Silver Shadows (14 page)

The fire-bearing arrow streaked through the night like a falling star, plummeting into the dried weeds, crushed and matted by the passage of many feet, that surrounded the wooden building. As smoke spiraled upward toward the stars, elven arrows kept at bay all those who tried to quench the gathering flames.

Vile oaths and shouts of anger and fear poured from the building like smoke, but at last the humans were forced to stagger from the burning barn into the night.

“Shoot while you can, fight hand-to-hand when you must,” Foxfire said tersely. “Have ready a second weapon; as soon as possible we must arm any of the captives who are still able to fight. You, little sister, bide here and await our return.”

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But the rescued elf maid seized the steel knife from his hands. “For my mother,” she said before he could protest, and she showed him the bone dagger Tamara had already given her.

“You are a brave and blooded warrior, but you are hurt,” he said gently.

“I can still fight,” she insisted. Her eyes glowed with intense fervor as she seized his hand and pressed it to her lips. “And I will follow you to death and beyond!”

With these words, the elf maid darted out into the field, her thin, dark form silhouetted against the leaping flames. The other elves followed suit at once, fanning out as they went, running as silently as a pack of wolves.

Foxfire and Korrigash exchanged a wry glance and then kicked into a run. “I used to wonder why, of the two of us, you ended up as war leader,” the dark-haired elf observed. “Especially seeing as how I can outrun, out-shoot, and outfight you.”

A fleeting grin softened Foxfire’s grim face. “Ill remember that challenge, my friend, and disprove it another day! So what is this secret?”

“You know when to follow,” Korrigash said.

The elven leader’s black eyes settled upon the child warrior. She was the first to reach the humans. Her frail form was barely visible in the roiling smoke, crouched as she was astride a fallen man, but her arm rose again and again as the steel sank home.

Foxfire nodded, recognizing the truth of his friend’s observation, though he himself had never thought long on the matter. Korrigash had a gift for saying much with few words.

“Highsun and two,” Korrigash gritted out, naming a time of day and a direction.

Reflexively, his friend snapped up his bow and loosed an arrow ahead and to his right. The swirling smoke parted to reveal a human fighter, an elf-bolt buried in his gut and a look of surprise on hie face. In his bland

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was a length of chain—still whirling—that he’d been preparing to launch at Foxfire. The impromptu weapon wrapped around the human’s arm with a sickening thud and a crack of bone. When the human opened his mouth to scream, all that emerged was a sudden bright gush.

Foxfire turned away from the sight, for the death of his enemies gave him no pleasure. He touched the other elf s arm in silent thanks and pulled his dagger. Suddenly there was no more time for words. The battle closed around them with a hellish cacophony: a roaring of flames, the shrieks of rage and pain, and the deafening pounding of their own blood against their ears. The two elves spun and stood back to back to confront together a horror that both had long feared and neither understood:

A war against the humans.

The door of the Breaching Whale tavern slammed open, sending shudders through the many-paned windows that fronted the dock. An elf woman burst into the taproom as if she’d been thrust through the door by the winds of a freak summer storm. She was uncommonly tall for an elf, white-skinned and raven-haired—a startling coloring common to the moon people. Vivid blue eyes flamed like wizard fire as she stalked across the suddenly silent room,

Sandusk Truffledigger, the halfling barkeep, watched warily as the elf woman descended upon him with the force of a funnel cloud.

“Where is Carreigh Macumail?” she demanded, punctuating her question by slamming both hands upon the polished wooden counter.

The halfling was gratified to note that her voice, a melodic alto despite her anger, was definitely that of a haff-elf—not as flat as a human’s tones, but lacking the

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music and magic of an elven voice. Elves and human? both were trouble, but to Sandusk’s way of thinking ai L elf-human hybrid was to be preferred over a pure-blooded version of either variety. Half-elves were treated well enough in Zazesspur, but they walked a thin rope and most of them knew it. The ever-increasing racial conflicts of Tethyr put half-elves in a tenuous position that prompted them to watch their manners and mind then-own affairs.

