Elfshadow

by Elaine Cunningham

  “You’re sharper than you appear,” she said dryly.

  “Thank you, but how do you know? About the assassin, I mean.”

  Arilyn shrugged, trying to appear matter-of-fact. “For some time now, I’ve been followed everywhere I go. Several of my friends have been killed. I was usually nearby when it happened.”

  “Oh, my dear. How awful for you.”

  The genuine warmth and concern in the young noble’s voice temporarily disconcerted Arilyn. Her eyes flew to the fire, and she stared fixedly into the magically conjured flames that had ignited such bitter memories. At the moment anything was better than meeting Danilo Thann’s kind, gray eyes. She had put this young man’s life in danger, and fool though he might be, he’d done nothing to deserve the treatment she’d dealt him.

  “I regret involving you in this,” she murmured. “Believe me, I had not planned to bring you this far.”

  “So far, no problem,” he replied, cheerfully accepting her apology. “Anyway, it’s a rare honor for a humble fashion plate such as myself to be of service to the Harpers. You are one of them, I take it?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “I’m no Harper.”

  “Oh? Then why is the Harper Assassin after you?”

  “I work for the Harpers on occasion.”

  “Ah. And what is it that you do?” Danilo drawled, eyeing her and waggling his eyebrows in a broad parody of a leer.

  Arilyn glared at him, and he grinned in return. The fool enjoyed baiting her! she realized suddenly. It was a game. His scrutiny was not lascivious, but boyishly mischievous. All of her irritation with Danilo Thann flooded back, pushing aside the guilt of a moment before. An unworthy but irresistible impulse urged her to make him squirm a bit.

  “I am an assassin,” she intoned in a threatening voice.

  A droll expression crossed Danilo’s face. “Do tell. And you’ve got some lakefront property in the Anauroch Desert to sell me as well, I suppose?”

  Arilyn grinned despite herself. “Remember, appearances can be deceiving. In some cases,” she added with a touch of sarcasm.

  Her gibe went over Danilo’s head with a foot to spare. He waved away her comment. “No, no, it’s not that. I could buy you as an assassin, although I imagine you’re prettier than most. It’s just that, well, since when do Harpers have people assassinated?”

  “They don’t,” she admitted. “I haven’t done that sort of work for years, and never in the employ of the Harpers. Now I recover lost items, lead quick-strike parties, guard travelers. I’m a ranger, spy, or sell-sword as the need arises.”

  Danilo rolled onto his stomach and propped up Ms chin with his hands. “Your versatility is astounding, but for my own peace of mind, let’s get back to this assassin thing. Do you—oops! excuse me—did you really sneak up on people and kill them?”

  Arilyn’s chin lifted. “No, never. I challenged armed and capable fighters and overcame them in single combat.”

  “I see.” Danilo nodded knowingly. “No wonder the Harper Assassin is after you.” She raised her eyebrows in inquiry, and he grinned. “You know, for trying to raise the standards of the trade. Against the guild laws, and all that.”

  A bubble of laughter welled up in Arilyn, but she held it under control. “I never actually belonged to the Assassin’s Guild.”

  “You see? There’s yet another motive. They want to collect their back guild fees out of your estate.”

  Arilyn finally succumbed to a chuckle. “I’m not sure the Assassin’s Guild would want to claim me as a member.”

  “Really. There is a tale here, perhaps?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. Very early in my career, ‘assassin’ became a sort of nickname. If someone crossed swords with me, they died,” she said simply, in answer to Danilo’s inquiring look.

  “Hmmm. I’ll bear that in mind. And then?”

  “The name stuck. In time I was truly considered an assassin, and I began to think of myself as one, albeit an honorable assassin. For years I was an independent adventurer, hired to fight and therefore to kill.”

  “That sounds like an assassin to me,” Danilo murmured.

  “Yes, but never did I fight one who was unarmed, never did I shed innocent blood.”

  “You know that for a fact, do you? It must be nice to be so confident of one’s judgment,” he said, a little wistfully.

