Silver Shadows

by Cunningham, Elaine

  Taking the cue Ferret provided, Arilyn moved to stand behind the slumbering elf woman. The light from the moonblade fell upon the still face and set the sapphire braid sparkling. The half-elf took a deep breath and then spoke into the expectant silence.

  “Come forth, you who were once Zoastria, known to the people of Tethir as Soora Thea. Your time has come again.”

  Mist rose from the blade and swirled over the form of the slumbering elf. Zoastria’s elfshadow, pale and insubstantial and wraithlike, stood before the forest folk.

  As all eyes clung to the spiritlike form, the essence of the elf woman slowly began to take on substance. The ghostly outline filled in, gradually becoming as solid and mortal as any of the forest folk. Yet she stood like one caught in a trance. Her eyes were closed, her body still. Her face warmed, changing from the color of snow to that of pearl. At last her eyes opened and settled upon the people of Tethir.

  Zoastria’s gaze swept the assembled elves, coming at last to rest upon the wizened faces of the two elders. She strode forward and clasped the wrist of the aged Ysaltry in a warrior’s greeting.

  “I remember you well, Ysaltry, daughter of Amancathara. And you, also, although your name comes not readily to my tongue. You both fought bravely in a time long past. Your wisdom and your memories are needed now. We have much to teach your people before battle,” she announced in a firm, commanding voice.

  The eyes of the forest folk darted toward the place where the elf woman’s slumbering form had rested but moments before. Arilyn stood there with a quenched and silent moonblade held in her two hands, but the litter before her was empty. Shadow and substance had again become one.

  Silence, complete and profound, gripped the elven people. Then Rhothomir went down on one knee before the tiny moon elf warrior. As one, the people of Talltrees dropped to kneel upon the forest floor, pledging to follow the hero who had returned.

  * * * * *

  The rest of the day passed in council meetings and frantic preparation as the elves prepared to march on the logging camp. Even the lythari clan lingered nearby, listening to the planning. Each person had a role, and all sensed the need to mesh their actions with those of their new allies.

  Finally, with the coming of night, Arilyn and Ferret at last had a chance to learn more about the destruction that had taken place in their absence. They sought out Foxfire, and the three withdrew to the shadows of the elves’ makeshift camp. The elf women shared a roast haunch of rabbit—the first food either of them had eaten that day—as they listened to his grim story.

  “The humans came upon us more suddenly than I would have thought possible,” Foxfire said quietly. “They knew the way, and they had been forewarned of all our defenses. Their wizard killed our scouts, even blasted the dryads’ trees! There were spells of silence about them, I think. If not for the warnings of the birds, they might have come upon us, as well. We were able to retreat into the forest before the wizard’s fire was unleashed upon Talltrees, but barely.”

  “How did you escape pursuit?” Ferret asked.

  “They did not pursue.”

  Arilyn caught the note in Foxfire’s voice, the unspoken fear in his eyes. “You believe that we are being baited, drawn into a battle of their choosing.”

  The war leader met her gaze. “That is so. The humans did this once before. They laid waste to Council Glade and left some of my own arrows among the slain. They let us know where they could be found, and they waited in ambush for us.” He paused. “There is a matter that lies between me and the human leader. This attack has his stamp upon it.”

  “What this time?” she asked softly.

  For a long moment the wild elf did not respond. “I have told you that I carved my mark upon the face of the human known as Bunlap. The body of one of our scouts—Uleeya Morningsong—was left just beyond the circle of ash. My mark had been cut into her cheek.”

  Arilyn leaned forward and placed both hands on the wild elf’s shoulders. “If the gods are kind to you, you will never come to understand evil men as well as I do. But you may believe what I’m about to say to you.”

  The male nodded for her to continue.

  “When in Zazesspur, I learned that this man, Bunlap, was hired to guard a logging camp from the Suldusk. It would not surprise me if this task proved to be far more difficult than he had anticipated. It is likely that the early battles with the Suldusk tribes ignited his hatred of all elves. You see only the part of the flame he turns toward your clan. No doubt there are others in the forest who wonder what they might have done to deserve such hatred.

