in being ruled from Ordulin or Hillsfar, and I will not surrender a claim to the Elven Court. If Hillsfar needs room to grow, I hope that we could reach some agreement over the responsible use of the woodlands in question. As for your master’s third point… well, it may be human nature to expand, but you should not assume that it is in an elf’s nature to Retreat. With the host of Evermeet in this forest, there is a greater strength of elf warriors in Cormanthor today than there has been at any time since the Weeping War.”
“Elven armies stronger than your own failed to stop the Army of Darkness in the Year of Doom, Lord Seiveril,” the High Warden said, not even bothering to conceal a smirk.
The elflord watched the sneering Hillsfarian. What was his purpose in coming here? he wondered. Is he trying to provoke me with these threats and demands? Or is this simply a facade, a ploy of bravado to mask true fear?
“I mean to save my arrows for the daemonfey,” Seiveril told the first lord’s emissary. “Whether you know it or not, they are your enemies as well as mine. For all our sakes, do not interfere with my work in Myth Drannor.”
“For your own sake, think long and carefully before you attempt any work at all in Myth Drannor,” Gearas growled. “You will not be warned again.”
The stocky human inclined his head a bare inch and glowered at Seiveril before turning on his heel and stomping out of Seiveril’s presence, waving aside the door guards with a curt gesture.
Seiveril stared after the Hillsfarian lord.
“Corellon, grant me patience,” he whispered into the night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
12 Kythorn, the Year of Lightning Storms
Windsinger dropped anchor in the round bay of Velprintalar, surrounded by the steep green hillsides and graceful, airy buildings of the city. Araevin could see the elven influences in the city’s flower-covered verandas, tree-shaded boulevards, and elegant palaces high above the bay. High up on the slopes above the city’s center stood the palace of the Simbul, the ruler of Aglarond, a rambling structure of beautiful green stone that gleamed like emerald in the sunshine.
“Is this truly a human city?” Ilsevele wondered aloud. She stood beside him at the ship’s rail. Smiling, her eyes were warm when she looked at him, but there was a distance hiding in her thoughts, a searching quality to her gaze that he could not miss. “I didn’t know humans could be so… elven… in their work.”
“Aglarond is the union of two lands under one crown,” Araevin answered, glad of an opportunity to speak without addressing the anxiety he knew was growing in his own heart. “Centuries ago the young human kingdom of Velprin settled the northern coasts of the Aglarondan peninsula, while a race of forest-dwelling humans, half-elves, and wood elves held the woodlands of the interior. Velprin tried to bring the whole of the peninsula under its rule, but the forest folk defeated Velprin’s ambitious rulers. The lords of the forest folk governed both the forests and the coastlands from that day forward.”
“My homeland has a similar history, but a more tragic outcome,” Donnor Kerth said. Araevin glanced at him in surprise. Their new companion had proved more than a little taciturn, a fellow who rarely used two words when one would do. “In Tethyr elves and humans fought for centuries. Elves still roam the deeps of the Wealdath, or so I am told, but they have nothing to do with the human lands beyond their forests, and humans do not venture very far into their woods.” He dropped his gaze from Araevin and Ilsevele. “I am sorry to say that I have known very few elves. And I believed things that were said about your kind that I have since learned are not true.”
Ilsevele reached out and set her slender hand atop the Lathanderian’s. “I have spent most of my years on Evermeet, Donnor, and I have known very few humans. I, too, am learning that not all that I have heard is true.”
Maresa laced up her crimson-dyed leather armor, and adjusted her sword belt. “I thought you said you hadn’t been here before, Araevin,” she said. “You seem to know a lot about this place for a stranger.”
“I haven’t. But I’ve had a long time to pick up odds and ends about a lot of places I haven’t been.” Araevin picked up his pack, and quickly checked to make sure he had everything he needed. “Come, let’s go ashore.”
The four travelers thanked Master Ilthor for their passage and paid him handsomely. Then they were rowed ashore in Windsinger’s longboat. They landed along the city’s stone quay, and climbed up the seawall’s steps to the harborside streets. For all Velprintalar’s elven grace, the dock district seemed human enough, filled with carts and longshoremen, and dozens of workshops, warehouses, and merchant’s offices, all crowded together in buildings faced with white stone.
“Well, where now?” asked Maresa.
“We’ll find a place to stay then we’ll ask after sages, colleges, wizards’ guilds, and such things,” Araevin said. “Someone will have an idea of who I can ask about star elves and ancient Yuireshanyaar.”
They found a comfortable but expensive inn within an hour of landing, a fine establishment called the Greenhaven, high up on one of the hillsides overlooking the harbor. Araevin asked the proprietor about sages or libraries he could visit, and the inn’s proprietor directed him to several locales where he might confer with learned folk.
With his companions in tow, Araevin spent much of the next two days visiting Velprintalar’s houses of learning. He visited the temple of Oghma and spoke with the high loremasters there. He conferred with a local wizard held in high regard by the Oghmanytes. And he also found a small chapel dedicated to the Seldarine, where he and Ilsevele were able to speak at length with the presiding priest. Several times Araevin confirmed that the ancient realm of Yuireshanyaar had indeed stood within the Yuirwood, and that some at least of its ruins might still be found there, but no one knew anything about star elves or a mage named Morthil who had lived long ago in that realm.
At the end of their second day, Araevin returned to the Greenhaven, resigning himself to a long and arduous effort to unearth the knowledge he sought. He suspected that some at least of his inquiries had simply been evaded, and he was wondering how he could proceed if that turned out to be the case. But as he and his companions ate a light supper on the Greenhaven’s veranda, drinking watered wine and watching the shadows lengthen over the city, a dark-haired, deeply tanned half-elf dressed in an elegantly embroidered doublet appeared at their table, flanked by a pair of human guardsmen who wore the green-and-white tabards of the Simbul’s Guard over coats of mail.
“Araevin Teshurr and company?” he asked pleasantly.
Araevin sensed his companions exchanging puzzled looks behind him, but he stood slowly and nodded to the fellow.
“I am Araevin Teshurr,” he said. “To whom am I speaking?”
“I am Jorin Kell Harthan. I serve the Simbul.” Harthan’s manner remained easy, but Araevin did not miss the keen alertness in his eyes, nor the businesslike demeanor of the two guards who accompanied him. A long sword was sheathed at the half-elf’s hip, and a long dagger was tucked into his left boot. “You have been inquiring after things that few people ask about, Master Teshurr. We would like to know more about the nature of your interests. Would you kindly accompany me to the Simbul’s palace?”
“Careful, Araevin,” Maresa whispered under her breath. “I don’t like the looks of this.”
“I assure you, I mean no harm to Aglarond or anyone in it,” Araevin told the half-elf.
“If we did not believe that to be true, Master Teshurr, our invitation would leave you little opportunity to decline,” Jorin Kell Harthan said. He bowed and gestured toward the door. “You may find answers in the palace that you will not be given outside it. If you please?”
Araevin could see the alarm in Maresa’s face. From what he knew of her, she had reason to be suspicious of city guards and officials of the court. Ilsevele, on the other hand, was herself an officer of the Queen’s Guard in Leuthilspar.
She glanced up at the half-elf and asked, “May we accompany Araevin?”
The Simbul’s servant considered for a moment then said, “Very well.”
They rose and followed Harthan to an open carriage waiting outside the inn. Araevin had half-feared a sealed coach that would double as a cell in a pinch. They climbed in-the half-elf sat opposite Araevin, with Donnor beside him, while the guards stepped up onto the running boards-and clattered off through the winding, dusk-dim streets.
