"If it is followers you require, be assured that I do not fear this Vhaeraun," Cornaith began.

"You should." Eilistraee cast a quelling look at the earnest young elf. "Though he is but a young god, Vhaeraun is vain and malicious, quick to attack those who do not give him homage. And that, you must not do."

"I had no thought to," the Moon elf said emphatically. "Until this night, I wished nothing more than to follow my mother in her dedication to Sehanine Moonbow."

Eilistraee shook her head sadly, turning away the worship in the young elf's eyes. "I am honored that you think of me, Cornaith Moonflower, but do not forsake your devotion to Sehanine. No, listen," she said, cutting off his protestations. "The gods experience time in ways you cannot understand. There are some of us who hear echoes of things that have not yet happened in mortal experience. I have foreseen that most of those who follow me will, like me, be exiles, wanderers who will never find their way to the elven homeland."

"Elves, barred from Arvandor?" Sharlario demanded. "Surely not!"

The goddess's silver eyes grew misty, as if they turned away from time and place to gaze upon visions no mortal could see. "No, not Arvandor. There will be another homeland. There must be another homeland," she said, her voice becoming more intense. "The storm is coming, Sharlario Moonflower, when the children of one father will become bitter enemies. Thus it was, and thus it will be, again and again. The actions of the gods ripple down through time to touch their People. Soon, mortal elves will know the pain and turmoil that tore the Seldarine asunder."

"This Vhaeraun must be powerful indeed, to inspire his followers to such conflict," Sharlario said in a troubled voice.

Eilistraee's silver eyes snapped back into focus. "Not Vhaeraun," she whispered, her beautiful face deeply troubled. "Other dark gods will come, and soon."

Neither Moonflower elf could think of words to respond to this pronouncement. For a long time the trio sat, their silence colored only by the occasional crackle of the fading embers, the soft chirruping of night creatures, and the murmur of the nearby sea.

"There is one thing more that you must know and fear," the goddess said at last. "High Magic, which brought you to this place, can be a wondrous thing. It can also be used for great evil. You will find this to be true, if you visit Atorrnash. You who have never had reason to fear magic must learn to be wary of it and those who wield it."

"Atorrnash?" ventured Cornaith.

"It is a great city, not quite three days' travel to the south. There you will find great riches, powerful magic, and those who offer alliance in your battle against the dragons. Consider such gifts carefully-some carry a hidden price."

The goddess rose abruptly, and lifted her eyes to the sky. Overhead the moon shone full, and beams of its light filtered through the canopy of trees that sheltered the elves' camp. Eilistraee reached out and touched a finger to a shaft of light, and her face took on the intense concentration of one who listens to distant voices.

"I have overstayed myself. There is more you should know, but I cannot linger. Beware." With this, she leaped onto the shaft of moonlight and was gone. A faint radiance lingered in the air for a moment and then disappeared like a snuffed candle.

It seemed to Sharlario that never had a darkness seemed so oppressive as the one Eilistraee's departure left behind. Despite the bright moon and the glow of the dying campfire, despite the company of his well-beloved son, the elf felt a desolation more poignant than anything he had ever known.

He glanced at Cornaith, and read in his son's eyes a pain that was like bereavement. All of which explained, he supposed, why the gods seldom appear to their People-they knew the void their absence left behind.

Sharlario rose abruptly and kicked the fading embers into ash. "Come," he said. "We have nearly three days' travel to Atorrnash."

The younger elf looked at him in astonishment. "Did you not hear what the goddess Eilistraee said? She warned us of the evil of this place."

"She also told us of the power. And she did not actually bid us stay away," Sharlario pointed out.

Since he was an honest elf, he knew these words were meant as much to silence his own unease as his son's protest.

Before sunset on the third day after their encounter with the Dark Maiden, the Moonflower elves reached the gates of Atorrnash. Cornaith, who had never seen a city of such size and splendor, gazed at everything with such wide-eyed astonishment that his father had to remind him more than once to mind his mission-and his dignity.

But Sharlario's reproaches were not as sharp as they might have been, for he himself was awestruck by the Ilythiirian city. He had seen on Faerie the wondrous dwellings that elven magic could coax from crystal, or coral, or living trees, the mighty castles that were fashioned of marble and moonstone. Never had he seen anything quite like Atorrnash.

The city was perched at the very edge of the sea, on all three sides of a long, narrow bay that thrust deep into the land. Many of the buildings were fashioned of dark stone-not carved into the rock, as were the cities of the dwarven folk, or made from piles of masonry such as the halflings favored, but stone that had been drawn up from the depths of the ground in the form of finished buildings. Gemstones glittered in precise patterns against the smooth stone, sometimes forming elaborate mosaics that covered entire walls or even paved the walkways. Most wondrous of all, however, was a vast castle of stark black stone whose turrets soared into the sunset clouds. A high wall surrounded the keep, enclosing a vast estate. A similar, lower wall of black granite encircled the entire city, a wall without seam or crack to mar its surface. By all appearances, it was a single expanse of solid rock. This was a mystery to Sharlario, and the wall seemed powerfully evocative of the mysteries that awaited them within.

In the days that followed their arrival to Atorrnash, Sharlario began to suspect how the strange stone walls and dwellings might have come into being.

The first thing Sharlario noticed was that there was something very wrong with the bay. The waters were too turbulent for such a sheltered place, troubled even at low tides and on the calmest of days. When night fell, and when the winds blew hot and dry from the south, the sea shrieked like a lost, demented soul. The Bay of the Banshee, the Ilythiiri called it, and probably for good reason. It was whispered that many elves had died from the force of the magic that ripped apart the land to fashion the city, and many more had perished when the sea rushed in to fill the void. Sharlario felt the uneasy presence of these restless souls in the voice of the sea.

But there was nothing about the Moonflowers' twilight arrival to suggest anything of this grim history. The keepers of the gates asked their business and listened with courtesy as Sharlario requested the opportunity to speak with the leaders of Atorrnash on behalf of the Tintageer elves of the northern mountains. The guardians sent runners at once to Ka'Narlist Keep-the black castle that dominated the city-and before the sunset colors had faded away, the Moonflowers were settled in the lavish guest quarters of the city's archmage.

They did not actually see Ka'Narlist for several days. The archmage sent his apologies, along with assurances that he would attend them as soon as his work permitted. In the meanwhile, his servants informed them, they were to enjoy the guest house and gardens, and explore the city as Ka'Narlist's guests. The latter honor, as Sharlario soon learned, meant that they were given immense deference and unlimited credit wherever they went. In the markets, they quickly learned not to handle any goods, or even linger too long at a booth-anything and everything they admired was quickly pressed upon them as a gift. In Sharlario's experience, elven cultures shared the ancient custom of exchanging gifts, and in many places the splendor of the gift was viewed as a measure of the giver. But this generosity went beyond anything Sharlario had ever seen. Stranger still, never once would an Ilythiirian elf accept a return token.