Artifact of Evil (13 page)

The high court of Celene was ablaze with light. Queen Yolande was celebrating the midsummer with a grand ball this night. High above carpets as green as the rich summer grass, domed ceilings showed the black velvet of the cloudless sky with its myriad stars and the full faces of both moons, pale Luna and azure Celene.

Fantastically carved and delicately wrought lanterns of all sorts, many with crystal and gems inset to refract and color their candies, competed with tapers reflected by mirrors of glass, copper, silver, and even gold positioned throughout the many-chambered palace. The Grand Court was awash in golden light, while other courts and salons adjoining it were either dim or bright, amethyst-hued, silvery, or illuminated so as to rival the cool depths of sea or ocean. All was harmonious and enchanting, each place exciting and different.

As carefully as the dozens of chambers were lit, so too their furnishings were chosen, complementing and enhancing the effect of each area so as to please the eye. Plants and flowers were everywhere, likewise blending with light and color, adding their special fragrances to the hall or court they graced. Here, night-blooming jasmine was a centerpiece in a salon of deep blue; there, green fronds and leafy branches screened yet another alcove whose dim interior sparkled with a rainbow of little colored dots as bejeweled lamps turned and swayed in the gentle zephyrs that flitted throughout the palace, causing even candle flames to dance and bow in seeming rhythm to the sweet strains of elvish music that accompanied these breezes.

The polished alabaster of the floor of the Grand Court bore no rug nor carpet. Hundreds of slippered feet moved across its surface, intricately stepping to solemn air or spritely melody. The dancers were begowned in silks and gossamers, garbed in velvets and satins, and glittering with cloth woven of precious metals. More glittering still were the arrays of gorgeous jewelry – diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, opals, and every other sort of gemstone imaginable.

Gray elves and faeries in indigo, gold, and white, purple, silver, and yellow, their high elven kin in soft hues of dove gray, blue, violet, green, and even a sprinkling of sylvan elves in chocolate brown and scarlet moved thus to the dance. With them were some few half-elves and humans, gnomes and half-lings. These folk added still other dress and colors to the spectacle – orange, fuchsia, citrine, mauve, turquoise, pink, crimson, maroon, and even black. Obtrusive only by the contrast of their garb, archers in green and brown and royal guards in silvered chainmail whose splendor was belied by the wood and steel of partisan and greatsword stood rigidly along walls and in alcoved balconies. Even in such festive surroundings as these, precautions were taken.

Silver horns and gold pipes sounded, and the throng parted so as to open a wide circle in the middle of the chamber. Coronets and diadems of noble lords and ladies formed the inner circle, and the handsome princes and beautiful princesses bent their knees and bowed their heads of platinum and golden tresses, raven-haired high elves, auburn-locked sylvan elves too. The Queen and her consort, Fasstal Dothmar, were taking the floor to dance the ritual steps of the Midsummer Frolic, the last formal requirement of the celebration.

When it was completed, the audience would empty into the acres of wooded gardens and parks that surrounded the palace. There they would doff most of their excess finery to trip and prance in dances and games of ancient elvish sort. This heritage could not be ignored by even royal elves when Rich-fest came and the twin moons of Oerth proclaimed Midsummer's own night. Only when the sky paled and dawn came would the revelry cease.

Queen Yolande and the tall Dothmar trod the steps of the dance alone for a full minute; then, as protocol demanded, royalty joined them, and then nobility, so that after a few minutes the hall was a swirl of color and motion. Suddenly the great doors at the far end of the chamber swung open. The ranked guards in the antechamber beyond slammed spear butts loudly upon the marble squares of the floor, and a silver bell sounded a reverberating note that caused the musicians to falter in their playing.

Into the Grand Court strode an old elfin mage's robes, with him a travel-stained druid, and behind them a straggle of others likewise clad in motley, dirty garments. What impertinence! Not even the Royal Court Mage would dare to interrupt so important and marvelous an occasion as this – yet here came the old geezer, Onselvon, now! The frowning crowd parted before his scowl, and, his staff making loud clattering noises in the suddenly silent chamber, the court mage strode purposefully toward the royal couple.

"How now, Onselvon!" called Dothmar. "You disturb the Queen!"

