Brigit crossed the causeway on foot, passing through the narrow silver gates-standing open, as always. Soon the gleaming towers of Chrysalis loomed around her, and the winding roads of smoothly polished alabaster stone swerved with artistic perfection among flower bushes and delicately shaped evergreens.
But she must attend to business, she reminded herself. She strolled down the quiet avenues, passing other Llewyrr who walked with casual grace about the city. There was no sense of urgency here, though all of these elves undoubtedly had business to tend to. Such is the way of members of a race whose lifespans commonly pass five centuries.
Brigit moved with the same unconscious ease, at last arriving at a clear, multifaceted wall that cast dazzling patterns of sunlight on the ground at her feet. She stood before the crowning glory of Chrysalis, the structure that had served as the ceremonial capital of the Llewyrr for as long as their city had stood.
The Argen-Tellirynd was surrounded by a crystal wall in the shape of a perfect triangle, enclosing pools, gardens, and walkways within its bright confines. The palace itself rose in a steeply sloping pyramid in the center of the courtyard. The structure had three sides, but Brigit could only see one from her current vantage. Gates as clear as glass swung wide at Brigit's approach, and two elven footmen nodded politely to the knight as she passed.
'The elder is expecting you, Lady Brigit,' offered one.
The sister knight meandered through the maze of reflective pools and graceful hedges that filled the courtyard of the Argen-Tellirynd. Finally, unconsciously quickening her steps, she reached the gates of the palace structure itself.
A triangular door in the side of the palace structure slid sideways, revealing a wide, silver-floored corridor. Walls of crystal sloped upward to meet in a point, twenty feet over her head.
A few twists and turns brought her to a wide staircase, and at the top, she reached the elder sage's library. She knew even before she entered that he was within; the telltale scent of his pipe smoke lingered in the air. With a wry smile, Brigit knocked on the door and entered.
'Ah, welcome, my child, welcome!' Erashanoor waved absently. The sage sat in his high-backed leather chair, holding a long-stemmed pipe in his hand and leaning forward, his posture intent upon Pallarynd. The Thy-Tach priest, his face streaked by tears, looked down as Brigit joined them in a third chair.
'The Thy-Tach have undergone an incredible ordeal,' explained the sage, puffing absently and sending clouds of smoke into the air over his head. Smoking was a virtually unknown practice among the Llewyrr and would not have been tolerated in closed quarters from anyone less influential than the elder sage. Unlike many of her people, however, Brigit had always enjoyed the burnt-almond smell of Erashanoor's blended herbs.
'Until we encountered you yesterday,' Pallarynd said to Brigit, his composure recovered, 'we weren't even sure we would survive. Not just from the threat of the beast, but from the flight through the paths of ether.'
'I believe they were attacked by Ityak-Ortheel,' explained Erashanoor. 'The one called 'Elf-Eater.' The monster has plagued our race throughout known history. Barely a century passes wherein a village or community does not feel its wrathful attack, and this attack always drives the survivors to the Fey-Alamtine. No means of defeating the Elf-Eater has ever been discovered.'
'Is that creature the reason the gate was constructed?' asked Pallarynd.
'No-at least, not the only reason.' Erashanoor took several pensive puffs on his pipe, leaning back in his chair and collecting his thoughts like scribbled notes scattered across a messy desk.
'You see, the destiny of our race is one of epic greatness, but also finite dimension,' he began. 'We live longer than the humans, or any other populous and-allegedly-civilized race. Our artists create the most glorious sculptures, our musicians script the most beautiful songs-even our weaponsmiths make the finest sword steel!'
Brigit knew of a dwarf or two who would disagree with the last statement, but she kept the notion private as the sage continued with a sigh.
'The price of our longevity, our greatness, is that our numbers shall ever remain small. If we wage war against a human realm, their numbers are replenished after a few generations. We elves, however, never recover from such conflicts.
