Danger lay ahead, as all knew, for there dwell in the depths of the inland sea a great serpent. The ships of the fleet were built with shallow draught to facilitate trading trips along the coasts in the shallows where Elsethea could not venture. But now it was necessary to run the gauntlet and cross the lake by the shortest way, for to journey to the southern shores around the coast would take several months and with many thousands of  mouths to feed, famine would surely come before the journey's end. The chance of meeting Elsethea seemed a worthwhile risk. The one hundred ships headed out to sea and the people turned their faces to look for the last time upon the old capital that had been their heritage for over three centuries.

Morning came to find Lake Wendor cloaked in a mantle of clinging mist. There was little wind and what seemed an unearthly stillness upon the waters. The people said  little and all that could be heard was the sound of oars breaking the sleepy surface of the lake.

Suddenly from the outer edge of the fleet came a great tearing noise - all eyes turned to peer through the mist as the mast of a ship disappeared beneath the churning waters. From out of the chaos rose the enormous head and neck of Elsethea, her jaws dripping with the blood of the unfortunate occupants of the sinking ship.

Arrows and spears were to no avail, as her scaly body turned towards a second victim; there was nothing anyone could do as her mighty tail came crashing down upon another galleon. The only course was to try and outrun her victims she would surely fall behind. After several hours and seven galleons lost to the bottom of the lake, Elsethea was no longer in sight. But the fleet had veered far off course and was still several days from the safety of the southern shores.

Exhausted from their efforts to escape Elsethea, the oarsmen of the fleet now safely out of danger, finally took their rest. Aenord looking upon the misery of his people, knew  within his heart that it was impossible to journey on for three days more without rest. Therefore he decided his only course was to turn to the East, in hope of reaching the island of Wendilianor, which must lie near after the chase from the clutches of the great monster. He knew of the inhabitants of this large island, for they were of the Grey Elves of Galadmin, who had dwelt upon the island long before the beginning of records in Carthilias. Little else was known of the elves for they were shy of man, living within their Kingdom in a magical isolation, and man in his ignorance believed them aloof and in some way feared them. Yet there was but one course of Aenord to take and that was to go to the elven kingdom of refugee if only for a short while.

The Island of Wendilianor

In time the light winds filled the sails of the battered galleons, and so they turned and sailed for most of that day. It was late afternoon when a cry rose from the mast head of the flag ship. In answer to which all eyes turned toward the horizon. There amidst the low cloud that mantled the lake, a misty outline was appearing with two great peaks rising high above the clouds, this was the legendary land, the mysterious Wendilianor. As the fleet drew nigh, the beauty of this magical island, as it bathed in the warm glow of the sun of eventide was a source of wonder to their eyes.

Great golden forests cascaded down the slopes of the mountains to the red sandstone cliffs whose glittering walls kept the relentless waves at bay. The two peaks rose, leaving the forest far beneath as they soared up and beyond the white clouds where their snow-capped peaks pierced the clear blue skies. It was there at the foot of the western mountain Aenord and his followers beheld Mythralis, the city of the Grey Elves - with towers of silver and pearl glittering amidst the golden trees as if the city were suspended in a timeless air: great white archways linked tower to tower and beautiful flowers bedecked all the windows and balconies.

With the anchoring of the flagship, longboats were lowered into the waters of the bay and on the shores below the city a cortege appeared. Aenord stepped from his boat and approached the King of the elven-folk, a tall dignified elf whose silver hair and beard fell about his grey cloak in long curls. They were seen to talk for some minutes before Aenord returned to his waiting party. Nimrond, the  elven King, had listened to his tale of the tragedies that had befallen his people and had without hesitation offered unto them the hospitality and friendship of the Elf Kingdom.

And so it was that the Carthilians spent nigh on six months on the Island of Wendilianor. For the beauty of their surroundings and the friendship that grew between man and elf put thoughts of their journey far away. Yet in his heart, Aenord knew, their hosts had borne the burden of his people for long enough, for they were strong of mind and body and cured of the ills of their tragedy by the wisdom and magic of the elves. Hope for the future had returned to their souls and the time was right to continue their journey.

And so Aenord, as a gift of parting to his elven friends, ordered that a great causeway be built across the shallows that separated the southern shore of the lake from Wendilianor. And a thousand of his masons and craftsmen remained behind to join the tiny islands in the region and create a link which would bind the two races in friendship and trade when they had settled in the lands to the South. And so in return King Nimrond and his Queen, Zendelwyn, asked if they might visit the Carthilians in one year hence, whence they would bring, in turn, a gift of great value.

At length the fleet set sail to great rejoicing though in their hearts many felt a sadness at leaving this haven of peace and beauty. It would be many centuries before the bonds of friendship, forged in these happy months would be broken. Many times hereafter man and elf would stand united against the forces of evil. 

The fleet this time sailed safely in the shallows to the south of Wendilianor, within the shelter of the tiny islands, thus avoiding another encounter with Elsethea. And so it was that they finally arrived on the mainland again. A settlement was built, which they called Lakoland, to house the masons who were to commence work on the causeway. The remainder of the people set off once more in search of a site for the new capital, leaving the galleons behind at Lakoland.