"Not to mention our noble guests," noted Yolande softly. She then turned her lilac-colored eyes to Onselvon and his incongruous entourage. "There had better be a good reason indeed, cousin, for this outrageous intrusion on our revel!"

"Your Majesty," Onselvon said with a slight bow. "Your Royal Highness," he added, nodding his head toward the outraged Dothmar. "I come with grave and dire news, and I must crave Your Majesty's forgiveness and immediate attention."

"Crave? You demand, not beg!" sputtered Dothmar, but Yolande laid her slender, white hand upon her consort's arm, and he shut his mouth in a grim line.

"How dire, mage? Say softly now."

Onselvon shook his head slowly. "The gravest," he replied to the Queen in a voice that only the three of them could hear.

"Princes and Princesses, Lords and Ladies," said Yolande in her clear voice, "I must speak a few words with our mage and his honored guests. You have our permission to resume the frolic, and when we return, the revel shall proceed henceforth to the parks and greenery."

The musicians resumed their playing as queen, consort, and mage went without unseemly haste through a short hallway to a paneled and frescoed audience room suitable for the urgency of the need. At Onselvon's beckoning, the group of strange guests followed, and a squad of the queen's guards brought up the rear.

"Out with it, cousin," Yolande demanded of the royal mage as soon as they were in the room. "I do not desire to keep my court dancing for hours!"

Onselvon again bowed slightly. "As Your Majesty commands. These are warriors fighting for Light," the white-haired old elf said, indicating the eight adventurers with a sweep of his arm. "Dismiss the guards, for these are the bearers of intelligence which only you two must be privy to." The queen nodded, and the guards withdrew. The mage then related the whole business succinctly, finishing with the fact that an agent of the hated Iuz was thought to have the precious third of the artifact created to restore Evil to the world. "Hear for yourself. I present Druid Greenleaf; Lord Gellor; Lady Deirdre; a fellow mage, Oscar; agent Gord; and the doughty fighters Incosee, Moon, and Patrick." Each of the visitors bowed deeply as the queen and consort acknowledged the brief introduction.

"Tell us now of your mission," Dothmar instructed, "so Her Majesty may make full her understanding."

Gellor, with appropriate homage, stood forth a step and related the beginning of the affair. The ruler of Celene glanced at her consort and nodded, acknowledging that she was aware of the alliance to prevent Evil from accomplishing its goal. The half-elf then concluded the rapid narration, for Greenleaf had assumed the coordination of things once the party had been assembled.

"Your undertaking serves Celene as well as all other states of goodwill," said the queen, "so we will now lend what assistance is possible. It is time for our return to the revels," she said with a worried expression playing across her delicate and strikingly beautiful features. "But we will send our constable to you soon. Onselvon, you have our leave to take these stout and goodly folk to the guest chambers of the Royal Wing of the palace. See that they are given all they need to refresh and rest them. The constable will join you soon."

Yolande and Dothmar departed then, as Onselvon and the tired and worn adventurers once again made appropriate obeisance. The court magic-user then beckoned for the others to follow him, and without further word he turned his back on them and strode from the room, taking a small passage screened by an arras.

"Come on, Gord," Gellor urged the young thief. "You seem to be thunderstruck – what's wrong?" The one-eyed bard grabbed Gord's upper arm and began towing him along.

"She is more beautiful than any other woman I have ever seen…" Gord replied dazedly, "even Evaleigh, and they could be sisters."

"Yes, Lady Evaleigh did show a strain of faerie heritage, but that's magic gone from the wand, if you will. It's our purpose now which is important, so pay attention, understand?" When Gord nodded, Gellor saw his expression and added, "If you must look for substitutes for your lost lady love, don't look at queens, and do it when our quest is complete – Celene is open to you, and the fair damsels of the court will receive you well – provided we triumph."

About then, they came to a rather plain room whose curving wall indicated it was in a tower. The constable, Parseval, met them there and escorted the group to his private quarters. The noble elfs party dress contrasted sharply with the austerity of the furnishings and the martial trappings that adorned the walls, but Parseval seemed unaware of the incongruity of his appearance in these surroundings. Despite his rather foppish garb, his manner was hard and direct. Queen Yolande had told him but little of the matter, so once again the druid and the bard explained – with many additions, this time, by Deirdre. This bothered Gord, for the constable seemed too fine-featured and handsome to him, and Deirdre's participation in the account all too obvious an attempt to flirt with the noble gray elf. How easily, he thought bitterly, women's heads were turned by pretty men.