This one, however, seemed determined to be the exception. When the barkeep did not answer fast enough to suit her, the half-elf seized his tunic with both hands and pulled him up over the bar until they were eye-to-eye.

“I know and appreciate the Breached Whale’s reputation for protecting its patrons, and I assure you I have no intention of harming Captain Macumail,” she said softly. “You, however, are another matter entirely. Now talk.”

“He’s gone!” the barkeep squeaked. “He left!”

Arilyn gave him a sharp shake. “I know that. I also know that he routinely informs you of his next destination. Tell me, or 111 skewer you like a roasting rabbit!”

“But I’m a halfling,” Suldusk protested in a piercing whine that carried to every corner of the tavern. He had long ago learned that those larger than he could easily be shamed, and like most halflings he doled out guilt with a lavish hand. “Fm but half your size!”

The half-elf smiled coldly. “So Til use a short sword,”

Suldusk considered the grim practicality of this solution. “He’s not gone far,” he said in tones more modulated toward discretion. “Mist-Walker raised anchor just this morning. Captain Macumail said something about hooking up with some pirate-hunters. Might be that you could still catch him.”

Arilyn stared at the halfling for a moment; then she gave a curt nod and lowered him to the floor. She turned and strode from the tavern. Without pause, she w&it to

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the edge of the dock and dove cleanly into the water.

One of the bemused patrons shook his head and snorted. “By the wounds of Ilmater! What’s the fool elf wench thinking of? Swimming out to Macumail’s ship?”

The halfling heard in these words the voice of opportunity. He smoothed his tunic back into place and then topped off his customer’s mug from a foaming pitcher. “My dear sir. that wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. And if you’re a wagering man, I’ll happily lay odds that she’ll have him back here by sunrise.”

Arilyn dove deep and began swimming steadily toward the west. As she did, she blessed Black Pearl, an old friend and a half sea elf, for the enchanted amulet of water breathing that allowed Arilyn to enter her world. The Harper was not fond of magic or magical devices, but she’d kept the talisman for many years in honor of her friend. Of late, she’d had need of it so often she’d gotten into the habit of wearing it.

As she swam, she kept a keen watch for threats from the many dangers in Zazesspur’s coastal waters. Colonies of sahuagin abounded; there were even rumors that the creatures had managed to capture several ships, which they used to engage in piracy. These rumors were unconfirmed. Lost ships were not uncommon, but survivors of pirate attacks were rare, and so far none could establish the truth of the strange buccaneers. But Arilyn knew what she knew. Where there were sahuagin, there were also sea elves, and she had long been on better terms with the People who dwelt below the sea than those who walked beneath the stars. She probably knew more about the sea folk’s affairs than did the insular elves of Tethyr’s forest.

The Forest of Tethir was vast and ancient, stretching from its easternmost point in the foothills of the Snowflake Mountains to the Starspire Peninsula,

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almost to the very edge of the sea. But few elves lived on this swampy western arm of forest land, a part of Tethyr that had long since been abandoned to the humans and their clandestine activities. Poachers cut down the ancient trees for mast poles; pirates docked in fingerlike coves. Even the sahuagin had bases on the Starspire. So, therefore, did the elves. And not just the Sea People. Once the sea creatures had taken to ships, the elven nation of Evermeet had sent in vessels of its own to even the balance.

In a deep cove near the tip of the peninsula, shielded from discovery by jagged rocks both real and illusion-ary, was a small outpost of the elven navy, cloaked with concealing magic and commanded by moon-elven sailors from the royal fleet. Macumail had confided this to Arilyn a couple years back, right after he’d first been named elf-friend and allowed to make port on Evermeet. The captain had returned from the elven island overbrimming with stories of elven wonders and glowing like a moon in the reflected glory of Queen Amlaruil. Although Arilyn had little patience for his stories about the elven queen, she’d listened and learned what she could. Since Macumail could stay in Zazesspur for only so long without raising suspicions about his intentions, Arilyn guessed he was bound for the elven port. She did not doubt that he would stay close at hand until he had done Amlaruil’s bidding.

Prom the corner of her left eye Arilyn glimpsed a femiliar shape in the dark water: an elven form, smaller than that of land-dwelling People, and almost invisible behind the writhing strands of seaweed he used as cover. If not for her infravision, Arilyn would not have seen him at all.

