Suddenly the mage understood what had lured the king into the forest. "I have come this day from Craulnober Keep," she assured him. "The boys are well, and safe. This is but a cruel ruse to draw you off alone!"

"Thank the gods," Zaor said fervently. "I will return to Leuthilspar at once."

The light in Lydi'aleera's ring winked out. "He would not consider the warning on the merit of my words alone," the queen said bitterly. "Oh no. He listens only to the mother of his children! Well, you will lose your sole claim to that place soon enough."

Amlaruil did not offer comment. "With your permission, I must return to the Towers. I will have the potions sent to you."

"Oh, no," the queen said softly. "You will bring them yourself, and place them into my hand. If there were a way to do so without offending proprieties, I would have you stay and witness the results, from the first sip of wine to the birth of Evermeet's true heir!"

The High Mage turned away, unable to face the cruelty in the elf woman's face. She fled from the chamber with no thought to dignity, and ran headlong into a flame-haired elf just entering the room.

Montagor Amarillis caught at her elbows to steady her. "Lady Moonflower," he said, his tone slightly mocking. "It is a surprise to see you here, considering that the king is not at court. Nothing is amiss with the princess, I trust?"

Amlaruil tore herself away from him and flung both arms high in a sudden, desperate gesture. She disappeared in a flash of silver fire.

The noble blinked. "Well. Unusually flashy, for our lady mage. She must have been most eager to divest herself of our presence. What mischief have you been up to, my sister?"

Smiling like a cream-sated cat, Lydi'aleera tucked her arm into his and drew him out onto the balcony. As they walked, she told him what had transpired. Montagor listened, openmouthed, to the queen's words. When she was finished, he chuckled softly, shaking his head in wonderment.

"Well done, little sister! I would not have thought you capable of such cunning."

The queen gave him a complacent look. "I have had an excellent teacher."

Montagor acknowledged her words with a slight bow. "Since you have all things well in hand, I will leave you."

"No, stay," the queen urged. "Zaor will not be back until tomorrow at the earliest. I would have your advice on how best to rid myself of that wretched Ilyrana. And while you're about it," she added in less pleasant tones, "you can explain to me why I never heard so much as a word of Amlaruil's latest two brats. And when you are through, then you can begin to think about how best to ensure that your future nephew will not be troubled by thrice a challenge to his rightful throne!"

As she fled from the palace, Amlaruil's first desire was to return at once to Craulnober Keep, and see once again with her own eyes that her sons were indeed safe from the Gold elf conspirators. She knew they awaited her there, hale and happy and dirty as a pair of piglets from their rowdy play, and that such a trip would avail nothing. It would be a personal indulgence, no more.

But she had a pledge to keep, whatever the keeping cost her. In a locked tower room, she consulted ancient books of folklore and herb craft, blending the old tales with the power of her own High Magic. She worked all through that night and well into the next morning. Finally she held in her hands two small vials which promised to be the fulfillment of Lydi'aleera's dreams-and the death of her own.

Amlaruil's heart was leaden as she called forth the magic that would once again bring her to the moonstone palace. This time, she found Lydi'aleera in the company of her brother, walking arm and arm with him in the wondrous gardens that surrounded the palace.

It struck Amlaruil that once Zaor was magically enthralled by the queen, Montagor Amarillis would have considerable power in the court. In all things, it was rumored, the queen deferred to her brother.

Well, it was not something that could be helped. Amlaruil gave the potions to the queen and left as quickly as she came. And when she left, she took Ilyrana with her-she did not trust Lydi'aleera with her daughter's safety. If the queen was willing to risk her own husband to bargain for an heir of her own begetting, what lengths might she take to remove any possible contenders for her child's throne?

With all possible haste, Amlaruil gathered her three children and entrusted them once again to her agent Rennyn. Before that day waned, she stood atop the walls of Craulnober Keep and watched as the ship bearing them to the safety of the Moonshae Islands disappeared from sight.

The mage's heart was heavy indeed as she returned to the Towers. Not only had she lost Zaor's love this day by magic she herself had fashioned, not only was she parted from her three children, but she felt estranged from Evermeet itself. The dire events in the forest glade had sundered her forever from the sense of security that she had always considered her birthright.

It seemed inconceivable that an elf would act the part of an assassin, or that her own children might have to take refuge elsewhere. It was a reversal of all that she held to be true-for was not Evermeet created by the gods as the ultimate refuge of all elves?

That night, as she sought rest in exhausted revery, Amlaruil had a terrible dream. In revery she stood once again upon the walls of Craulnober Keep, but the scene she gazed upon was not a white-winged elven vessel and a tranquil sea. The castle was scorched and blackened, utterly silent and eerily devoid of life, and the seas beyond were littered with the flotsam of a dozen shattered elven ships.

Amlaruil awoke from revery with a start, beset by the horrible conviction that there was more to her dream than her own troubled thoughts. Quickly she dressed herself and summoned the magic that would carry her to her kinsman's keep.

Dawn was breaking as she stepped out of the magic pathway and into the courtyard of the ancient Craulnober castle. Amlaruil had the oddest feeling that she was stepping into a waking dream.

All was exactly as she had pictured it. The ancient walls were blackened, crumbling. No sign of life greeted her. It was as if the entire thriving, vital community had been swept away by a burst of dragonfire.

A thin, piercing cry cut through the chill morning air. Amlaruil hurried toward the sound, which seemed to come from somewhere below the ground. She tugged at the heavy door that sealed the entrance to the castle's lowest level, then ran down a long, curving stairway. In a small room in the farthest reaches of the castle she found two living souls: an old elf, long past the age of warriors, and a small, squalling babe.

The elf looked up when Amlaruil entered the room, his eyes red in his soot-darkened face. A moment passed before she recognized him as Elanjar, the patriarch of the Craulnober clan and the swordmaster who had endeavored to teach the discipline to her own unruly sons.

"What happened here?" she asked, coming to kneel at the elf s side.

Elanjar's eyes hardened. "We were overrun by creatures from Below."

"No," Amlaruil said in disbelief. "How is that possible? Never have the people of the Underdark set foot on the island!"

"Nor have they-yet," the elf replied. "You know the island of Tilrith, do you not?"

The mage nodded. The tiny island, which lay just north of the Craulnober holdings, was much like northern Evermeet in terrain. It was a wild place, with rocky hills honeycombed with caves. The Craulnober and their retainers kept sheep on the island, and a few servants lived there year-round to tend the flocks. With a sudden jolt, Amlaruil realized that this was the season when spring lambs were born, and the sheep sheered of their winter coats. Most of the villagers and nobles would be on Tilrith for the work and the festivities that followed.