Silver Shadows

by Cunningham, Elaine

  Foxfire walked over to sit at his friend’s side. Immediately Korrigash fixed a concerned gaze upon him.

  “She is an outsider,” he said without preamble. “Nothing good can come of it.”

  The war leader frowned, realizing that Korrigash spoke of Arilyn but not understanding the apparent depth of his friend’s concern. “How can you say that, after what you saw? She turned the battle.”

  “True enough. But I was not speaking of battle.”

  “Ah.” Foxfire turned aside to stare into the fire. His friend’s concerns were of a more personal nature, had more to do with Foxfire’s fascination with the moon elf. It was well that not everyone in the tribe had eyes so sharp, else his own position as war leader would swiftly be brought into question. Accepting a moon elf as battle leader was one thing; a more personal alliance was simply out of the question.

  Foxfire reached over and patted Korrigash’s shoulder, accepting his counsel without responding to it.

  In truth, he did not know what his response should be. Yes, the moon elf was very different. But so were arrow and bow, and yet they worked together to become more than what either might be alone. His duty was to his people: could he turn away from anything—or anyone—who might aid them?

  Foxfire rose and bid goodnight to his friend. But the calm of reverie eluded him, and he walked through Talltrees until the song of the night insects had dimmed to a murmur. Shortly before dawn, his restless path brought him to the base of Arilyn’s tree.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he began to climb the ladder to her dwelling. There were plans that must be made. He had much to learn of her, and she of him.

  But he saw at once that Arilyn still rested. A surge of disappointment flowed through him, but no elf would disturb the reverie of another except in the direst of emergencies. For several moments, however, Foxfire gazed upon his new advisor.

  How strange were the moon folk, with their cloud-colored skin and eyes the shade of a summer sky! Perhaps their colors were a sign of how far the city-dwelling elves had removed themselves from the earth. No longer did the tints of earth’s browns and coppers and greens linger about them. It was said that of all the races of elves, the moon folk were most like humans. He could see that in Arilyn. In many ways she resembled a human woman, albeit one far more delicate and beautiful than any Foxfire had seen in the marketplaces during those years when the Elmanesse still traded with the humans.

  She stirred, as if somehow the intensity of his gaze had pierced her dreams. Yet if that were so, why did she seem distressed? He wished her nothing but good. She tossed her head back and forth as if in denial and spoke a strange name with such pain and confusion that Foxfire could not help but flinch. After a few moments, the painful reverie subsided, and her breathing returned to its odd rhythm: deep, slow and soft.

  Foxfire froze, easing his thoughts away slowly so as not to disturb her. Quietly, thoughtfully, he made his way down to the forest floor, to await the coming of the dawn.

  Fourteen

  Lord Hhune paced angrily about his chamber, keenly aware that the amused gaze of the mercenary captain followed him. This only made him more wrathful—not only had the man overstepped his bounds, but his insolence was beyond bearing! “You understand what you have done, do you not? The logging operation cannot continue! The money I have lost, the wealth I have yet to lose, is beyond reckoning!”

  Bunlap seemed singularly unconcerned by this outburst. “You have your private navy. The risk of acquiring more ships is far greater than the benefits.”

  This was true, but Hhune did not care to hear it from a hireling. “Your task was not to start a war, but to protect the foresters from the elves!”

  “Which is precisely what I have done,” the captain said coolly. “Do you think there is but one band of elves in all of the Forest of Tethir? We subdued the Suldusk tribe, but did not wish to risk word of your activities reaching the stronger and more warlike tribes to the north and west. What better way to keep these elves out of your business than to busy them with other matters?”

  “The plan is all well and good, but its execution is utterly out of control,” Hhune said. “You raised too much trouble with the elves, and now it has become a matter that demands resolution. What if there is all-out war and the pasha of Zazesspur sends armed men into the forest? What if my logging activities come to light?”