The elf was clearly part of a patrol. A tightly rolled net was tied to his belt, and he wore several sharp weapons and a wary expression. Arilyn had ho doubt that another elf, similarly armed, closed in on her from the right.
•

She raised both hands high and to her sides to show that they held no weapons. Then she slowly turned to fece the first elf. Using the hand gestures she’d learned from Black Pearl, she laboriously spelled out her need to find Macumail. Grudgingly she added that she was on an errand for Amlaruil of Evermeet.

The sea elf s eyes brightened with adoration at the mention of the elven queen, an expression Arilyn had seen far too often on the fece of Macumail, or for that matter anyone else who knew of Queen Amlaruil. Even Elaith Craulnober, a rogue moon elf of Arilyn’s acquaintance who’d spent his many years away from Evermeet honing his reputation for battle prowess and cruelty, grew positively misty at the mention of the queen’s name. The Harper gritted her teeth and focused her attention upon the sea elf’s gesticulating, webbed fingers.

Macumail Elf-friend has spoken of you, Arilyn Moonflower. The People have been charged with watching for your approach, though we expected you to come by boat. He lifted one hand in the directional inflection that indicated humor.

Arilyn, however, was in no mood to be amused. Moonflower” was the name of the royal family of Evermeet—her mother’s name, and one that Arilyn had no thought of claiming for herself. A simple error, no doubt, but one that grated on her.

Moonblade, she corrected him, spelling out the word with emphatic deliberation, but the elf had already turned away and was gesturing excitedly to his partner, a female distinguished by her close-cropped green curls and the gleaming trident she carried. The two carried on a brief discussion, their fingers flashing with a speed Arilyn could not follow. Then the elves gestured that she should follow them.

The Harper sighed, sending a rift of bubbles floating upward, and then began to swim after the sea folk. Arilyn was a strong swimmer, but there was no possible

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way she could keep pace with these elves. Time and again her escort forgot her limitations and left her behind, only to circle back.

Fortunately, Mist-Walker had not gone far into the bay. By moonrise the trio had the ship in sight. The sea elves bid farewell to their charge and disappeared into the black waters, leaving Arilyn to approach the human

vessel alone.

To Arilyn’s surprise, the ship had dropped anchor. That was risky, for even so close to Zazesspur piracy was far from uncommon. She climbed the anchor’s rope and quietly pulled herself over the side of the vessel. As she shook the water from her ears, she heard behind her the unmistakable hiss of steel sliding free of a scabbard.

Her own sword fairly leaped from its sheath. Moonblade held firmly in her two-handed grip, Arilyn whirled to face the challenger.

The swordsman was young—a son of one of the western Moonshae Isles, if his bright red hair and broad, blunt-nosed countenance spoke truth—and he was armed with a two-edged blade and matched dagger common to that area. Arilyn adjusted her grip slightly to prepare for the expected attack. Sure enough, the man feinted low, a common move that would no doubt be followed by a dagger feint and a sweeping overhead sword cut. There were many styles of swordplay among the humans of Faerun; Arilyn was acquainted with them all.

She parried his sword feint with a hard downward swing that forced the point of his blade to the deck. Before he could bring his dagger into play, she swept the moonblade up and to her right with a force that sent the smaller weapon spinning. At the same time, she stomped down hard on the man’s down-turned blade, wrenching the sword from his hand. The whole exercise took perhaps ten seconds.

For a moment the youth merely stood ^there,

unarmed, too stunned by the pace of the battle to assimilate its results. Then understanding of his fate dawned in his eyes, and he drew breath to shout an alarm before he died.

Arilyn slammed the moonblade back into its sheath and plunged both of her hands into the young man’s bright hair. She yanked him forward, drove her head hard into his forehead, then thrust him away as she pivoted hard to her left. Up came her right knee, slamming hard into his gut. As he folded with a soft “oof!” of surprise and pain, Arilyn changed directions and spun again, bringing her right forearm down hard on the back of his neck. Down he went—senseless, but with no lasting damage.