Silver Shadows

by Cunningham, Elaine

  * * * * *

  Several days after the midsummer celebration, Arilyn walked off alone into the forest. The key to the lythari’s den, the wooden pipe that approximated the call of a lythari, was gripped in one fist. What she intended to do was not easy, but she saw little choice.

  The half-elf went as far out into the forest as she dared. Even now, she easily got turned around in the magic-laden area surrounding Talltrees. She raised the wooden summoner to her lips and sent a long, mournful call wavering through the trees. Choosing a fallen log as a likely seat, she sat down to wait.

  Arilyn was not certain Ganamede would even answer the summons. The young lythari had been puzzled, perhaps even hurt, by her apparent inability to understand the gift he had given her in taking her to the lythari den. Nor could she explain to him that she’d had no real intention of asking him to recruit his peace-loving people to join the green elves’ battles. In suggesting this to Rhothomir, she had been buying time, purchasing Ganamede’s safety. But how could she explain this when it was precisely what she now intended to do?

  “Arilyn.”

  The half-elf spun toward the soft voice and found herself nearly nose to muzzle with the silver-furred lythari.

  “I heard a strange story in Talltrees,” she began without preamble. “The green elves tell of warrior who saved their tribe a few centuries back. It turns out that this warrior was one of my ancestors, Zoastria. Soora Thea, they called her. Word has it that she commanded the silver shadows. Is it true your people once allied in battle with the forest folk?”

  “Once, long ago,” Ganamede agreed reluctantly. “But the evil that came to the forest in those long-ago times was great, one that threatened its very fabric. Undead abominations, creatures from the dark plane, and an orcish tribe that fought for them, battled for no purpose other than the pleasure to be found in the death of elves. These creatures were an ulcerous growth upon the land, and so the lythari fought until the enemy was no more.”

  “The humans we’re dealing with now are none too pleasant either,” Arilyn pointed out.

  “Even so, humans are intelligent folk, and there is much good among them. From time to time the lythari strike against an evil individual—a rogue human, if you will, and sometimes even against an elf. But to do battle with many humans? How can we be certain the good are not slain along with the evil?”

  “Sometimes you can’t,” she admitted. “At times I’ve resented my sword for judging those who face me, but it’s a comfort to know that because of its magic, I can’t accidentally kill an innocent. Most warriors don’t have that advantage.

  “If you will not fight,” she added with a sudden surge of inspiration, “perhaps you’d consent to scout? Surely there are many ‘doors to the gate’ in the forest. You could slip in and out and give us a better idea of what we face.”

  The lythari considered her suggestion. “It is as you say. Yes, I will do this, and bring word to you of threats against the green folk. It is not much, but it may help.”

  Arilyn smiled and placed a hand on her friend’s furred shoulder. “It’s quite a bit, and more than I like to ask of you.”

  “I know this,” Ganamede replied softly. “For a time I doubted your purpose. But like us, you also walk between two worlds. It is not an easy thing to do, and sometimes others, who see through only one pair of eyes, do not understand.”

  “Sometimes I don’t understand, myself,” Arilyn admitted.

  The wolflike elf placed his muzzle on her shoulder in a rare caress. “In time, you will. And when you do, I will take you where you need to go.”

  And then he was gone, bounding off through the trees with eerie silence.

  Arilyn puzzled briefly over his words, then set them aside for more practical and immediate concerns. Despite her words to her friend, what Ganamede offered wouldn’t be nearly enough. Scouting would be helpful, certainly, but without the silver shadows beside them, it was unlikely the wild elves would venture beyond the boundaries of their forest.

  And unless they did, and unless they won, Bunlap and his men would continue to press and harass the elves.

  It was clear to Arilyn that the Harpers’ original goal of compromise with the humans was out of the question. Briefly, she wondered what Khelben Arunsun would think if he knew he’d urged her to make a deal with a former Zhentilar soldier. This much she had learned of Bunlap when she’d researched his fortress’s defenses. The Zhentarim were devoted to evil gods and their own personal profits, but they often showed a special enmity against the elven people. Arilyn knew enough of Bunlap and his ilk to know that his war against the elves was not due to a misunderstanding, nor was it solely for profit. It was a vendetta.