  “For good or ill, I do not have to rely upon my judgment,” she said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded a little bitter. She lay her hand on the sword at her side. “The sword I carry cannot shed innocent blood. It will not. I learned that while I was little more than a child, training at the Academy of Arms. One of the older students, Tintagel Ni’Tessine, used to taunt me about my race. I lost my temper one day and drew on him.”

  “What happened?” Danilo encouraged her.

  A small smile tightened Arilyn’s lips. “My sword arm went numb, and the moonblade dropped from my hand. Tintagel took the opportunity to beat me senseless.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  She shrugged. “It happens.”

  “That’s hardly an innocent man’s behavior,” Danilo said heatedly. “I had not realized there was such prejudice against elves.”

  Arilyn looked at him strangely. “Tintagel Ni’Tessine is an elf.”

  “Wait a minute.” Danilo held up one hand, and he appeared to be thoroughly puzzled. “Did I miss something?”

  “He’s a gold elf. I’m a moon elf, and a half-elf at that,” she admitted grudgingly. “You didn’t know that there are several races of elves?”

  “Well, yes. I’ve just never realized that there might be significant differences.”

  That remark, so typical from humans, jolted Arilyn. “Why am I not surprised?” she said so harshly that Danilo blinked in surprise.

  Her hostage could not know that her manner covered her own chagrin. When was the last time she had chattered like such a magpie? Had she ever told anyone about that incident with Tintagel? Or admitted even to herself that she sometimes felt belittled by the power of her own sword? Damn it, something about the young man seemed to break down the defenses of her natural reserve, and she resented him for it.

  Danilo, however, did not seem to be put out by her abrupt change of mood. “You share my passion for fine gems, I see.”

  “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  With a smug little smile, he pointed to her sword. “That stone in the hilt. It’s a topaz, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so. Why?”

  “Oh, I’m just curious. The sword itself looks quite old, but the stone is cut in a modern fashion.”

  Arilyn gaped at him for a moment. “That’s a remarkable observation.”

  “Not at all,” he disclaimed modestly. “As I mentioned, I have a passion for precious stones, and I know a few things about them. See the way the tiny facets curl around the base of the gem, leading up like a honeycomb to a large flat surface? That style started becoming popular only about, say, fifty years ago.”

  “I’ll have to take your word on that,” she said. “But you’re right: the stone is fairly new.” “The original was lost, I take it? What kind of stone was it?”

  “A moonstone.”

  “Semi-precious white stone, often flecked with blue. Natural conduits for magic,” Danilo recited in a learned tone. “Why was it replaced with a topaz?”

  Arilyn shrugged. “When I started training, my teacher had the new stone made to balance the hilt.”

  “Not many teachers give that much attention to detail … or to their students for that matter.” He grinned. “Mine generally tried to avoid me as much as they could. You must have been fortunate in your choice of teacher.”

  “I was,” Arilyn said warmly. “To study with Kymil Nimesin was a great opportunity, and—” She broke off suddenly.

  “And?”

  Arilyn just shrugged. Damn it all, she thought angrily, I’m doing it again. This man would have her life history from her befo
re she could be rid of him.

  Most distressing to her was the inexplicable tug of camaraderie, the tiny seedling of friendship that was growing between her and this stranger—this shallow, foolish, overdressed human. Like a talisman, she deliberately brought to mind an image of Rafe Silverspur. The reminder of what could happen to those close to her strengthened her resolve to keep herself firmly apart.

  Again Danilo Thann’s cheerful voice broke into her thoughts. “You know, I just realized that you never told me your name. What was it that the comical barbarian in the inn called you? Arilyn, wasn’t it? Arilyn Moonsinger. No, that’s not quite right. Moonblade. Yes, that’s it!”

  Arilyn rose and kicked the bright embers of Danilo’s fire into ash. “Get some sleep,” she said curtly, keeping her back to the man. “We leave before daybreak.”

  Seven

  Arilyn shook her hostage awake while it was still dark.

  “Whazzat?” Danilo sat up abruptly, staring bleary-eyed into the grim face of the half-elf until his vision focused. “Oh. Hello there. I suppose it’s time for my watch?”

  “Time to leave,” she said flatly.