"We have had some small intelligence of this entire scheme," said Parseval, unrolling a vellum map as he spoke. "A week ago, a distant cousin of mine came seeking information – which I did give to him. Melf, my adventurous kinself, has sworn fealty to the Lord Mordenkainen. He was here to discover the whereabouts of a band of reavers reportedly led by a renegade dwarf – a bandit company that I myself am hunting." The constable paused momentarily to peer intently at the unrolled map of Celene and its bordering territories. Then he went on.

"Here," he said pointing to the edge of the Suss Forest in the southernmost region of Celene. "This is where they first struck. A Royal Patrol spied them, but the villains killed nearly all of its number. These brigands then moved northward. They sacked and burned several small communities and waylaid a caravan too. They were shielded with a powerful dweomer, so our magic-users were unable to locate their whereabouts. Three forces were sent to intercept them, but these murderers somehow slipped between two of them and seemed bent on coming directly for here. Instead, they turned back and went northeast, getting clear and away into the Kron Hills before we knew. Melf is now trying to intercept them, I believe," Parseval concluded.

During his short recounting of these events, the constable had traced the path of the brigand gang on the map. Gellor studied the chart carefully and then asked, "Where do you suppose they are now?"

"Our agents in Hommlet have just informed us that a band of evil-looking men and demi-humans passed through that village three days ago. That is the last we have heard. The problem is now one for Veluna or Furyondy; Celene is no longer concerned." The constable said this last with a great deal of satisfaction in his voice.

"You err!" Gord interjected, allowing his scorn for the effete-seeming elf to show in his tone and expression. "If those outlaws bear what we fear, their escape could mean the end of all goodness and reason – and the fall of your isolated little kingdom, too!"

Parseval flushed and was ready to retort, but Greenleaf spoke first. "The manner of my comrade is wrong, Lord Constable, but his words bear much weight. Not just kingdoms are at stake here; we fight for the world!"

"Say on, druid," Parseval said expressionlessly. "Your queen sent you to us because Celene is in jeopardy. You must aid us immediately, for if we do not intercept that band of brigands, the consequences might be dire."

The constable looked solemnly at the half-elven druid, then shrugged. "Use your power to follow after these outlaws then, just as you did to enter Enstad."

"Each use of spell runs the risk of alerting the enemy – or worse," Onselvon said sternly "It is not to niggle that you were sent here, Lord Constable, but to give assistance as our queen directs."

"Ah-ummm," said Parseval, becoming uneasy under the piercing eyes of the old mage. "I suppose that you are right, Onselvon. The greater the strength of those seeking to foil the machinations of the Lower Planes, the better our chances for a happy result." With that, Parseval indicated the position of Enstad on the old vellum map. "It is some forty leagues from here to Hommlet – three days of hard riding, for much of the way is through the moundy Krons. Mounted on winged steeds, though – steeds such as the Royal Hippogriffs – the journey is one of but hours. Such aerial travel is perilous, of course, but you all seem capable, and time is precious. Agreed?"

There was a murmur of general assent from the eight strangers and a brief nod of approval from Onseivon, so the constable nodded with finality and spoke again. "Do what you must do, then, between now and mid-morning. I will have instructions sent to the staviary, the place which houses the hippogriffs, and all will be ready at the appointed hour. Eight mounts and an escort of a dozen of Her Majesty's Guards will await. You will be taken as far as the northernmost edge of the Kron Hills." Then he added with a note of warning, "No farther will our steeds take you, no deeper will our guards go, for Celene will retain her isolation. Nor will we deal with the men of other kingdoms. It is enough that we take such as you to the very edge of human realms."

"A fair enough arrangement," said Curley Greenleaf, stroking his palm over his bald pate. The gesture emphasized the human side of the druid's heritage, for elves never grew bald. "What of our quarry? Won't they still be beyond our reach?"