  “There are still trees enough in the forest. It’s not likely an invading army would notice that a few have gone missing,” the mercenary retorted. “And if so, what of it? You’ve covered your backside with so many layers of paper that you couldn’t feel the lash of a whip through them all! Even if the logging operation were discovered, no one could trace it past those holding companies of yours.”

  “We take no more chances. Close up the logging camp at once.”

  “And the elves?” Bunlap said.

  Hhune shrugged. “The elves always have been and always will be. Let them melt back into their shadows. I have bought a bit of time with the Council of Lords, before that time is up, the troubles will stop and the attention of the people will be drawn to other matters. Are we clear on this?”

  “Ah, but there we have a problem,” Bunlap said in a smug tone. “Certain things, once set in motion, are difficult to stop. The farming folk north of Port Kir live in mortal dread of elven attack. Business in Mosstone has fallen off, except for the hiring of mercenary guards. I can’t seem to get enough of my men up there to satisfy demand. And I notice that you yourself are preparing to travel northward with far more than your usual guard,” Bunlap added.

  “It is my custom to attend the summer fairs in Waterdeep,” Hhune said stiffly. “I have my responsibilities to the shipping guild to tend.”

  “Ah, yes. Commerce. And how does overland trade fare these days?”

  The guildmaster glared at the man. “Not well,” he admitted.

  Bunlap tsk-tsked. “A shame. I would hate to see you lose your position in the shipping guild. Not to mention the negative impact upon your future prospects when word spreads that these elven attacks are actually in retaliation against atrocities committed against them, atrocities in which you played no small part.”

  “Do not presume to blackmail me,” Hhune said coldly. “You are as deeply involved in this as I am. You cannot fling stable-sweepings without the scent clinging to you!”

  “Then I see no reason why we should not both continue to profit,” the mercenary returned. “I will close down the logging camp, send the hired foresters back to the Vilhon Reach, and man the camp as a second base of operations. My men will take on the elves, and take out the elves. Once this is done, your problem is solved. Your precious trades routes will be hampered only by the usual bandits and brigands, and the villages and farms will have only the petty noblemen to torment them. In short, life in Tethyr will return to normal. I gain a second stronghold and settle a few personal scores. And you, my friend, can take whatever credit for sudden calm that suits your purposes—and give whatever explanation for it that you like.”

  “If you think to defeat the elves in their own forest, you are utterly mad,” Hhune scoffed. “That was attempted; the best the army could do was to drive them deeper into the trees.”

  “Granted, the total destruction of the elves is little more than a pleasant fantasy. Yet I shall do my small part. And frankly, who will know the difference, but for you, me, and the few elves that survive?”

  Hhune thought this over. It was not an ideal situation, but it was a workable compromise. It would not be the first time he had been pressed into shady alliances or forced to work outside the bounds of law, nor would it be the last.

  After Tethyr’s civil war, laws were passed in Zazesspur, as well as in several other cities, that strictly limited the arms and forces that any citizen, guild, or private group could maintain. It was quite illegal for Hhune to own the type of fast, maneuverable, and well-armed vessels that could protect his merchant ships from piracy. Hhune considered
these laws unreasonable, so he’d found ways to circumvent them. Yet within the very guild he strove to protect were those who would gladly betray his activities in the hope of climbing to his position. Guild monies were carefully monitored, and embezzlement was out of the question. And although he was a wealthy man, it was not within his means to finance the sort of fleet he needed. It had occurred to him that the resources he needed were close at hand: the ancient trees of the elven forest.

  Logging in the Forest of Tethir had been forbidden for as long as human memory stretched back. Perhaps because the strictures against this were so deeply ingrained, Hhune found setting up an operation to be far easier than he expected. First came the chain of merchants and messengers and companies that stood between him and the hiring of foresters from distant reaches of the Vilhon to the east. This had gone well, until attacks by the eastern tribes of elves had brought logging to a standstill.