  “Oh. If you say so.” Danilo struggled to his feet and stretched, shifting this way and that and wincing as he worked out some stiff spots. “Where are we going?”

  “Waterdeep.”

  “Oh, marvelous,” he said, brightening. “We can probably catch up with one of the merchant trains within a few days and—”

  “No,” she broke in quietly.

  “No?” Danilo looked puzzled, stopping in mid-stretch. “Whyever not?”

  Arilyn explained with the patience usually afforded a rather slow child. “A very skillful tracker has been following me. I was headed west when he lost me. I’m assuming he knows my routes and habits well enough to consider Waterdeep my logical destination. He is likely to take the most common route, the trade route. If we were to travel with a merchant train, he could easily catch up.”

  “Ah. Never overlook the obvious,” Danilo commented, nodding sagely.

  “Something like that,” Arilyn admitted. “So we’ll take the northern route.”

  The dandy shook his head and sputtered in disbelief, “Surely you jest. The northern route? As in, troll country? I’ll have you know I detest trolls. Utterly.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll skirt the High Moors.”

  “No trolls?”

  “No trolls.” Danilo still looked distressed, so Arilyn elaborated. “It’s riskier than the southern trade route, but we’ll get to Waterdeep faster. Also, we pass through open country. If my guess is wrong and someone is still trying to track us, we’ll see them as soon as they see us.” She thought it best not to tell the nervous dandy that she would actually prefer such a confrontation, and she paused before dropping the other boot. “And another thing. We’ll save more time if we cut through the bottom lip of the marsh.”

  Danilo caught his breath and held up both hands in a gesture of protest. “The marsh? We’re talking about the Marsh of Chelimber, I assume? We are. Well, no thank you. I think I’ll just take my horse and head south, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Arilyn had anticipated this reaction. “I’m sorry,” she told him firmly, “but you’re going to come with me.”

  He sighed with resignation, then smirked. “I do grow on people, don’t I?”

  “Hardly. I need to reach Waterdeep and disappear without alerting the assassin. But,” she added pointedly, “if I let you loose along the merchant route, you would sing this song to anyone who would listen, and I’ll be back where I started.”

  Danilo considered her argument for a brief moment, then nodded. “All right,” he said agreeably. He started to stuff his belongings back into his magic sack.

  His ready compliance surprised Arilyn. “You agree? Just like that?”

  Still packing, he arched an eyebrow at her. “Do I have much choice in the matter?”

  “No.”

  “Well then, no sense in whining about things you can’t change, is there?” he concluded cheerfully. He picked up the last item—a silver flask—and took a bracing pull at it before he slipped it into the sack. Thus fortified, he rose and faced Arilyn.

  “There. Packing’s done. I say, do you think you could catch us something for breakfast? Anything at all? At this point I could eat a pickled wyvern. And while you hunt, I’ll just freshen up a tad. Not that we’re likely to meet anyone from polite society along the route you’ve chosen, but one can’t travel looking like leftovers from a gnoll’s feast, can one?”

  Danilo’s gaze swept over Arilyn, who was clad for travel in boots and trousers, a simple blue tunic over her loose shirt, and her dark cloak. “By the way,” he added casually, with an obvious and exaggerated attempt at diplomacy, “that outfit is very … well, it’s certainly very practical. It looks comfortable, really! For whatever it’s worth, I vastly prefer the clothes you wore at the inn. Maybe all those veils would be a bit much for the road, but at least let me lend you a few pieces of jewelry to brighten up your ensemble?”

  Arilyn stifled a sigh. It was going to be a very long trip to Waterdeep.

  The sun was edging above the horizon when the half-elf finally nudged her well-fed and immaculately groomed hostage into his saddle. Worried by even a brief delay, Arilyn set as brisk a pace as she felt the horses could handle: it was important that they cross the Marsh of Chelimber before nightfall.

  As they left the rolling foothills of the Greycloak Mountains behind, the friendly, autumn-tinted woodlands gave way to a flat, grim valley littered with jagged boulders and scrubby brush. As the ground beneath their horses’ hooves became increasingly soggy, even those pitiful bushes disappeared, and the only vegetation in sight were the rushes and cattails that ringed small pools of tea-colored water. The happy twitter of the forest birds had long ago faded, to be replaced by the incurious stare of an occasional heron.