  “I have known many men like Bunlap. There is never a single, simple explanation for the evil they do. So please, my friend, do not take more of this upon you than you need to carry,” she concluded softly.

  Foxfire lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “Thank you. I will think on what you have said. But come—we should join the others at council.”

  The Harper nodded and rose to her feet, moving with her customary decision toward the council fire. But Ferret caught the male’s arm before he could follow.

  “When last midsummer was upon the forest, we were pledged to one another,” she said softly. “Have you forgotten this so soon?”

  Puzzled, Foxfire gazed down into the elf woman’s black eyes. “We were very young when we spoke our pledge, and since that day our feet have taken us down different paths. It was you who asked to be released, before you went among the humans.”

  “I cannot regret what was done for the clan,” Ferret said. “But you forget the reasons why we pledged to each other, so many years past. I am lore-talker and sister to the Speaker; you are war leader. Together we would have brought strong children to the clan, elves who would in turn lead the People. If you do not soon choose a suitable mate and produce heirs, you will not remain long as war leader. You are needed, and you must think of the clan.”

  “Ah.” At last Foxfire understood the elf woman’s concern. “And you fear that if I were to choose Arilyn, the clan would not accept the children of a moon elf in our midst.”

  Ferret nodded. “That is part of it. There are things about our new battle leader that you do not know. She and I have met before, in the humans’ city. You must believe me when I tell you she is not what she appears to be.”

  “I see,” the male said slowly. He studied the elf woman for a moment, marveling that she, too, had long known and kept Arilyn’s secret. But then, as he considered the matter, it was not so surprising after all. Ferret was utterly single-sighted in her desire to serve the good of the forest elves, even if that meant allowing a half-elf into the elven stronghold and keeping that secret from her own brother.

  “So you know Arilyn is half-elven,” he said bluntly. “And knowing this, now that you have also come to know her, does it truly make any difference?”

  A startled expression crossed Ferret’s face, once when she realized that Foxfire already understood Arilyn’s true nature, and then a second time as she gave consideration to his question.

  “No,” she said in a wondering tone. “No, I suppose that it does not.”

  Then her face softened, and she placed a hand on Foxfire’s arm. “There is one thing more, something I had not thought to tell you. For all the truth in what you say, the half-elf is not for you. She loves another. A human.”

  “This I also know,” the male said softly. “But I thank you for your concern. Come. We should join the others.”

  The elves drew near the circle and entered into a heated debate concerning the best strategy for dealing with a human wizard.

  Arilyn nodded to her friend and then turned back to the discussion, for in it, she saw an opportunity to explain Tinkersdam’s presence at the coming battle. “You have all witnessed the damage the human wizard inflicted. Not only the destruction of Talltrees, but the way he could turn elven arrows back against their archers. Imagine what such could do if he had time to prepare for battle in a place of his choosing! The spells he could cast, the tr
aps he could lay?”

  Several of the elves nodded grimly. None who had fought that first battle would forget the sight of their kindred burned to cinder in the span of a heartbeat.

  “I know someone who can spring these traps and best the wizard in battle. He is a human, a scholar, and a priest of a goodly god. He has been an ally of mine for many years. Even the lythari accept him. They have taken him ahead to the battle site, along with two warriors to protect him, so he can scout and prepare.”

  “A wise precaution,” Foxfire said quickly, seeing the grimaces on the faces of most present. “Even in the days of Cormanthor, humans fought beside the People against a common evil.”

  “I will speak truly. This man is nothing like the humans of ancient Myth Drannor. He has no love for the elven people or our way of life,” Arilyn said with all candor. “But neither does he bear us any ill will. He does hate all things Halruaan, and you can be assured that he will make this fight against the wizard his own!”

  “So be it,” Zoastria said, and the others, still awed by the return of their ancient hero, were content to accept her word as final.

  The elves debated briefly about the best way to approach the Suldusk lands. Less than two days’ march to the east lay the valley known as the Swanmay’s Glade. Here was the largest lake in the forest, and from it a small river wound its way toward Suldusk territory. They could build rafts and float downstream more rapidly than they could walk. It was agreed that they would leave at first light, after a night spent in reverie, meditation, and prayers to the Seldarine.

