'Oh?'
'He wishes to remain in the High Forest, in the company of a young elf woman.'
'Ah.' Amlaruil nodded in sympathy, even if she found the image hard to conjure. Nevarth was a roguish, carefree elf who changed ladyloves with a frequency that rivaled that of the new moons. 'You have met this girl?'
A troubled look crossed Rennyn's face. 'I have. She is very beautiful, and very bewitching. I suppose I can see why Nevarth is taken with her.'
The mage heard and understood her agent's hesitation. Though she knew full well the power of young love, she also knew that Nevarth had trained long and hard to win his place among the High Mage's advisors. He would not lightly cast it aside.
'Perhaps I should summon him home, and try to learn more about his intentions.'
'That would be wise. If you please, lady, I would as soon not be present when you speak to him.' Rennyn paused, and again he looked disturbed. 'He would not thank me for speaking against his ladylove. He is very jealous of her, and has already accused me of trying to come between them, thus to win her favors for myself.'
Amlaruil frowned. That was very unlike Nevarth. He was sounding less and less like an elf enamored, and more like one ensorcelled. 'I will speak to him now through the elfrune he carries. Go then, Rennyn, and I promise you I shall be discrete about my source of information.'
The Gold elf bowed and left the room. As soon as she was alone, Amlaruil touched the ring on her small finger and spoke her agent's name, followed by an arcane phrase.
A few moments passed before Nevarth answered. His voice sounded unusually distracted, even impatient. Amlaruil, her concern increasing by the moment, insisted that he meet her at once, at the small lodge near the Lake of Dreams that the Grand Mage and her agents often used for such meetings.
When the light from her ring faded, along with Nevarth's reluctant assurances, Amlaruil gathered up her skirts and ran out into the garden that had become the boys' impromptu battlefield. There was but time for a quick embrace and a brief admonition concerning future behavior before her duties took her, once again, from those she loved.
'Why must you go?'
Nevarth Ahmaquissar stopped tugging on his boots long enough to cast a wistful glance at the elf woman curled up among the silken pillows of their shared bed. Even newly awakened, she was stunning-the most beautiful Moon elf he had ever seen. Her masses of night-black hair were still tousled from his touch, and the skin of her lithe, naked body was the rich, pale color of new cream. As if sensing a momentary weakness, Araushnee pouted prettily, then patted the cushions in renewed invitation.
'What is this Amlaruil to you? You do not rush so when I call you,' she said in a voice that reminded Nevarth simultaneously of feywine and dark velvet.
'Rush?' The elf grinned. 'Never that! You are meant to be savored, my love.'
'Yet you are leaving me.'
'Only for a while,' he said in soothing tones. 'I have business on Evermeet, and then I will return. And when I do, I need never leave again.'
'Pretty words!' scoffed Araushnee. 'How many elf maidens have heard the famed minstrel Nevarth sing that song?'
The elf caught one of her hands and raised it to his lips. 'My heart is yours alone,' he said, speaking with a simple dignity that was very unlike his accustomed banter. 'You know this to be true.'
Araushnee lifted her other hand and smoothed a finger over the ring Nevarth wore on the small finger of his hand. 'Then give me a token to keep until you return. This ring.'
'I cannot.' He hesitated, as if wondering how much to reveal. The words came out in a rush. 'I would give you this or anything else, but I cannot. The ring is enspelled. No one can wear it but me-it cannot even be removed from my finger while I live, and when I die its magic perishes with me.'
The elf maid lifted one ebony brow. 'Powerful magic for a simple minstrel to carry.'
'Yes,' he said, and though she waited, he did not offer further explanation.
After a moment, Araushnee sighed and took a ring from her own hand. 'If you will not give me a token, at least wear one of mine! Take this to Evermeet with you, and think of me when you look upon it.'
Nevarth willingly held out his hand to her. He glanced down at the ring she slipped onto his middle finger, noting that the band shifted to fit his larger hand. The stone, a ruby, seemed to stare up at him like a malevolent crimson eye. Nevarth blinked and shook his head as if to dispel the odd image. When he looked again, the ring was merely a lovely red stone, as bright and vital and wonderfully fierce as the elf woman who shared his bed and held his heart in her white hands.
Araushnee rose up on her knees, entwining her arms around his neck and lifting her face for one last kiss. Willingly, eagerly, the elf made his farewells. When at last he stepped away, his smile said without words that he would not need her token in order to remember her long and well.
The elf woman watched Nevarth slip away into the silver path of magic, waited until the heat shadow he left behind had faded utterly away. Then she herself began to change. The rich ebony color of her hair leached away, washing down over her skin like spilled ink. She took on height and power in a sudden rush. Her body became more lush, and it gleamed in the lamplight like polished obsidian as she rose from the bed and glided over to a locked chest. From it she took a blood-red scrying bowl. As she knelt and gazed into it, her large blue eyes changed to mirror the malevolent crimson of the ring that Nevarth wore in her honor.
The being known in ages long past as Araushnee studied the bowl intently as the last vestiges of her mortal disguise slipped away. Even with the sharp eyes of a drow, the avatar form of the goddess Lloth, she did not see anything. Nor did she truly expect to. The magic guarding Evermeet was powerful and subtle, and she could not penetrate it even with such magic as she possessed. Nothing that she or her agents had attempted could pierce the shield that Corellon had woven about his children.
Well, Araushnee-or Lloth, as she was now known-had children of her own, and none wove webs more skillfully than she. Beneath the lands that Corellon's children trod, beneath the seas they sailed, her people live in a maze of tunnels so convoluted and intricate that even they themselves could not number all their secrets.
For many hundreds of years, the drow had sought a passage under the seas to Evermeet. Always they had fallen short, for the spells of misdirection protecting the island were powerful. More than once, the work of many years had been ruined in a sudden, terrible flood as the seas rushed in to destroy a too-hasty tunnel. Evermeet had so far remained beyond Lloth's grasping hand.
But Nevarth, dear besotted little elfling that he was, would finally change that. Like so many of Evermeet's elves, he had devoted himself to following the will of this upstart, this Amlaruil.
Lloth hated Evermeet's Grand Mage with a passion that rivalled her loathing for Corellon himself. And yet, she was almost grateful to the Moon elf female. It was Amlaruil, after all, who was opening windows between Evermeet and the rest of Aber-toril.
Windows, that if properly used, could look both ways.
It had been no small thing for Lloth to take on an avatar form so different from her nature, no small thing to play the part of a Moon elf seductress. But if her gambit succeeded, the prize would be worth all the aggravation.
And when Nevarth returned to claim his 'beloved,' Lloth would take the small, added pleasure of killing the elf, slowly and with exquisite attention to every possible nuance of pain.
A smile of near-contentment crossed the goddess's dark face. Even when compared to her ruling passions-a consuming hatred of elves, a love of power, and an implacable thirst for vengeance-Nevarth's devotion to his precious Amlaruil was a powerful thing. It would give Lloth great pleasure to let him know that not only had he been betrayed, but that he had in turn betrayed Evermeet.
The white whirl and rush of magical travel faded away to be replaced by a deep green haze. As the verdant mist sharpened, Nevarth Ahmaquissar felt the familiar magic of Evermeet's forest reach out to enfold him as if in welcome.
And yet, something did not seem quite right. The elf heard a faint sound, squeals and cries that suggested a wounded animal. He followed the sounds until he stood at the lip of a deep, broad pit. Within the pit, bleeding from a dozen wounds and nearly frantic with pain and terror, was an enormous wild boar.
Nevarth frowned. It was not elven custom to dig pits for hunting, for there was a possibility that an animal
