"There are many wizards in this city who experiment with powerful magic, and in the process create twisted beings of all descriptions. There is an art and a science to such things, but most of the wizards go about it as if they were scullery servants tossing bits of herbs and meat into a stew pot. The result is the appalling hodgepodge you witnessed."

"And you do such things, as well?" Cornaith demanded.

"I do such things, my dear young elf, but not 'as well.' Better. Far better. I do them as they should be done. My studies are thorough, my results remarkable."

Ka'Narlist allowed a moment's silence to give weight to this pronouncement. "You might think me prideful in these claims," he continued in a disingenuous voice, "But I mention my work only because rumor has it you are merchants as well as diplomats. I thought you might be interested in acquiring some unusual slaves. There are several intriguing breeds that are unique to my stables."

Sharlario caught his son's eye with a silent warning, commanding the visibly enraged youth to hold his tongue. In truth, he was as appalled by this as was Cornaith, but he understood that speaking of it would do little good and could cause considerable harm. One thing his centuries of travel had taught him was to observe well, ponder long, and speak only after much thought. But even as Sharlario reminded himself to reserve judgment on a culture he understood but little, he began to see how the Dark Maiden's prophecy might well come to pass.

"Despite the class divisions, surely all the People of Atorrnash would stand together against a common threat," Sharlario commented. It was, in his opinion, well past time to turn the conversation to safer matters.

The mage lifted one snowy brow. "Such as?"

"Dragons, for example. Is Atorrnash threatened by their wars?"

"Not really. The use of magic is intense in the city, and most dragons find this uncomfortable and give Atorrnash a wide berth. They do bedevil trade routes from time to time, but except in the savannahs and the forest to the north, dragons are a minor inconvenience at worst. Except, perhaps, for that one," the mage amended, grimacing slightly as he nodded toward a faint red dot in the sky.

Sharlario looked up, and his heart plummeted. "The Master of the Mountains," he murmured in a voice raw with dread.

"You mean Mahatnartorian, I take it. Yes, he is a bit of a nuisance. I have lost considerable cattle to his appetite-my herdsmen's magical defenses are pitifully inadequate against a great wyrm. I will construct better wards when my work permits me the time. But surely, Mahatnartorian is no threat to your homeland, distant as it is."

"The dragon is flying north, and I know where he is bound," the Moon elf said grimly. "We must leave at once."

"Ah." Ka'Narlist nodded in understanding. "You have had dealings with him, I take it?"

"He was conquered and banished by a clan of avariel. I fought with them, as I owed them an honor bond."

"Avariel?"

"Winged elves," Sharlario said grudgingly, wishing for some reason he had not spoken of them.

But Ka'Narlist seemed to take the comment in stride-no doubt he was jaded by exotic beings brought into existence by his own work. "And now the dragon is returning to settle the score. Of course you must go. But if you can tarry an hour's time, my wemic will see that you have a warrior band to take with you. A vengeful dragon is no easy thing to vanquish."

For a moment, Sharlario was tempted. He could not dismiss, however, the casual way that the archmage had spoken of the dark-elven attitude toward conquest and dominance. Instinct told him that accepting Ka'Narlist's offer would almost certainly seal the fate of the forest elves.

"I thank you, but I cannot wait. Not only is my family endangered, but I am bound by oath…" the Moon elf began.

Ka'Narlist cut him off with an upraised hand. "I quite understand. Do as you must, with all possible speed." The wizard turned to the ever-attentive servants who lingered on the garden's perimeters and bade them escort the Moon elves to the northern gate without delay. "Or better yet," he amended to Sharlario, "I will put you well on your way myself. Did you pass close to the white cliffs, some several days' travel to the north? Good. I shall send you there."

The wizard stretched out one hand. He clenched it into a fist, then made a quick sweeping motion to one side. There was a brief flash of light, and the Moon elves were gone.

"Hmph," the wemic grunted, obviously unimpressed by this solution to their visitors' problem. "They're not dressed for the trail."

"They are now. All their original belongings are with them, as well as most of the things they acquired in the city. Except for this harp," Ka'Narlist said, his lip curling as he cast a derisive glance at the instrument. "Dispose of this tinkling horror at the first opportunity."

"As you wish, master. But the elves-you just let them go," the wemic said, a question in his catlike eyes. "You had thought to give them in sacrifice to your god."

Ka'Narlist shrugged. "Fetch me another pair of white elves from the slave market-Ghaunadar will not mind the substitution. I have a different use for the northerners."

He waited for the wemic to ask, but the slave merely gazed at him-or past him. Ka'Narlist chuckled.

"You are stubborn, Mbugua. I see you wish to know, but I could flay your hide from your bones before you would ask. Very well, then. As you know, the dark elves are not the only People wielding powerful High Magic. Our raiders have been perhaps a bit too zealous of late, and conflict between the races of elves escalates. In time, there will be war, and the fair races have much to avenge. As things now stand, the outcome of such a war is in no way certain. And yet, if our visitor speaks the truth-"

Here Ka'Narlist paused and raised an eyebrow in question. The wemic knew what was expected. He had been a shaman among his own people, and he was still well versed in reading the hearts and spirits of those around him.

The slave grudgingly nodded an affirmation. "He speaks truth."

"In that case, I should very much like to acquire some of these winged elves. Sharlario Moonflower is a merchant. Perhaps he could be persuaded to provide me with a few."

The wemic did not need to ask what use his master had for such exotic creatures: The castle dungeons and grounds were teeming with the results of Ka'Narlist's magical tampering. And he knew his master well enough to suspect what in particular he had in mind.

"You would make winged dark elves," Mbugua stated.

"Night flyers," the wizard affirmed, his crimson eyes misted with the vision of future glories. "What an amazing army they would make! Invisible against the night sky, armed with dark-elven weaponcraft and magic!"

The wemic shook his head, not only to express his doubts, but to shake the horrific image from his mind. "But the red-pelt is an honorable elf. He will not bring his winged brothers to you as slaves."

Ka'Narlist only smiled in return. "It is a rare merchant who will not be swayed by enough gold and gems. But say that you are correct about our red-haired friend. Do you forget how you came to this keep? Have you forgotten the raid that enslaved your clan and all but destroyed your savannah? Have the scars from my chains faded from your wrists and paws? Has the stench of your dead mate's burning fur been banished from your dreams?"

The wemic did not respond to the dark elf's taunting. He knew better, though his throat ached with the effort of holding back roars of anguish and fury.

"You have sent raiders to follow the red-pelted elves," Mbugua murmured as soon as he could trust himself to speak.

"Nothing so crude as that. I have sent a scrying jewel with him. Why else would I trade a prince's weapon for a peasant's trinket?" the dark elf reasoned. "If Sharlario Moonflower's tales are true, then Mahatnartorian will try to reclaim his mountain kingdom and avenge himself on these avariel, these winged elves. I would like to observe these creatures in battle, learn their strength and their customs. If the winged elves show promise, then I will follow Sharlario to their hidden places. When I have need of these avariel to serve in my own war, I will send raiders to harvest them."