And now, to the business of your letter. You asked me of Kymil Nimesin. There is much I could tell you. He possessed many of the virtues and qualities that define elven nobility: an ancient and honored bloodline, skill in the arts of warcraft and magic, physical beauty and grace, a wide knowledge of lore and history. Few elves can match him with the sword, and I once considered myself fortunate to have studied with him. He was also touted as a far-traveled adventurer. Years ago, I was flattered when he asked me to accompany him to Faerun for the great work of seeking and recovering artifacts from lost elven lands. At the time, I could not begin to guess what he truly sought.

As a bard, you have surely heard some of the stories told of the lost children of Evermeet. Only two of the thirteen children born to Queen Amnestria and King Zaor are still known to live-this is one of Evermeet's greatest sorrows. It may be that some are yet alive, but Lord Kymil sought to remove all doubt by seeking and destroying all heirs to Evermeet's throne.

Why did he spare me, then? You, Lord Thann, may understand this better than most. Like you, I am the youngest of many children. My reputation among my people is-forgive me-no better than yours. Unlike you, however, I am no thespian who cloaks his talents behind a mask of frivolity. (My mother the queen is kept well informed of the Harpers and their methods, and your work is known to the elves. You, a proven spell-singer, would no doubt find amusing some of the discussion concerning the utter impossibility of a human mage casting elven musical spells.) Unlike you, I am precisely what I appear to be: restless, frivolous, not sufficiently reverential toward tradition, too quick to take action, too fond of feminine charms and ill content to restrict my enjoyment to potential elven princesses, too enamored of the wide world and the many peoples in it-in short, I am hardly a suitable elven prince. Lord Kymil saw in me a moderately useful tool, and no more. No doubt he would have disposed of me, too, once he thought my usefulness had reached an end.

What motivated Kymil Nimesin? This question has preyed upon the minds of elven sages and philosophers since the death of my father the king. What would cause an elven noble of great gifts and good family to turn against a royal clan-not to mention a king chosen by the gods themselves?

This is clearer to me than it is to many elves, for I have traveled widely and, like you, I have loved a woman of mixed blood. My heart has become a harp tuned to play melodies not known to the minstrels of Evermeet. My eyes see that pride isolates the elves from the world-and pits them in endless battle against each other.

As a bard and a scholar of elven lore, you know that the elven races have often been in conflict with each other. During the terrible centuries in which the Crown Wars swept in killing waves over the People, Gold elves sought to expand their rule at the expense of Silver and Green elf settlements, Green elves joined with dark elves to combat this aggression, and finally Gold and Silver and Green elves banded together to drive the dark elves Below. The Crown Wars and other battles like them tell but a part of the tale. A subtle, constant battle has been waged between the elven races, a battle that is older than the beginning of elven history. If you would understand Kymil Nimesin and his followers, you must go back as far as lore and legend will take you and observe the ancient conflict between Silver and Gold. From such threads are woven the tapestry of Evermeet.

As you follow the story of Silver and Gold, keep in mind that clan Nimesin is a sept-that is, a minor branch-of the ancient clan Durothil. This fact alone will explain much.

I repeat: Kymil Nimesin represents much of what is valued by elven nobility. By the same token, he illustrates that which is most basically and grievously wrong with the elven People.

Prelude

The Coming of Darkness

10 day of Alturiak, 1369 DR

Kymil Nimesin gazed out of the window of his cell into the endless void beyond. Actually, it was not precisely a void, for points of light glimmered like stars in a deep sapphire sky. Starlight was as important to an elf as the air he breathed, and not even Kymil's human captors were so ignorant or so cruel as to deprive him of this.

His other needs had been well met as well. His "prison" was in fact a well-appointed suite of rooms. Kymil had all the basic necessities and many comforts, as well as extras seldom afforded a captive and a traitor. Lorebooks filled a whole wall of shelves, and an elven harp stood on a table alongside a crystal flute. He had parchment and ink in plenty, and even an elegant, golden-eyed cat to accompany him in his eternal banishment. Yes, the Harpers had been generous.

Once again, as he had so often, Kymil relived the day sentence had been passed upon him by the Harper Tribunal, a detestable court comprising humans and half-breeds. He had been found guilty of the murder of twenty-seven Harpers and sentenced to exile to a miniature, magical world on some distant and mysterious plane of existence far from the world known as Aber-toril. The Harpers had decided this was the only way Kymil's life would be safe, for many elves of Aber-toril would otherwise make it a life quest to hunt him down and kill him. His larger crime-treason against the elven crown-was not a matter Harpers could address. Kymil doubted the elves of Evermeet, given the opportunity to bring him to trial, would have been as merciful as the Harpers.

But there was no gratitude in the elf's heart. The humans who had sent him here were weak, stupid, and shortsighted. He would find a way out of his prison, and then he would complete the task to which he had dedicated his life-the task to which he had been born, bred, and trained.

Kymil envisioned those who had spoken against him at his trial, and then dreamed of the vengeance he would take upon each one. It was an oft-repeated litany, and it had sustained him through his nearly five years of captivity.

First was Arilyn, the half-breed and Harper, who for so long had been Kymil’s unwitting tool. A cast-off bastard of the royal Moonflower clan and the heir to a moonblade, she had no knowledge of her royal elven heritage, no place at all in a world where human and elves were not meant to meet, much less mix. When her mother, the princess Amnestria in exile and disguise, was slain at Kymil's instigation, young Arilyn had been left alone and adrift. To Kymil's astonishment, the elven blade had accepted the half-breed child as a worthy heir. He recovered from this insult quickly, however, swiftly enough to make Arilyn part of his plans. It had been an easy matter to woo her, train her, give her a sense of place and purpose-and then to use the powers of her sword to strike against the family that had rejected her. There was a certain justice in this, as well as an irony, that Kymil had found deeply satisfying. Arilyn, however, had not been of like mind. Even now, it was incomprehensible to Kymil that a mere half-breed could have bested him. She had ferreted her way through the layers of his plot, she had scattered his Elite Guard and destroyed one of his most talented Circle Singers, she had thwarted his plan to attack the heart of Evermeet, and-perhaps most stinging of all-she had defeated him in single combat.

For all these things, Arilyn would die painfully and slowly. But not, Kymil vowed darkly, before she had been stripped of all her pretensions of elfishness. He would force her into battle against noble elves and see her moonblade turn against her. He would see her utterly outcast by humans and elves alike. He would see the devotion in the eyes of the human mage who so clearly loved her replaced by loathing and rejection. He would see her the plaything of orcs and ogres. And then, he would get nasty.