'Thank you for your faith, my friend,' said a feminine voice behind them.
Both warriors jumped, and whirled to face the speaker. Their countenances wore identical expressions of chagrin that they could be taken unaware. Taking pity on the powerful blend of male and elven pride, Amlaruil reached out and touched the ring on Myronthilar's hand.
'The elfrune I gave you enables me to find you when needed,' she explained. 'Would that I had the sense to give one to Zaor, rather than worry about propriety and appearances! But there are other matters at hand that demand your attention, my lords.' In a few terse words she told them about the invasion of Tilrith.
Zaor's face darkened. 'All the forces of Evermeet will march north at once. Can you take us to the palace, my lady?'
Amlaruil called the magic that carried all three instantly to Zaor's council chambers. With the brisk efficiency of a seasoned war leader, the king sent forth messengers to all corners of Evermeet to gather the elves for battle.
At last he turned back to Amlaruil, who had stood silently by. 'Can you bring a Circle to the northern shore? We will have need of powerful magic to close the tunnels. If Tilrith must be dropped into the sea to ensure Evermeet's security, then so be it.'
'It will be done,' she assured him. At that moment the doors to the chamber flew open, and Lydi'aleera swept into the room Montagor close on her heels. Her gaze kindled when it fell upon Amlaruil, and her smile turned feline. With deliberate motions, she took up a decanter of wine and poured two cups. She took the vials from her sash, holding them so that Amlaruil could see them and read her intent.
'Welcome back, my lord. Will you drink with me, to celebrate your return?' she purred.
Zaor shook his head. 'I cannot stay. Have you not heard the news, or at least suspected that something might be amiss? The palace is in an uproar, and soldiers swarm the streets of the city. This is not a time for celebrations.'
The smug expression on the queen's face faltered. 'You are not leaving, surely!'
'At once. The northern shores are under threat of invasion-not from sahuagin this time, but from creatures from Below.'
'No. It is impossible,' Lydi'aleera said, her eyes huge with fear.
'I wish that were so,' the king said in a grim tone. 'But do not be concerned. You will be quite safe in the palace,' he assured her, misunderstanding the true source of her concern. He bowed to the elf women and strode from the room.
Lydi'aleera whirled toward the mage. 'This is your doing,' she hissed. 'You have always taken Zaor from me! And now you conspire against me, even if that means an alliance with the drow!' The queen drew back her arm as if to hurl the goblet at Amlaruil.
'Enough!' the mage said softly.
The chilling fury in that single word froze the queen in place. Amlaruil stepped forward, her eyes blazing in her pale face. 'Do not dare to accuse me of crimes that you, and you alone in this room, have committed. Do you wish to speak treason? Then speak of a queen who would not lift her hand to save her husband, until she was assured of getting her will.'
'I must give Zaor an heir,' the elf woman repeated stubbornly.
'Perhaps you will, but not by my power, not now and never again,' Amlaruil swore. 'The magic of the fertility potion will not outlive this night; the magic of the love potion also diminishes with time. You might yet be able to lure Zaor to your bed, but you will not find your way into his heart! You have lost your chance, and I will not give you another.' She turned away.
'I did not give you leave to go,' the queen snapped.
The High Mage whirled back, her blue eyes dark with wrath. 'I have more important concerns than your personal vanity and your need to resort to magic-aided seduction! Have you forgotten that the island over which you purport to reign is even now under threat of invasion? I am needed, even if you are not.'
'You will fight at Zaor's side, I suppose?' scoffed Lydi'aleera.
Amlaruil's answering smile was cold. 'Did you think the Tower magi spent all their time dancing beneath the stars? This will not be the first time I have used my magic in battle. And if the need arises, yes, I will take up a sword.'
The High Mage disappeared in a sharp, angry crackle of magic.
After a moment's silence, Montagor came forward, shaking his head in bemused admiration. 'Amlaruil in battle! Now that would be a sight worth seeing!'
Lydi'aleera's hand flashed out and cuffed her brother sharply on the side of the head. 'Do your thinking with this, brother! You heard everything. Whatever am I to do now?'
Montagor considered her carefully. 'You realize the importance of an Amarillis heir, do you not?'
'Yes, yes-of course! Would I go to such lengths to ensure one, otherwise?'
The elf nodded. 'Then this is what you must do. You know Adamar Alenuath, of course. Have you ever noticed how closely he resembles Zaor?'
'No,' she retorted. 'He is nowhere near the king's stature, nor is anyone on this island.'
'Perhaps 'closely' is overstating the case.' he admitted. 'But Adamar is a Moon elf warrior and strongly built, though not nearly of Zaor's height. He has the same odd coloring-the blue hair, the gold flecks in his blue eyes. If you were to seduce Adamar, the resulting offspring should be like enough to the Moonflowers to pass as the king's own.'
Lydi'aleera gasped. 'You cannot be serious!'
'Why not? Can you think of another way?'
'But even if I wished to do such a thing, Adamar would never agree to it!'
'Again, why not? You are very beautiful. He admires you-I know that to be so.'
The elf woman shrugged impatiently. 'And what of it? Adamar is loyal to the king. To lie with Zaor's wife would be an act of treason and personal betrayal. He would not do it, even if he desired me more than his next breath of air!'
A crafty smile twisted Montagor's lips. 'Then it is time to test the potency of Amlaruil's spell. I will arrange for Adamar to come to the palace on some pretense. Give him the potion in a glass of wine, and he will not resist your offered charms.'
Lydi'aleera wrung her hands. 'But he will confess, after!'
'And besmirch his honor and that of his clan? To publicly dishonor his queen?' Montagor smirked. 'I think not.'
The elf's face grew deadly serious. 'But do not concern yourself overmuch, my sister. Adamar thinks me his friend and consults me on all matters. Oft-times I know his mind before he is entirely certain of it himself. If he is driven to confess, he will start by unburdening himself to me. If necessary, I will challenge him to battle over my sister's honor. And do not doubt that I will win.'
She laughed without humor. 'I have seen you fight, brother. You are not Adamar's equal.'
'The duel will be a pretense,' Montagor said softly, though his burning eyes acknowledged that her words had struck home. 'Adamar is a noble fool-he will think he deserves to die. He will think his defeat the only rightful end, and will have more to do with bringing it about than I could think to accomplish. In fact, he may simply do the deed himself and save me the trouble of lifting a sword.'
'But either way, Adamar will be dead.'
'And Zaor will have an heir by his lawful queen.'
Lydi'aleera was silent for a long moment, gazing out the open window over the city with eyes blinded to the turmoil of battle preparations below. 'Very well. Send for Adamar, then,' she said, the words coming out in a rush. She whirled to face her brother, hatred naked in her eyes. 'But may Lloth claim you as her own,' she said in a venomous whisper.
The curse, perhaps the most deadly and offensive words that could pass between two of the People, merely brought a smile to Montagor's lips.
'Be that as it may, dear sister. But bear in mind that the Abyss is a very large place. Be very careful whom you consign to damnation, lest you be judged by the same measure.'
He turned and swaggered out of the chamber. At the door he paused, as if some new thought had come to him. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, 'I have not seen Amlaruil for many years. She is wondrous fair, is she not?