'And this limitation is coupled with another certainty: Despite our best efforts, humans and other lesser creatures who border elven lands will eventually covet those lands. It is the way of the short-lived ones to employ hasty means, such as violence, to accomplish their goals. Too, many of them are propelled by gods of evil, or the simple pressures of growing population. They breed like rabbits, these humans,' Erashanoor noted with a disgusted shake of his head. He paused to puff a few smoke rings, his narrow face creased into a scowl. He nodded to himself before he resumed.
'This is why Evermeet is so well protected. That island, the eternal elvenhome, will provide a land for our peoples that will last as long as the Realms themselves. It is guarded by wards and barriers both magical and mundane, protection against approach by the legions of creatures who threaten us; For that reason, the passages by which even we elves can approach the great island are strictly limited.'
'Limited to one route only-the Fey-Alamtine,' Brigit interjected.
'The reason Synnoria must remain inviolate,' Erashanoor quickly explained, 'is that we are the only gate to Evermeet. This is why you must bring the Alamtine triangle with you when you enter the gate, and why someone must always remain behind, to see that nothing follows when the Fey-Alamtine closes.'
'That was a near thing,' noted Pallarynd. 'This 'Elf-Eater,' I believe you called it, reached after me as we departed. It seemed to seek the triangle. The tentacle touched it and tried to pull it from my grasp.'
'It is a very good thing for all of us that it did not,' Erashanoor replied sternly. 'Else it could have followed you here. If the secret of Synnoria becomes known to the enemies of the elves, our existence becomes tenuous at best. Even the touch of the Alamtine Triangle can give our enemies knowledge that endangers us.'
'Do you suppose that the Elf-Eater.. ?' Brigit felt an icy stab of fear. The picture of a creature such as the Ityak-Ortheel entering Synnoria brought bleak images of death and devastation to her mind.
'The creature didn't take the triangle. Therefore I suspect the risk is minimal. It may know the shape of the key, but it still does not know where the gate leads. As long as that knowledge remains concealed, we are safe.'
'Walk with me for a moment, my daughter.' The warmth of Robyn's tone touched Alicia, and she quickly rose and joined the queen at the fringe of the firelight cast by the hearty blaze.
The time approached midnight, Alicia knew without needing to look at the brilliant stars.
Several dozen Ffolk-Alicia's companions, and other lords, knights, and even druids-had gathered around the fire some hours before to discuss the import of the day's events. The queen had naturally canceled the upcoming Council of Lords. They could not proceed with a memorial for a king who might still be alive. They all realized that the prospects of a rescue seemed slim to nonexistent, but they also knew that the attempt must be made.
Alicia and her companions would embark for Synnoria on the morrow, seeking a secret that would allow them to take a ship under the sea. Robyn had returned to the castle after the disastrous banquet, and this was her first reappearance on the commons.
'Are you all right?' inquired the princess, laying a hand on her mother's arm. Robyn replied by placing her own hand over her daughter's and pressing gently.
For a time, they did not speak, and Alicia realized with surprise that her mother led her toward Corwell's small druids' grove and its sacred Moonwell. Soon they passed under the flat-topped stone arch, the entrance to the grove, and approached the small, milk-white pool of water. Even beneath the starlight and a half-full waxing moon, the illumination of the water cast a pale wash of light throughout the sacred clearing in the heart of the grove.
'I had a talk with your sister before I departed from Callidyrr,' Robyn opened the conversation.
'Deirdre has changed-a great deal,' Alicia remarked thoughtfully.
'You've seen it, too.' For a moment, Robyn was silent. 'This spring she mastered a great deal of sorcery in a very short period of time. Keane swears that he doesn't know how she did this, though he, too, has observed her power. Do you know anything more?'
Alicia shook her head regretfully. 'We were apart for most of that month, and when we met again, at the Fairheight Moonwell, she had the powers of an accomplished sorceress. But she'll tell me nothing about what happened to her in that space of time.'
'A mystery-and a disturbing one,' Robyn noted. 'There is danger here, for Deirdre and for all of us, that I don't believe she fully understands.'