  Arilyn was not unhappy to note that the repressive ugliness of the landscape had curbed the nobleman’s tongue, for his chatter had dwindled to an occasional question. He rode well, she was relieved to see, and as he rode he took in the sights like some slightly distressed pleasure-traveler.

  “What’s that?” he demanded, pointing to a large square depression in the bog. Arilyn looked, and her heart sank.

  “Someone’s been cutting peat,” she said tersely.

  “Whatever for?”

  “Fuel. It burns well.”

  Danilo considered her words. “Why would someone want to come all the way into this flattened-out version of the Abyss for fuel? There are perfectly good woodlands between here and the nearest civilized area.” When Arilyn didn’t comment on his observation, Danilo puzzled it over. He finally snapped his fingers and smiled in triumph. “Wait a minute! I’ve got it! Our peat-cutting friends must be from one of the uncivilized races. Orcs, maybe? More likely goblins, given the terrain. Am I right?”

  Arilyn cast him a sour look. “You needn’t look so pleased about it. Listen, that peat was recently cut. Whatever did it is probably nearby.”

  “You jest,” Danilo said, a hopeful note in his voice.

  “Not very often. We’re nearing the marsh. Hold your tongue until we’re through it.”

  The dandy subsided. Soon the spongy texture of the peat bog gave way to open wetlands, and the air took on a repressive, swampy tang. Before highsun they had reached the edge of Chelimber Marsh.

  “I say, this is a dismal place,” Danilo noted with dismay.

  Arilyn silently agreed. In her opinion, the Marsh of Chelimber could easily be mistaken for one of the lower levels of the Nine Hells.

  There was no sign of animal life, yet an eerie, insectlike chirruping came from everywhere and nowhere. Bare, rock-covered ground alternated with soggy patches of waist-high marsh grasses, which swayed and beckoned despite an utter lack of wind. Many of the small pools that dotted the ground bubbled and seethed, sending up gushes of sulphur-scented steam. Even the air seemed heavy and
oppressive beneath a slate-colored sky.

  “Let’s get it over with,” Arilyn whispered, resolutely guiding her horse forward. Danilo followed, looking none too happy.

  Despite the known and rumored dangers of the marsh, their ride was uneventful. Arilyn did not relax her guard, but listened alertly to the strange sounds of the marsh. From no discernable source, Chelimber emitted a continuous spate of chirps, pops, groans, and belches. The noise was unnerving, and Arilyn noted the toll it took on the high-strung mares. Yet there was no sign of danger, and by late afternoon it began to appear that the trip would pass without incident. Even Danilo managed to hold his tongue until, by Arilyn’s reckoning, they neared the western border of the marsh. The mist-shrouded sun hung just above the marsh grass. Tension began to drain from Arilyn’s taut body as the horses picked their way toward relative safety. They would escape Chelimber before nightfall, despite the morning’s delay.

  That hope was premature. Almost lost in the swamp’s music was a new note, a faint, grating sound that brought to Arilyn’s mind the image of a dragon with hiccoughs. She hoped that the bizarre noise was just another of the marsh’s aural tricks, but just to check she held up a hand to halt Danilo’s progress. “Did you hear that?” she mouthed at him.

  The nobleman’s attention was elsewhere. Arilyn followed the direction of his gaze, and her throat tightened in foreboding: at her side, the moonblade glowed with an ominous blue light.

  “What’s that all about?” he asked, pointing to her sword.

  “Lower your voice.”

  “Why is your sword blue?” he asked softly.

  “Magic,” she explained tersely, looking about for whatever the moonblade sensed. “A danger warning.”

  “Quaint. Very quaint,” he drawled, regarding the pale blue light of the sword with casual interest. “A glowing sword. Tell me, does it come in green? If so, where can I get one?”

  The lack of concern in his voice infuriated Arilyn. She glared at him, incredulous. “Goblins,” she stressed in a quiet voice. “Remember your peat-cutting goblins? Surely not even you could find such creatures amusing.”