the small, somber group that gathered at the open door of her pavilion.
As the elves entered, Zaor took note of how they aligned themselves. The Council members stayed together, forming a small group at the far side of the tent. His friends Keryth Blackhelm, who now commanded the Leuthilspar guard, and Myronthilar Silverspear, a captain of the guard, came to flank him in unspoken support.
Only Amlaruil stood apart and alone, as isolated and solitary as the Towers she ruled. Zaor could not bring himself to meet her eyes, for fear of what he might reveal before the gathered elves. He could only imagine what use Montagor Amarillis might make of the knowledge that Zaor had already pledged his heart-and to an elf woman of his own clan!
He turned to the Council. 'Will you as a group support the Moonflower claim?'
'How can we, when the task of the moonblades is incomplete?' responded Yalathanil Symbaern.
Francessca Silverspear snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. 'Then let it be completed! Let the Amarillis pup draw his moonblade, if he dares, and then further dare to fight Zaor for the throne!'
'We cannot compel him to do so,' said Mi'tilarro Aelorothi firmly, his golden fingers curving around the holy symbol of Corellon Larethian that hung over his heart. 'The rules for the selection of the royal family were given by the gods. Montagor Amarillis is within his rights.'
'You see how it is,' Lady Durothil said dryly, tossing an exasperated glance at Zaor. 'The Council is not of one mind about this matter, or any other. Montagor Amarillis plays upon these divisions like a master minstrel his harp!'
Zaor nodded, and turned to Keryth Blackhelm. 'You know the minds of Leuthilspar's warriors. What do you think? Can I hold Evermeet without the support of Amarillis?'
The captain thought this over. 'The warriors respect you. There's no doubt that they would follow you in battle. It's peace that worries me. You and I are warriors, Zaor, but neither of us understands the sort of bloodless battle waged among the noble houses. The truth, then? No. I don't believe that you can rule without Amarillis. Not as it should be done, at least.'
Zaor stood silent, his head bowed, as he struggled to find his way through the tangle. Finally he looked up, his eyes at last falling upon Amlaruil.
'My friends, I would like to consult with the Lady of the Towers,' he said softly. 'I thank you all for your advice. I will not leave you waiting long for my decision.'
Lady Durothil cast a glance at Amlaruil Moonflower's inscrutable face, then turned a searching gaze upon the Moon elf warrior. She seemed deeply disturbed by what she saw. She rose hastily.
'Come, all of you,' she said briskly. 'The sooner we're away, the sooner Zaor can make his choice.'
Amlaruil sat silently as the Gold elf matron herded the others from the pavilion, as relentlessly and efficiently as a Craulnober hound might drive a flock of northland sheep from a pasture.
'She knows,' the mage said simply when at last she and Zaor were alone. 'She knows, and does not approve.'
'Lady Durothil has been High Councilor for many years,' Zaor said hastily. 'She knows how the noble clans will respond to news of our love. She has spent a lifetime dealing with the nobles and their small intrigues.'
'Which only give more weight to her opinion.'
