The Moon elf's curiosity grew as the days passed. Many of the elves of Atorrnash were as dark-skinned as the goddess Eilistraee. These dark elves, he noted, seem to hold most of the positions of influence in the city, while the fairer races were gatekeepers, shop owners, and servants. Never had Sharlario seen such starkly drawn divisions among the various elven folk, and it troubled him. So did the plethora of peculiar-looking beings that crowded the markets and the streets. Sharlario had encountered many strange and wondrous creatures in his travels, and he was constantly astonished by the diversity of life upon Faerun, but this was beyond all his experience. His natural sensitivity to magic led him to suspect that Art had had a hand in shaping these creatures. He also noted the fear that leaped into the eyes of the Ilythiiri when he tried to speak of such matters.

Also odd was the isolation in which Ka'Narlist kept his guests. The guest dwelling was spacious and grand, and the gardens were filled with lush flowers and playing fountains such as Sharlario had not seen since his days on the lost island of Tintageer. A small army of servants was on hand to tend promptly to any request, and luxuries and diversions of all sorts were offered. In no way could the archmage's hospitality be faulted, yet the guest quarters were set well outside of the walls that surrounded Ka'Narlist Keep. Even the grounds, outbuildings, and paddocks that surrounded the castle were separated from the guests' domain by high black walls.

It did not surprise Sharlario, therefore, that when at last word came that Ka'Narlist would receive his guests, the audience was to be held not in the keep itself, but in the visitors' gardens.

In preparation, Sharlario and Cornaith dressed themselves according to local custom in some of the fine clothing and gems with which the too-generous merchants had gifted them. Cornaith also brought with him a small golden harp-a nearly priceless magical instrument that he had admired before he learned the inevitable result of such courtesy. He would never forget the stricken expression on the owner's face as she insisted with gracious phrases that he take her harp.

When the sundial's shadow fell upon the rune that marked the appointed hour, Ka'Narlist appeared before them without warning or fanfare. At his side stood a watchful male wemic-a centaurlike being with a powerful human torso atop a body like that of an enormous lion. With his tawny skin, catlike nose, and thick flowing mane of black hair, the wemic was a most unusual and impressive sight. But after the first startled glance, the Moonflowers turned their attention fully upon the archmage.

Ka'Narlist was a dark elf. Like most of the city's elite class, he had crimson eyes and stark white hair. Unlike most of them, he did not flaunt his wealth and status. He wore a simple white tunic over trousers and boots such as an adventurer might wear. There were no rings on his hands, and his hair was plaited back in a single braid and bound with a leather thong. Much smaller and slighter than Sharlario, he nonetheless projected an aura of tremendous power.

The archmage greeted them graciously and asked a number of questions about the elves to the north. Noting the harp that Cornaith carried, he asked for a song and seemed genuinely pleased by the young elf's performance. More, he listened gravely to Cornaith's request that the harp be returned to its owner and instructed his wemic servant to see that this was done that very day.

Yet despite all these courtesies, Sharlario felt wary. The answers he gave his host were more guarded than was his custom, and he instinctively found himself listening for hidden layers of meaning in the archmage's words. He thought he probably would have done so even without Eilistraee's warning. There was something about the dark elf that inspired caution.

"That is a very fine dagger you carry," Ka'Narlist commented, nodding toward the long knife tucked into Sharlario's boot. "I don't believe I've seen one quite like it."

Remembering local custom, the Moon elf slipped the knife from his boot and handed it, hilt first, to the wizard. "It is yours, if you will do me the honor of accepting so small a token."

"With pleasure," the dark elf said. He shifted aside a fold of his tunic to reveal a weapon belt from which hung a jeweled dagger and two small silk bags. He removed a dagger from its sheath to make room for Sharlario's gift, then he offered his to his guest as an exchange.

The weapon was a marvelous thing, with a bright satin sheen to the blade and a large ruby set in a richly engraved hilt.

Sharlario bowed and accepted the fine dagger, wondering as he did why the archmage had pointedly admired a lesser weapon. The dagger in the Moon elf's belt was clearly visible, and nearly as fine as the one Ka'Narlist had just given him. It would have been a nearer exchange. He wondered what the inequity signified.

"In our land, an exchange of weapons is a sign of trust," the archmage said with a faint smile. "In some circumstances, it is also a pledge of service or assistance."

This was something Sharlario had not anticipated, but it made a certain sense. "What service do you require of me?"

Ka'Narlist's crimson eyes lit with amusement. "That was not my intent, I assure you. To the contrary. You have traveled far, no doubt with some purpose in mind to speed your steps. Speak freely, and I will aid you if I can. At the very least, I can answer some of your questions. I suspect you have many," he added shrewdly.

The Moon elf nodded thoughtfully. As a diplomat, he had learned the value of news from far places. What he had just given Ka'Narlist might well be many times the worth of the ruby-hilted dagger. He was also tempted by the offer of information in exchange, and eager to hear what explanations the archmage might give for some of the customs of Atorrnash.

"I have heard that many of the People in this land worship Vhaeraun. Of this god I know little, and would like to learn whatever you can teach."

"Vhaeraun!" The corner of Ka'Narlist's lip lifted in an expression of contempt. "A minor godling, an upstart. His followers are mostly thieves, raiders, rogues of all kinds. I myself have nothing to do with this god."

"Most reassuring," Sharlario murmured.

"For those who seek to understand the source of power, to tap the force of life itself, there is only Ghaunadar, the Ancient One," Ka'Narlist continued. He shot a wry look at the wemic, as if exchanging an unvoiced secret. "You and your son may yet have an opportunity to observe a service to the Elemental God."

Sharlario did not find that reassuring in the slightest, though he had no knowledge of Ghaunadar. "Another thing puzzles me," he said. "I cannot help but notice the division between the dark elves and the fair. In other places, I have seen class distinctions of royal, noble, and common, but these are matters of birth and breeding."

"And the division of Atorrnash is not?" the wizard retorted. "It is a simple matter, really. Nature is governed by certain immutable rules. By virtue of claw and fang, the lion will always triumph over the goat. Given time, the pounding of the sea will wear away the stone. And when dark elves mingle with the lighter races, the offspring invariably take after the dark parent. It is all much the same-that which is greater will prevail. Our numbers increase steadily, both through birth and conquest. The dark elves are the dominant race, so ordained by the gods," Ka'Narlist concluded in a matter-of-fact tone. "By this, I mean no offense."

The apology was so obviously specious that Sharlario declined comment. "Nature is indeed full of wonders," he continued. "The sheer variety of Atorrnash's inhabitants leads the observer to marvel at nature's prodigiousness."

Ka'Narlist's crimson eyes glinted with amusement. "Delicately put. As you surmised, nature has had little enough to do with most of those ridiculous creatures that crowd the streets," the archmage said with a touch of asperity. "What, then?"