  And it was taking a grim toll. Before her arrival in the forest, Talltrees had been a thriving settlement. Now, fewer than a hundred elves remained to the tribe.

  Perhaps it was time to present Queen Amlaruil’s invitation to Retreat to Evermeet. Arilyn doubted the elves of Tethir would accept, and after midsummer, she understood this better. They were bonded to the land, as firmly rooted in their forest as any of the ancient trees. Even so, they should be given the option. There was nothing else for them to do. They were too few to fight alone.

  Or were they? Talltrees was one settlement, its inhabitants one clan of one tribe. Surely there must be others! The Forest of Tethir was a vast place, and the elves of the Elmanesse tribe were relative newcomers. There were other elves who had been living in the forest from time beyond memory. Surely now they would come together to fight a common enemy! As Arilyn considered this notion, she became more and more convinced that this was the path to take.

  Excited, she returned to Talltrees and sought out Foxfire. To her surprise, the war leader was not encouraging.

  “Yes, there are other tribes, and many clans among each tribe,” he said cautiously. “Many of the Elmanesse clans were slaughtered during the reign of the royal Tethyr family. There are small groups here and there, but they are too few and too far removed from us to be of much assistance. There is a small community of Elmanesse on Tethyr Peninsula, and other clans that live in the forest to the southeast of Trademeet. These elves are unlikely to aid us. In many ways their interests are tied more tightly to those of the humans. They trade with the farming folk who live to their east, and they carry goods north on the same path used by the caravans of humans and halflings. When the troubles started, we sent scouts northward to see if these folk were the source of the problem.” Foxfire paused for a wry smile. “Oddly enough, our scouts met with a delegation they had sent to inquire the same of us!”

  “But how many are there?” Arilyn pressed.

  “There are perhaps two hundred elves in the northern forests, the border lands, and the towns,” Foxfire said. “Some are moon folk or gold elves who mostly dwell in towns. There are a number of half-elves as well, but these seldom come to Tethir. Then there are a few solitary elves scattered about the forest: druids, skin-walkers, possibly even some outlaws.”

  The Harper considered this. “But what about the Suldusk tribe?”

  “You know more of Tethyrian history than most,” he commented. “The river that waters half of Tethyr bears the name of the Suldusk people, yet few people know of their existence. They are more remote than most of the Elmanesse, in inclination as well as in distance.

  “Do you find the folk of Talltrees more insular than the moon people?” he asked abruptly, not waiting for or expecting an answer. “So likewise do we find the Suldusk. In times past the clans of these two tribes raided back and forth. In recent centuries we have agreed to abide by the peace and keep our distance. No one even knows how many of the Suldusk remain. Even if we were to seek help from them, we would find none.”

  Arilyn threw up her hands in exasperation. “Fine. So we just sit here and let Bunlap’s men whittle us down, a few each battle?”

  “There is something else to consider,” the elf said with obviously reluctance. “Perhaps the humans should settle wit
h this Bunlap. They have laws, do they not?”

  “Lots of them, but not the means to enforce them,” Arilyn said glumly. “No, our best chance is for me to take out Bunlap and scatter his men. At the very least, I can keep them busy and out of your hair until I think of something better to do.” She nodded decisively, then turned and began to stride away.

  Foxfire stared after her, bemused by her quicksilver decision. At moments like this, the half-elf seemed utterly foreign to him, utterly human: impetuous, impatient.

  He decided it did not matter.

  The green elf jogged to Arilyn’s side. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll see that you get it.”

  She smiled thinly. “Several nice pelts would be a good start. I could also use some dried trail food—I’ll be traveling fast and the less time I spend hunting, the sooner I’ll get there.”

  “You will not go alone,” he told her. “I will go, and Ferret as well.”