  That was when Hhune had hired Bunlap, and the man had proven his worth ten times over. The mercenary captain had at his disposal a veritable army, as well as an information network as efficient as any affiliated with the Knights of the Shield. The captain’s knowledge of river traffic was such that loggers could find brief windows of time to float the cut lumber downriver. At a point just south of the Starspire Mountains, below the river’s fork on the southern shore, the logs were netted, loaded onto wagons, and brought in overland until they met up with the trade route west of Ithmong and east of the ruins of Castle Tethyr. False papers claimed that the logs come from the forested south. Hhune “paid” for the logs and made a nice profit selling the lumber to a shipyard in Port Kir. He then used the funds—under the guise of several blind companies—to pay for his fleet of illegal ships.

  It was a good plan, and so far all had gone well. But keeping this information from his guild, from the Knights of the Shield, and from the officials of Zazesspur was becoming an increasingly delicate balancing act. One, Hhune feared, that Bunlap might well upset. It was best to give the man his way in this matter.

  “Do what you will with the forest elves,” Hhune said coldly. “As you have pointed out, I do not care what becomes of them. Do whatever is needed to see that the trouble dies down soon, but do it quickly and quietly.”

  “Agreed,” Bunlap said and rose to leave. It struck the mercenary captain that this was a promise easily made. Indeed, the task would be far easier than the foolish merchant thought. In the tumultuous climate of Tethyr, a few rumors served remarkably well to create panic. Let some new and different sort of disturbance arise, and the “elven threat” would fade soon enough. Especially considering that Bunlap and his men were the source of most of it!

  It was also ridiculously easy to draw the elves into conflict. They were protective of their own and their forest. Threaten either one, and the long-eared idiots came at a run.

  Bunlap looked forward to hearing Vhenlar’s report. If all went as he, Bunlap, had planned, he would have satisfaction enough to justify the gold the Halruaan wizard was costing him.

  As he strode toward his waiting horse, Bunlap absently traced the scar on his face, a gesture that was fast becoming a habit. No amount of gold would settle that particular account. There were some matters that could be paid only in blood.

  That, he would have in plenty. When he was done with the Suldusk tribe, every elf in Tethir would flood to his new stronghold to take their vengeance.

  And he would be more than ready for them.

  * * * * *

  The days passed quickly in the forest, for there was much to be done. Arilyn found that though the elves were superlative archers, they had little knowledge of the various human styles of swordplay. They were quick, agile, and utterly fierce in battle, yet these things were no replacement for knowledge.

  She spent much time drilling those who possessed blades, and encouraged the production of other weapons. The forest people looked with horror upon the crossbow, but she stubbornly insisted that the artisans of the village fashion as many copies of hers as possible. As days slipped by, Talltrees began to acquire a considerable arsenal: spears, javelins, bone daggers and throwing knives—anything and everything that could be used as a weapon.

  This worried Rhothomir, who saw, as the inevitable end of all this, a huge war that his people could not win.

  “It is not our way, attacking the humans in large numbers. And why should we? It is utterly foolish to go against so many.”

  “We do not yet know how many we must fight,” Foxfire reasoned. “You speak as if the humans were of one mind and purpose! It may be that our foe can be overcome. If not, at least we are better prepared to keep them from the forest.”

  And so it went, at great length. Arilyn kept away from the arguments, letting the elven war leader speak for her. She had enough to occupy her time without dealing with the tradition-bound Speaker.

  Chief among her problems, oddly enough, were her most avid supporters. There were among the younger elves many who applauded her vision; Hawkwing and Tamsin were leaders among them. This worried Arilyn more than it reassured her. The sheer power of the hatred these elves held for all things human did not bode well—not only for her own safety, but for theirs. The Forest of Tethir was vast and deep, but the simple fact of life was that its boundaries, now defined by human farms and roads and towns, were shrinking. This was to be a battle, not a crusade. The best that Arilyn could hope for was to buy more time for the forest folk, time for them to enjoy the peace and beauty of their ancient ways, time in which they could learn new ways, perhaps come to terms somewhat with their human neighbors. In this Khelben Arunsun and the Harpers had been correct: there was no way to push back the humans except to move back the hands of time itself.

