Prelude
1371DR
Shanyrria Alenuath was among the first to see the approaching sky caravan. The bladesinger was drilling a new batch of potential students on a hillside not far from the Towers of the Sun and Moon. This was a particularly promising group, for perhaps half of them had the right combination of talent in music, magic, and swordcraft needed to become a true bladesinger. Of those, two or three might qualify for the specialized training offered by Sunrise Tower. There, skilled bladesingers honed their musical talents into a spellcasting art. The goal was nothing less than the revival of the ancient, nearly forgotten art of spell-song. This was but one of the efforts that sprang up in response to the challenge issued by Amlaruil, back when she was the Lady of the Towers. As queen she had continued to foster and support the elven arts, and Shanyrria was proud to have a part in this effort. She herself would never be a spell-singer, but she had made it her life's work to seek out promising students and direct them to Sunrise Tower.
But there was one loyalty even nearer to Shanyrria's heart. The sight of the pale blue rose emblazoned on the banner of the sky caravan was enough to make her drop her sword and forget her students. She stared in horror and consternation at the white-draped litter that was bourn southward by a team of four white pegasi. It looked like a funeral procession. The blue rose was the standard of the Moonflower family, and the pegasi were in the service of the Queen herself.
Shanyrria dismissed the students at once and sprinted down the hill toward the Tower of the Sun. Laeroth Runemaster, who had succeeded Amlaruil as Grand Mage of the Towers, would know if… Shanyrria's thoughts slammed to a stop, unwilling even to form the words. Yet she had to know the meaning of the white-draped litter. Laeroth would know what there was to be known.
She found all the High Magi gathered in the large spellcasting chamber awaiting the Grand Mage. Too impatient to wait, Shanyrria pushed through them and went in search of Laeroth. She found the aged elf in the upper tower, in the act of removing the Accumulator from its protective wrapping. Apprehension clutched at her throat with icy fingers as she contemplated a danger that would necessitate bringing out one of the greatest of Evermeet's defenses. An ancient artifact, it stored the power of the spells around it. Shanyrria's trained senses sang in harmony with the magic-the unique magic of Evermeet-which emanated from the artifact in silent song.
Laeroth turned to the bladesinger. 'I am to take this to the palace,' he said simply. 'The queen is in need of all of Evermeet's defenders.'
Relief flooded Shanyrria. 'The queen lives! Praise the gods! But the royal litter?'
'The Princess Ilyrana,' the runemaster said sadly. 'She lives, but her spirit has flown-carried away to do battle in another place. They take her body to her mother the queen.'
'How-'
'Ityak-Ortheel,' Laeroth interrupted, his usually gentle voice dark with hatred. 'The creature of Malar, unleashed upon Evermeet itself. Ilyrana carried it away-to Arvandor, I believe-but most of the elven clerics were slain during the battle I fear.' He gazed down at the Accumulator. 'There is much yet to come. Every child of Evermeet must rally to meet this threat, or we will all perish. We stand alone, for all the magical gates of Evermeet have been blocked. The High Magi have gathered to see if this can be countered.'
He looked up at her. 'You are friends of the centaurs. Alert them, tell them to hurry to the river and hold back the sahuagin and scrags that have invaded the heartland. Then hasten to Sunrise Tower, prepare the spell-singers to defend the valley. A huge invading fleet approaches, and if any of the raiders manage to come ashore, you can imagine what prizes they might take.'
Shanyrria nodded. Sunrise Tower stood in Drelagara, a Gold elf town in the midst of the lush measures that were home to the moon-horses. The wondrous beasts often played in the sea and the white-sand beaches east of the meadows; if raiders were to catch sight of such creatures, they would surely pursue them into the valley. A single moon-horse was worth more than a red dragon's hoard.
The bladesinger reached into the leather bag on her belt and took a small package of green powder from it. This she poured into her hand. She spat, then mixed it into a paste and streaked it across her cheeks with the fingers of her hands. It was not as elaborate a war paint as was her custom, but it was all that time permitted. Shanyrria was already a daunting sight. Her appearance was unusual for a Silver elf, for she was tall and broad of shoulder, with eyes the color of amber. Her reddish-brown hair had been plaited into dozens of braids and woven with feathers and painted stone beads. In her mildest mood, Shanyrria was fearsome to behold. Now, even the Runemaster, no coward or weakling, hung back from her.
'Send me to Sunrise Tower,' she demanded. 'I will rally the spell-singers, and then go to fight beside the centaurs.'
Laeroth nodded and began to cast the spell that would carry the bladesinger to distant Drelagara.
Shanyrria accepted the whirl and rush of magical travel, and came out of the spell running at full speed. She dashed through the Tower courtyard, pushing past the Gold elf guards who moved to block her way. They shouted that the Circle was casting and could not be interrupted.
She had barely cleared the door when an explosion of intense power slammed into her. Shanyrria staggered back, clutching at her bleeding ears. There had been no sound, no tremor, nothing that anyone other than an elf might hear or feel, but Shanyrria knew beyond doubt that every elf on Evermeet felt the impact of that terrible silent blast. She herself, so attuned to the silent music of magic, had been deafened by the force of it.
Horror gripped the bladesinger as she realized the implications for Sunrise Tower. In times past, entire Towers of High Magi had been shattered by a powerful backlash of magic. If this unknown spell could so effect her, what must it have done to a Circle of spell-singers? Shanyrria slapped her face several times hoping to distract the terrible, ringing pain and focus her powers for the task ahead. She went with all the speed she could muster up the winding stair that led up to the spellcasting chamber at the top of the Tower, bracing herself for the sight of her friends' blasted bodies.
Astonishment froze her in the doorway. A group of Gold elves-each of them known to her, most of whom she had selected and trained-stood in a circle, their outstretched fingertips touching. The Circle was unharmed; even now the elves' lips moved in a spell-song that Shanyrria could no longer hear. In their midst stood a single female elf. Shanyrria recognized her as a Circle-Singer, a warrior-mage who could blend the magical song into a single spell, much as a Center focused a circle of High Magi.
Suddenly Shanyrria understood what had happened. These elves were traitors! Sunrise Tower had attacked. The destructive force she had felt was nothing less than the shattering of the Towers of the Sun and the Moon.
Grimly the bladesinger drew her sword and advanced into the room. Evermeet had developed no defense against such treachery from within, but neither did spell-song have a defense against the magic of a bladesinger. It seemed good and right to Shanyrria that many of them would die by her blade.
She seized the nearest elf by his golden hair and reached around to cut his throat. As she pulled the blade in a lethal slash, she spun so that the swing would take down the elf to his right. Shanyrria had no illusions about her fate. She would die in this tower room. But when she came to Arvandor, she would bring many traitors to present themselves before the Seldarine Council for judgment.
Her only regret was that she would die before the battle's end, not knowing what Evermeet's fate would be.
Book Five