  When the chorus of morning birdsong began with the first few tentative, somnolent chirps, the elves were already on the move. They followed the trails the retreating humans had left, not a difficult thing to do.

  As usual, Tamsin had gone up ahead to scout. He had not cried back a warning, but none of the elves doubted that he had come to grief, for his sister Tamara suddenly stopped walking and cringed, and placed both hands over her eyes.

  A silence fell over the elves, for what could the fey female have seen that would cast such desolation over her, but the death of her twin-born brother?

  Tamara’s shoulders rose and fell in a long, steadying breath, and she lifted her eyes to Foxfire’s face. “It is as you have said. The humans are luring us to them. They will be waiting for us, and for you. Come. You will not want to see this, but you must.”

  Several hundred paces down the trail, a sapling had been stripped of its branches and turned into a post. To it was tied the body of an elf. Not Tamsin—this one was a stranger, a Suldusk elf, dead for perhaps three days. Flies buzzed about the body, lingering on the shape of a flower that had been cut into one of the dead elf’s cheeks.

  “How many more elves mark the trail south?” Tamsin murmured in a despairing voice. “How many more will die in captivity before we reach the southern forest?”

  Ganamede, who had returned to the Elmanesse with the dawn, padded over to Zoastria’s side. “I have seen the human camp,” the wolflike lythari said. “Their numbers are far greater than ours, and they have had time to set up defenses. Our only hope of prevailing—and freeing those elves who have not yet been slain—is surprise. I have spoken with my clan. The lythari will take you between the worlds to a place much nearer the camp than the Swanmay’s Glade—a day’s walk, no more.”

  “The humans have had more than three days’ head start,” Rhothomir observed. “Even so, they will not arrive at their camp long before we do and will surely not expect us so soon. They will no doubt have scouts watching for our passage. With what you suggest, we could slip past unseen and catch the humans utterly unaware! If your clan is willing to take us, we accept most gratefully.”

  The elves set about dividing into small groups so they could travel with the dozen or so lythari through the gates to the battle site. Foxfire was among the first to go, as was Rhothomir. It seemed best to send the leaders first, but Zoastria waved aside her turn and motioned for Arilyn to come with her.

  The two elven females walked away from the others. When they came to a small clearing beneath the shade of some ancient oaks, Zoastria came to a halt. “The battle comes sooner than I had expected,” she said abruptly. “It is time.”

  Arilyn gazed down at the smaller elf, not understanding. She followed the elf woman’s gaze to the moonblade on her hip.

  “You have worn it well, for a half-elf,” Zoastria admitted. “But my time has come again. I will have my moonblade returned to me.”

  Twenty-one

  Arilyn stared at her ancestor, dumbfounded by this demand. She had not foreseen this result of raising the sleeping warrior!

  “The moonblade has accepted me as its wielder. The sword and I are joined!” she protested. “I cannot turn it over to another as if it were no more than a common weapon!”

  “Only one can wield the sword,” Zoastria said sternly. “If you have another weapon, draw it, and we will let skill decide the matter.”

  The half-elf rejected this notion at once. As much as she admired the elf woman’s skill at arms, Arilyn suspected she could best Zoastria in battle. And she had not restored this ancient elven hero to the demoralized Elmanesse only to destroy her now. Nor had she ever once thrown a fight. This Arilyn simply could not do, not even for the sake of the forest folk.

  Zoastria must have seen some of this in the half-elf’s eyes, for she quickly offered another suggestion. “Or follow your heart’s desire. Give the sword to me willingly and be free of the moonblade once and for all. In relinquishing the sword to a former wielder—and its rightful owner—your duty to the People would be honorably fulfilled, and your pledge to the moonblade’s service would be returned to you.”

  As the half-elf pondered this unexpected solution, an enormous weight lifted from her heart—and the void was filled at once with a strange sense of sadness and loss. “And the power with which I endowed the sword?” she asked tentatively.

  “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, 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 th
e 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.

  “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.”