Silver Shadows (41 page)

“It would be removed. If this is your wish, we will proceed.”

“One moment,” Arilyn murmured. She drew the sword and held it, savoring for a moment the only link she had ever had with her elven heritage. As much as she feared the moonblade, and resented and at times even hated it, she never thought she would be called upon to give it up. Yet this she would do, for the good of the elven People, and for sake of the beloved spirit that would otherwise be trapped within.

Arilyn squared her shoulders and lifted the moonblade high one last time. She envisioned her eldritch double, and also the second shadow that she had unwittingly consigned to the service of the blade. Then she commanded them to come forth.

The paired elfshadows poured from the blade and took shape before her. Arilyn’s throat tightened as she looked upon Danilo’s mirror image. She wondered, briefly, if her friend would have any knowledge of what had transpired in the woodlands of Tethir. Before she had learned of her own elfshadow, and when the entity of the sword was under the control of her teacher, Arilyn had often been beset by dreams whenever the elfshadow was called forth to do Kymil Nimesin’s bidding. She only hoped that in his dreams Danilo understood what she was about to do and why.

Taking strength from the warmth in his gray eyes,

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Arilyn thrust the moonblade back into its sheath and unbuckled her swordbelt. She handed it to her ancestor.

Zoastria drew the sword in a smooth, familiar movement. The blue fire in the enspelled moonstone flared high and then subsided. The sword had accepted anew its former wielder. And one of the runes magically engraved upon the blade—that which ‘marked the power that Arilyn had added to the sword—began to blur.

As Zoastria murmured the bonding ritual that Arilyn had never been taught, the half-elf watched as her mark upon the elven sword faded utterly away—and as her elfshadow and Danilo’s, hands entwined, dissipated like mist.

“Thank you for seeing me, Duke Hembreon,” Hasheth said as he settled into the chair the great man had offered him. It was a heady experience, being in the presence’ of so powerful a man, and Hasheth did not mind very much that another man’s worth had purchased this privilege for him. It would not always be so.

“You said you have word from Hhune. Is there trouble in Waterdeep?”

“Nothing beyond the ordinary,” Hasheth replied, sincerely hoping this would prove to be true. “As you know, Lord Hhune has taken upon himself the burden of finding a solution to the problem presented by the forest elves.”

At least, Hasheth added silently, that is what I would do in his position. The young man doubted the other Knights of the Shield knew of Hhune’s illegal activities in the elven forest, or that they would condone them. How better for Hhune to keep such knowledge from their eyes than to offer to handle the matter himself?

“It seems Hhune has confided in you,” Duke Hembreon observed, testing the boundaries of^the young man’s knowledge.

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“I am his apprentice,” Hasheth said simply. “I wish to learn all he has to teach.”

There. It would be impossible to say more plainly— unless he abandoned any attempt at subtlety—that he was being initiated into the secrets of the Knights.

The Duke nodded thoughtfully. “And what has Hhune learned of the elven troubles?”

“The elves of Tethir are being despoiled. Their ancient trees are cut for lumber, their people slain. This is the work of a petty warlord, a mercenary captain by the name of Bunlap. The elves have sworn a blood oath against him. They will not cease their retaliatory strikes until this man lies dead.”

“And this lumber?”

“It has been shipped to Port Kir through a most ingeniously twisted route. The mercenary realizes an enormous profit. This he uses to raise an ever-bigger army to bring against the forest elves and perhaps for other uses, as well. Much of the lumber has made its way to a shipyard, where it is made into swift and well-armed ships. This Bunlap is a dangerously ambitious man.”

Hasheth leaned forward, his eyes wide and earnest. “I am young, Duke Hembreon, and perhaps not ready to trace the path of such a man without leaving marks that betray my own passing. It may be that Bunlap has learned of my efforts. He may make some attempt to implicate my lord in this, as retaliation. I have reason to fear he has found an accomplice in this work—someone close to Hhune. I have not yet learned the name of this villain. But I pray you, let me continue to seek his identity. If the Knights look too closely into Hhune’s affairs, this traitor may fear discovery and take flight.”

