Realms of the Arcane - Brian M. Thomsen [8]
It grieves me to send you this news. May Our Mother grant you peace in your sorrow.
Watchful Brother of the Earth,
Garrel of the Glade Temple
Secrets Of Blood, Spirits Of The
Sea
Elaine Cunningham
You, there! You, the elf with ink-stained fingers and eyes the color of rain. Come closer. I could not harm you even if I had wish to do so. Your nets are strong.
You are chieftain of this hunting party, are you not? Yes, so I thought. It is even so with my people. Loretellers and spirit-talkers are leaders among the wemic.
This surprises you, elf? We lion-folk are not the savages of common-told tales. Oh, hunters we are, and warriors, too-make no mistake about that- but wemics know much of music and magic, tales and legends.
Do not doubt me: I am Shonasso Kin Taree, second O (or "grandson," as you two-legged folk reckon kinship) of the great Kanjir, and I am loreteller of the wemic tribe Taree. Loose me from this net, elf, and I will tell you a tale long hidden, a story of dire magic and of fearsome creatures that no living wemic on this savannah has ever seen-except in night-visions sent as evil portents.
Yes, I thought this offer might interest you! Of all the two-legged folk, elves have the sharpest curiosity. I see you have parchment and quill at the ready. Before we begin, tell your kindred to put up their spears. You have my word that I will bring neither claw nor blade against any of you until the telling is done. And then, I will fight only if forced to defend myself against your displeasure.
Oh, so you would never attack a bard whose tale displeased you? Hmmph! As my grandsire would say, "Leave that tale untold 'til the deed is done." But since you're so eager to give pledge, promise me this: Swear to write down my words just as I speak them, and to put the scroll in a place where many might read this tale and remember.
Good. I have your oath and you have mine. And now you shall have the story, as it was told to me.
In a time long past, when elves and dragons battled for supremacy in a world still young, there lived a dark-elven wizard whose powers were unmatched, except perhaps by his enormous pride.
Ka'Narlist was archmage of Atorrnash, a once-mighty city whose secrets have slept for centuries in the deep jungles of a faraway land-secrets that are whispered still beneath a hundred seas.
The dark elf's lair was a great fortress of black stone that stood high and proud atop a seaside cliff. From his keep, Ka'Narlist could look out over the Bay of the Banshee, a vast spear of seawater that thrust deep into southern Faerun. Far below his castle, the sea thundered and sang and shrieked-mournful, ceaseless music that darkened the wizard's thoughts by day and haunted his reverie by night.
Put away your maps, elf. That bay is long gone- lost when the One Land was sundered and scattered by best-forgotten magic. Do not be surprised that I know of such things. Our legends are as ancient as your own, and more honest.
Now, shall we continue?
As the years passed, Ka'Narlist's eyes began to linger upon the stormy bay. He spent long hours pondering what might lie beneath the vast waters, both in the bay he saw and in the trackless seas beyond. Though scholar he was, he did not wish merely to know: he intended to possess.
Such ambitions were not unusual among his people. The Ilythiiri, the dark elves of the south, were fierce, warlike people who plundered and conquered and enslaved a thousand tribes. Not even their fair-skinned elven kindred were safe from their raids! Ka'Narlist had earned his wealth in such raids, and he'd also brought back as spoils of war slaves from