  Arilyn hesitated for moment, then nodded. She still didn’t like or trust the elf woman, but Ferret had proven to be an effective assassin. The wild elf female possessed deadly skills that might prove valuable, as well as no discernible scruples. Both would be useful qualities for the mission ahead.

  As it turned out, there were four who set out on the three-day journey to the southern parts of Tethir. Hawkwing demanded to come along and, though Arilyn had reservations, she had to admit the young elf held up her end of the load. Hawkwing was among Arilyn’s finest students and had proven herself in battle more than once, but the Harper was not entirely certain the elf maid would perform as well once they were outside of the forest. The girl was too impetuous, utterly without fear or forethought. But as Arilyn had begun to realize, she had to accept whatever allies in this battle she could find.

  The southward journey passed quickly, and shortly after highsun of the third day the four stood beneath the open sky. A stream ran southward from the forest. Arilyn set a path along this waterway, which quickly broadened and deepened as it neared the place where it would join the northern branch of the Sulduskoon. They walked along this tributary for several hours more before the Harper indicated a halt.

  “See that hillock up ahead?” she asked, pointing. “It has been hollowed out to make a dwelling. See the stumplike chimney and those doors along the side?”

  The green elves squinted, then nodded uncertainly. All the fey folk had in some measure the gift of perceiving hidden doors, but this skill was seldom used by the forest-dwelling folk. In the forest, they could find a trail that would be invisible to the best human ranger, but out here, Arilyn’s eyes were sharper than theirs.

  “This is an outpost for the fortress. The men stationed here control trade coming and going along this branch of the river. There are too many of them for us to fight, and even if we could attack in larger numbers than we have, they’d still have the advantage of position and arms. So this is what we’ll do. First, gather some poles and lash together a raft. I’ll need those pelts,” she said, nodding to the bundle Foxfire carried on his back.

  The elf shouldered off the skins and watched with interest as Arilyn took two small vials from her pack. The Harper carefully sprinkled some brownish powder on one pelt, then doused it with liquid from the second bottle. That done, she pressed the two pelts together. This she repeated with each skin until they formed a small stack. She tied the bundle securely with a length of rope from her pack. By then Ferret and Hawkwing had finished their raft and come over to watch.

  “I’m going to put this bundle on the raft and ride, alone, past that encampment. As a moon elf, I’m the most human-looking among us,” Arilyn said, forestalling Hawkwing’s ready protest. “They’ll think me a trapper, floating goods downriver to the nearest trading post.”

  She ran a hand lightly over the glossy pelt of a river otter. “I doubt they’ll let me pass by without demanding a few of these beauties as tax. More than likely, they’ll shoot me out of the water and take the whole pile.

  “But no matter how bad it looks, stay out of sight,” she cautioned the elves. “I’ll hit the water as soon as I can and swim away. When the mercenaries take their plunder in to examine, they’ll have a nasty surprise. Any one of those pelts, pulled away from other others, will trigger an explosion that should blow the top off that hillock.”

  “Explosion?” queried Hawkwing.

  “A sudden blast, like lightning,” Ferret explained tersely. “Like that human wizard threw at us in the forest. I didn’t know you could cast such spells!” she demanded, turning accusingly on Arilyn.

  “I don’t,” Arilyn retorted. “This isn’t even magic—although it’s much the same in many ways. I just happen to have an associate who enjoys finding new ways to blow things up.”

  “Like tossing a torch into rising swamp gas?” Foxfire asked.

  “Exactly,” she agreed, relieved to have an explanation of alchemy the others could understand. “After the explosion, we’ll revive a few of the survivors. We piece together uniforms, boats, passwords—anything that will help Ferret and me get closer to the fortress.”

  The half-elf slipped off her chain mail, cloak, and boots and stashed them in the bushes near the stream. Not only would it be difficult to swim wearing such garments, but glittering armor and boots of elvenkind were not exactly the type of gear a poacher might wear!

  Arilyn hesitated a moment before adding the rest of her disguise. She’d grown comfortable in her elven role, and she was none too eager to take on another. But she’d fought the men of Bunlap’s fortress before. It was likely that few moon elven females passed by, and any one might leave an imprint on their memories—especially one who had handed them a rather embarrassing defeat.

