The Simbul's gift - Lynn Abbey [88]
"Not by intent," the Moon elf corrected. Alassra studied him from the corner of her eye. She'd judged him the least sympathetic, but perhaps she'd judged wrong. More likely Zandilar and the Yuirwood had been a sore point with Faerun's elves for a very long time. The latter notion seemed true when the Gold elf threw his attention at the Moon elf, not her.
"Relkath, Magnar, Zandilar! They were wild gods," he hissed across the circle. "Those who worshiped them were wild, too, or became wild. If they had tamed themselves… But that went against their nature. Another path had to be secured before the Tel'Quessir lost their way in the Yuirwood."
The sages lapsed into a discussion in archaic elvish, full of names and events that meant nothing to Alassra. The words meant something to Alustriel. Though the High Lady of Silverymoon listened as still and silent as Alassra, barely perceptible changes in her expression betrayed her interest and surprise as the sages debated what had happened long ago.
The Moon elf blamed the forest, saying it was too old, too wild for the Tel'Quessir. "We were wrong to go there, more wrong to stay. The Yuirwood shaped the Yuir, not the other way around. We should have left it to those who were there when we came."
"Aye," the Gold elf retorted, with all the subtle scorn elves could cram into a single, small word. "Aye, and if we left it… if the coronals had shirked their duty or our gods had shirked theirs, then what, Stiwelen? Would you rather others had come to take our place? They were a lesser folk with lesser gods. They were bound to be overtaken."
Stiwelen, the Moon elf, scowled. He fondled the gem-stone pommels of his knives and said nothing.
Undaunted by the silence among the elves, Alassra entered the discussion. "There was an elven Time of Troubles?" she suggested, referring to the turbulent years, recently passed, when the gods of humanity had warred among themselves in mortal time and mortal form. The elves said nothing; Alassra took that for agreement. "And the Sunglade circles commemorate the Seldarine taming the old, wild powers of the Yuirwood?"
The old woman raised her head. "It was done," she said and stared at the Simbul.
"The Tel'Quessir Seldarine enlightened the old ones and adopted them, as parents to children," the Gold elf added.
"As cousins at a wedding," Stiwelen corrected, a needling smile on his lean face. Alassra was starting to warm to him, though perhaps it was his knives. "There was enlightenment-if you choose to call it that-in all directions."
The Gold elf made a fist and opened his mouth, but the old woman spoke faster. "It was done," she repeated her earlier statement. "The old ones accepted the Tel'Quessir. The Seldarine accepted the old ones. The Yuirwood accepted the elves; they accepted the Yuirwood. It was all done."
"But it didn't last. Humans came to the land they named Aglarond, and the Yuir elves began their own Retreat."
"Not a Retreat," Stiwelen said bitterly. "The Yuir elves couldn't Retreat. They'd bound themselves to the forest. They doomed themselves."
Alassra hid her surprise. She'd always assumed-the Cha'Tel'Quessir themselves assumed-that the Yuir elves had Retreated from the forest to Evermeet. "Doomed? They aren't…? They all died?"
Stiwelen nodded; Alassra looked to the Gold elf for a contradiction and got it.
"They are part of the Yuirwood. They had accepted the forest; it had accepted them. There was no other way. They understood that. When the humans came into the Yuirwood, they accepted them, too, and the Cha'Tel'Quessir were born."
"And the Cha'Tel'Quessir are doomed as well!" Stiwelen shouted, an unseemly sound that echoed around the menhir. He rose to his feet and stalked the perimeter of the glade. "This is what comes of leaving things half-done. Are we going to let our mistakes flourish or are we going to put a stop to them?"
The Gold elf rose to his feet as well. "There have been no mistakes!"
Stiwelen laughed, a biting sound, like quarrels from a crossbow. It flushed the birds