  So she was more than a bit concerned to see Tamsin and his crowd gathered together, talking with an excitement that fell just short of a fever pitch. She strode into their midst and drew a long, relieved, breath. The scouts had returned.

  “Go get Foxfire and the Speaker,” Arilyn bid one of the younglings. He hurried off, to return in moments with the older elves.

  Faunalyn, a young female well named for her doelike eyes and tawny skin, spoke with great excitement. “We followed the humans, as you said. They traveled south, past the spring pool and out of the forest. We followed them still,” she added in a voice still rounded with the remembered wonders of the outside world. “There is a vast dwelling of wood and stone. They went within.”

  “A fortress?” Arilyn asked sharply. “Was it on a low cliff, overlooking the river?”

  The elf woman nodded, then recoiled with surprise when the moon elf let out a sharp and earthy curse.

  “Do you know this place?” Foxfire asked her, taking her arm and drawing her aside.

  “I’ve been past it. Just barely. The local lord is a mercenary by the name of Bunlap. Nasty piece of work.”

  Foxfire stared at her. “You are certain of this?”

  “Oh, yes,” Arilyn said dryly. “I spent a small fortune making certain of the fortress and its defenses. Of course, at the time I was just planning how to get past it, not how best to attack.”

  “Attack,” he repeated softly, shaking his head as he tried to absorb this. “Can we do such a thing?”

  The Harper sighed and dug one hand into her hair. “Give me a few minutes to think about it, would you? I don’t happen to have a plan in mind just yet.”

  “If you are to consider this matter, there are things you should know,” Foxfire said in a somber tone. “I have met this Bunlap. He claims to seek justice for elven wrongs, yet from all I know it seems he is bent upon blackening the name of the People. Why this is so, I cannot guess. But he has reason to hate me—he bears my mark on his face.”

  He took a black arrow from his quiver and showed Arilyn the mark upon it—the stylized design of the flower from which he took his name. “I carved this onto his cheek.”

  She looked sharply at the elf. “You couldn’t have told me this sooner?”

  Foxfi
re shrugged, but he looked a bit sheepish. “Once the humans leave the forest, they are all but lost to us. It did not occur to me that you might be able to trace this man to his lair.”

  “Hmm. Do you know anything else that might be of interest?”

  He hesitated for several moments before answering. “You may wish to speak with Ferret. She has lived among the humans, trying to find just such answers as we now seek. It is not widely known where she went, or how she passed the months away. Please trust me when I say that it is best left this way. There are those among us who do not approve of her methods, and yet others who would be too quick to imitate them.”

  Arilyn nodded, for she understood this matter far better than he knew. “I’ll do that. What else?”

  “The tribe has been willing to undergo your training. They have made your weapons and would use them in defense of their home. But I do not know whether they would leave the forest and follow you—or me, for that matter—into battle. It is not our way.”

  “And yet your people have done just that in the past,” Arilyn mused. Something from Ferret’s tale clicked into place in her mind—an incredible possibility that might just galvanize the forest folk. “I need time alone to think about these things,” she said abruptly. “Where can I go where I will not be disturbed? It is important.”

  “If you like, I myself will stand guard below your dwelling. None will pass,” Foxfire said, looking a bit puzzled by her vehemence.

  Arilyn noted this, but did not take time to respond to his unspoken questions. She strode over to her tree and climbed the ladder to her small dwelling. Although it seemed rude to do so, she pulled up the ladder after her and laced shut the deerhide flaps that covered the small windows.

  When all was secured, Arilyn pulled her moonblade from its sheath and held it up before her face.

  “Come forth,” she said softly, steeling herself for the appearance of her magical double. The ghostly mist swirled up from the elven sword, quickly taking the form of its half-elven mistress.