The Duke regarded him somberly. “There is wisdom in what you say, as well as a modesty becoming to a^ man of your years. You do well to bring this matter so openly before me. It will be as you have asked. The Knights will leave Hhune’s traitor in your hands. But as for this Bunlap—where can this man be found?”

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“He has a fortress near the mouth of the Sulduskoon’s northern branch. The logging camp is much farther to the east, where the river and the forest touch.”

A frustrated grimace twisted the Duke’s face. “The Knights of the Shield do not have an army to send against him over such distances!”

“An assassin, then,” the young man suggested. “I know of one who will do the task well and take word of its completion to the elves. She is half-elven, and eager to see that peace is made between her mother’s folk and her father’s. To this end, she has received assurances from the forest folk that the death of Bunlap will end the troubles.”

This was, of course, an utter fabrication, but Hasheth assured himself that the end result would bear out his words as true. After all, Arilyn had set her sights on the destruction of the logging operations. To do so, she would have to remove Bunlap from the picture.

“See to it and report to me when all is done,” the Duke said.

Hearing the dismissal, Hasheth rose and walked from Duke Hembreon’s chambers, doing his best to hide his elation.

The interview had gone far better than he’d hoped. Just a few more steps and he would be firmly in the graces of Hhune, Hembreon, and the Knights. And the only cost would be Hhune’s fleet of ships.

A bargain, by Hasheth’s eyes.

The following day, the forest elves and the lythari gathered in the hills beyond the Suldusk settlement. They would attack with the dawn, and there were still many preparations to make, and plans to lay, for the battle ahead.

The most difficult of the tasks before them would be

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rescuing the captured elves. By the best estimates of their lythari scouts, perhaps fifty elves of the Suldusk tribe remained alive. It was hard to judge their numbers with any certainty, for they were huddled together in cages built upon the ruined ground, from branches torn from the pillaged trees. The human camp was split, with some men guarding the captives, and others camped near the river. Accordingly, the elven forces would have to be divided.

Despite the grim nature of the task before them, the elven folk could not help but look with bemused wonder upon the strangers in their midst. Kendel Leafbower they accepted readily enough, though his obvious friendship with a dwarf was beyond their understanding. It was the human who most fascinated them.

Tinkersdam kept to himself, muttering and fussing with the collection of pots and vials and powders that he’d carried with him. The elves had all heard Ferret’s story of the destruction his concoctions had unleashed among the humans in Zazesspur, and even Tamsin, perhaps the most xenophobic elf among them, was more than willing to let Tinkersdam go about his business unhindered.

Arilyn felt rather useless amid the quietly intense preparations. In many ways her part in this battle was over. Through her efforts the lythari had joined the forest elves, and Zoastria had returned. The half elf had also secretly sent Ganamede into the forest, seeking allies among the fey forest creatures—those folk who were so reclusive that even the elves could find them only if they wished to be found. The lythari knew all the secrets of the forest. Even so, Arilyn felt little hope that Ganamede would succeed in gaining recruits.

She also felt oddly incomplete without the elven sword at her hip, for she had not been without the moonblade since her fifteenth year. Nor did she have a sword with which to replace it. Such weapons were scarce among the forest folk.

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This lack did not escape Foxfire’s notice. “You cannot go into battle without a sword,” he insisted.

Arilyn shrugged. Tve got a dagger. That’ll do long enough for me to disarm one of the humans.” She attempted a smile. “I’ll try out a few of their swords and keep the one I like best.” ,

“But even so, you must have a blade. If not for yourself for the good you might do the tribe—the People,” he corrected himself. There were now three elven races uniting in preparation for battle, and the once reclusive Elmanesse were learning to expand their concept of community. “Not one among us can match your skill, not even Soora Thea!”

Foxfire nodded toward the tiny moon elf female, who was demonstrating an attack sequence to a small group of young adult elves.