  So she took a tiny pot of dark unguent from her pack and spread the cream over her face. She smoothed her hair down over her ears and tied it back at the nape of her neck with a bit of leather thong. Her pack yielded a rough cap, tightly rolled, which she shook out and placed low over her eyes. She loosened her shirt and let it hang over her swordbelt, then rolled up her leggings to her knees. That finished, she placed one hand on her moonblade and brought to mind a gangly, sun-browned human lad. The trio of gasps from the elves told her the blade had done its task.

  One of Arilyn’s predecessors had endowed the sword with the ability to cast minor glamours over the wielder. It was a slight effect, a small shifting of perception. Arilyn had learned to work with the moonblade’s magic to create a number of personas. Part of the transformation was done with small changes of costume, and she had learned to mimic the stance and movements of each character type she portrayed: a human lad, a courtesan, a gold-elf priestess, and perhaps a half-dozen more. But to the wild elves, her transformation from moon elf warrior to adolescent Tethyrian poacher must have been as startling—and as foreign—as anything a human wizard might accomplish!

  But there was no time to soothe their surprise or explain the sword’s power. She ordered them to take cover in the bushes and to follow along out of sight. As soon as her companions were away, Arilyn tossed the furs onto the raft and waded into the stream. She knelt on the raft and began to guide it downriver with a long pole.

  She was almost abreast of the hillock when the first arrow came at her. It went wide, but the visibility from the narrow strips of window carved into the barracks was such that she doubted the archer would know the difference. With a cry of feigned agony, she toppled off the raft and into the water.

  Sound traveled well under the water, and as Arilyn clung to the rocks at the bottom of the river, she heard the puzzled oaths of the mercenaries who’d come out to finish off the poacher, only to find no trace of him. Arilyn watched as they caught the raft and pulled it ashore, and she blessed Black Pearl, her half-sea-elf friend, for the gift of the amulet that enabled her to stay underwater.

  But it occurred to her, belatedly, that she should have explained this bit of stored magic to her companions. Apparently the admonition to stay hidden and quiet regardless of how things app
eared to be going had not been sufficient for the loyal Hawkwing. Arilyn’s blood chilled as a long, shrill cry filtered down to her through the water. She’d heard the elf maid’s battle yell often enough to know what it was.

  Arilyn braced her bare feet against the stones and pushed up with all her might. She broke the surface of the water and swam for shore so that she could join her friends in battle. Where Hawkwing went, the others would surely follow.

  The half-elf splashed ashore, drawing her sword as she came. The scene before her was not encouraging. At least thirty men poured from the barracks—far too many for the four of them to handle. Arilyn kicked into a running charge. Even so, she could do nothing but watch as the fierce elf child went down, clutching at the bright ribbon that a mercenary’s sword had opened along the length of her fighting arm.

  But Hawkwing was nothing if not resilient. She rolled aside, slapping her dagger into her other hand as she went. The elven girl came up with a fire in her eyes that no amount of blood could quench—not hers, and certainly not that of her enemies.

  Arilyn reached the nearest of the mercenaries and delivered a vicious backhanded slash. The man got his sword up in time to parry, but the speed and force of her blow knocked the weapon from his hand. The half-elf stepped back, then lunged in, her sword driving precisely between the man’s third and forth ribs and into his heart. She pivoted slightly, putting the soldier’s body between herself and the charging attack of a second man. She planted her foot in the dead mercenary’s middle and kicked him off her blade—and into the second man’s path.

  The charging mercenary couldn’t pull up in time, and the sword he held before him in a lancelike attack thrust deep into his comrade’s body. Arilyn circled around behind the confused human with three quick steps. With a mighty, chopping blow she severed his spine before he could withdraw his blade.

  She whirled, moonblade held before her in guard position, to face the approach of a third man. This one moved with a light, measured tread and wore an expression of supreme self-confidence. He smirked as he raised his sword in a parody of the salute that would begin a gentleman’s duel.