But Arilyn shook her head. “No, her technique is far cleaner and more polished than mine could ever hope to become. If there is any lack, it is because the moonblade has grown in power since she last wielded it. At least four elves have carried the moonblade since Zoastria passed it on, and each added a power to the sword’s store of magic. Truth be told, moonblades are becoming pretty damned hard to handle,” she concluded. “I doubt there are many left that still hold their magic.”

“And fewer still who can manage such magic,” Foxfire reasoned. “The tales say such a sword will consume anyone unworthy who draws the blade. It must take great courage to accept a moonblade.”

The half-elf merely shrugged. She was not being modest. She had first drawn the sword without knowing any of the implications.

“I have often wondered about the power you gave to your sword. They say this gift is not a deliberate choice, but rather the true reflection of the wielder’s needs and talents,” he observed.

“Or mission,” Arilyn added. “Sometimes the magic comes in response to a sudden challenge. One of my

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ancestors found himself in a disagreement with a red dragon and ended up endowing the sword with fire resistance. Imagine his surprise when he woke up and found himself alive after that battle!”

The green elf chuckled. “So that was how you endured the wizard’s fire bolts. I have seen the sword cast a glamour over you, and I have seen the uncanny speed with which it moves. Which of these was your gift?”

“Neither. A moonblade can be handled by only one person,” Arilyn explained, “and that can cause problems if you’ve got a partner. My gift was to share the blade and its magic, should he have need of it.”

“Ah. This explains much,” Foxfire said.

Arilyn cast him a quizzical look.

“During the battle at the river, I was hard pressed by the human fighters,” he began. “Yet I saw the shadow warriors come forth from your moonblade, and I noticed that one among them was not elven, though he quickly chose to appear so. I did not understand how this could be, until you told me you had joined with another in rapport.

“Do not look so startled,” he said, smiling a bit at the stunned expression on the half-elf’s face. “As you yourself told me, there are many kinds of sharing. The gift of your moonblade to this human was the deepest bonding of any you could have offered him. It reflected, as you have said, your deepest wish. And perhaps it was a needed thing, that the moonblade should do this. You were not able to see your need for this human or to find your own way to him.”

The half-elf stared at her friend, utterly dumbfounded by his words—and by the realization that she could not dispute them. The power she had given the moonblade was one of rapport, and her heart—and her sword—had chosen Danilo to share this most elven gift! How strange, that the well-intentioned lie she had offered as a balm to Foxfire’s pride should turn out to be simple truth!

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Poxfire’s smile was slight and rueful. “You are not the first to bond with a human in one way or another. There is something about them that draws many of the People. There was a song sung among the elves of Trademeet about this very thing. I do not remember the words, but for the last line.”

“How brief their flame, yet how bright they burn!” Arilyn recited. “Yes, I have heard it sung.”

“And you know the words of this song to be true, as did your mother before you,” he added softly.

Arilyn jolted as his meaning struck her. “You know. You know I am half-elven. You have known for some time!”

“Almost from the beginning,” the elf agreed. “At first I did not speak for the same reason that Ferret held her silence: it seemed the best way to serve the clan. You were needed. Then I kept silent for your sake, and for my own. Very soon I realized your being half-elven was not important to me, nor should it matter to any of the People. Your soul is elven, else you could never have wielded a moonblade or sought another in rapport. That you have chosen to share that bond with a human does not change your elven nature or belittle it.”

For the first time in her life, Arilyn truly understood the dichotomy of her own nature. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Foxfire placed both hands on her shoulders. These were things which needed to be said. We go into battle tomorrow. You know what faces us, and you also know I myself must face Bunlap. He will die, or he will be avenged. Either way, this matter must end.”

A slight rustle from the forest beyond caught the ears of both elves. They looked up into the bearded face of a centaur.

Arilyn remembered him from the elves’ midsummer celebration. He carried a long spear and wore an expression of grim determination. Apparently Ganamede had been convincing when he carried her message to the other peoples of the forest!

Silver Shadows