Silver Shadows

199

word that roughly translated as "city-dweller." He considered the matter for another span of several moments, then turned away.

"Take up your sword and leave this place as silently as you came. We have no use for it, or you."

"No."

A silent ripple of astonishment ran through the elven assembly. Apparently, such a direct challenge to the Speaker's authority was an uncommon event.

An elven female walked to Rhothomir's side, her black eyes fixed upon Arilyn and the watchful iythari.

"Do not send them away. Think, Brother. If the silver shadows would fight for us, how quickly we could deal with those humans who defile our forest!"

Arilyn's eyes widened. She had never heard that voice, but somehow she knew it. It belonged to a female assassin who spoke only in whispers, one who used cosmetics to dim the luster of her skin and to transform her elven features into the exotic almond-eyed beauty of a woman of the far eastern lands. The silk turban had concealed ears as pointed as those of a fox, as well as gleaming chestnut hair that was now pulled back into a single braid. If there had been any doubt in Arilyn's mind about the elf woman's dual identity, it would have been removed by the sight of the tatoo on her bare shoulder: the stylized, graceful form of a hunting ferret.

The Harper also heard the dual meaning in the elf woman's words: people of human blood defiled the elven forest, but for the sake of an alliance with the lythari, Ferret would consider accepting Arilyn's presence and her secret. But if the elf woman were to reveal Arilyn's true nature, Prince Lamruil would fall heir to the moonblade at once! The sanctity of Talltrees, though honored by the presence of a lythari, would be deemed profaned and put at extreme risk by a half-elfs presence. They might even attack the lythari who had brought her here, thinking him a traitor to elvenMnd. No matter what else came of this meeting, Arilyn vowed, she would see that Ganamede escaped safely.

Since Arilyn was still on one knee, she was roughly at eye level with the wolflike being. She turned to gaze into Ganamede's eyes. "Speaker Rhothomir, listen to your sister's counsel. I have asked the lythari of the Greycloak tribe to come to your assistance," she said, her eyes pleading with her friend to play along. The noble Ganamede will leave now to hold council with his people as to what might best be done."

The lythari gave her a searching look. She responded with a faint smile and nod that suggested all would be well.

After a moment, Ganamede inclined his head. "I will ask them," he said softly, but his eyes were deeply puzzled. He turned and loped silently off into the forest.

Arilyn released her breath on a long, silent sigh of relief She hated deceiving her friend. Fortunately, Ganamede seemed to have taken her request at face value. He was disappointed in her, that she apparently did not understand the nature of the lythari folk. Even so, he would do as she asked, though he knew what his people's response would be. Better that than letting him know how tenuous her own position was.

As soon as Ganamede was beyond reach, Arilyn reached for her sword and stood. She met Ferret's steady gaze. If there was yet any hope of forging a link with the green elves, it would be here.

"I can offer more than a possible alliance with the lythari. Most of you have not fought humans. I have. I know their ways, their world, their tactics."

"There is something in what you say," Rhothomir admitted. He turned to his sister. "You are the lore-keeper; you have more knowledge of the humans than any of us, as well as the elves who live beyond the forest. What do you say?"

"I would speak with this one alone," Ferret said. "There are things we should know about her and about the sword she carries. We all have heard tales of such

swords. It may be that this moonblade was forged for just such a task."

There is great risk in accepting outsiders," the Speaker said.

"And we will weigh the risks along with the benefits. Let me speak with this… moon elf, and judge whether what she offers is worthwhile."

After a moment's deliberation, Rhothomir agreed. Ferret strode over to a stout oak and tugged one of the vines that entwined its trunk. A long ladder unrolled, spilling down from one of the dwellings overhead. The elf woman indicated with a deft, impatient gesture that Arilyn should ascend the ladder.

With Ferret close behind her, the half-elf made the dizzying climb into trees. The dwelling was small and sparsely furnished: a bearskin served as a bed; some large clay pots held personal effects; a few garments hung from pegs on the wall. The elf motioned for Arilyn to take a seat on the bearskin and then seated herself on the floor, as far away as the small room permitted.

"How is it that you know a silver shadow?" Ferret demanded.

"We are friends from childhood. I freed him from a snare."

"In Tethir?"

"No. In the Greycloak Hills, a place many days' travel to the north of here. Ganamede's tribe takes its name from those hills-or perhaps it is the other way around. Lythari can travel far distances in ways that seem magical, even to an elf," Arilyn added, anticipating the elf woman's next question.

Ferret's gaze slipped to the sword at Arilyn's side. "How is it that you carry one of these swords? It is alive-I saw it glow with magic when we fought in the Harper's room!"

"Yes. That was a very convincing death scene," Arilyn added dryly. "As for the sword, it came to me as such a blade conies to any who wields it. It was passed down to me from my mother, Z'beryl."

"But how is that so? No moonblade has ever before been turned to evil!"

"Nor has this one," Arilyn said softly. "It cannot shed innocent blood. If you would like to test this in combat, I would be happy to oblige you."

The challenge hung heavy in the silence that followed. "What are you?" Ferret said at last. "Half-elf assassin, or noble elven warrior?"

"What are you?" Arilyn countered. "When last I saw you, you were three against one, fully prepared to kill a good man for the sake of a few gold coins."

Ferret leaned forward. "You know the Harper? Where is he?"

"Far beyond your reach," Arilyn said coldly.

The elf woman gazed thoughtfully at Arilyn for several moments; then a slow, taunting smile spread across her face. "Well, well. The half-uwmott is not so cold a fish as she appears! This Harper, this human, what is he to you?"

"I don't see how that could possibly interest you."

"Oh, but it does. As it happens, the People have a use for just such a hound as a Harper. Even if we could push the human invaders from the forest, what is to stop them from returning? No, there is something more at work here. The tribe needs someone who can sniff out the trail to its source."

"And that's what you hoped to do in Zazesspur? By murdering the business rivals and faithless mistresses of any man who could afford your services?"

Ferret's gaze did not falter. "Those, and others of my own choosing," she said candidly. "I worked for myself and on behalf of my People. Those whom I thought to be enemies, I killed."

The two females regarded each other in silence for a long moment. "There is something in what you say," Arilyn admitted. "There are things at work here that must be understood. Had Danilo not been forced from Zazesspur, he and I could have worked together-he among the humans, I among the People. I will find my way to the source of Tethir'e troubles, but part of that answer must be found in the forest."

"So you also are a Harper," Ferret said thoughtfully. "That would explain much. Do you think what is said of the People is true?" she demanded in an abrupt change of mood.

"I must know," Arilyn said simply. "It may well be that your people have provocation for all and anything they have done, but you must understand that these attacks-whether true or contrived-can bring only more trouble to the forest elves."

She held up a hand to silence the angry tirade that Ferret clearly had ready. "You spoke of pushing the human invaders from the forest. I must know of this, too. This would be the first step: stop them, and then follow then* trail back wherever it might go. If there is a plot against the elves, the conspirators will be dealt with."

Ferret considered this. "If you are a Harper, why do you claim to be Evermeet's ambassador?"

Arilyn took the copy of the queen's pronouncement from her pack and placed it on the floor in front of the green elf. Ferret picked up the parchment and read it slowly.

"Evermeet's queen thinks we would Retreat?" she said scornfully.

"And the Harpers think you should compromise with the humans of Tethyr," Arilyn added with equal feeling. "I know that neither path will serve the forest folk; yet I'm obligated to act on behalf of both Amlaruil and the Harpers. If you give me a chance, I believe I can do better. I have already said how."

Ferret tossed the royal pronouncement aside and asked casually, "Tell me one thing more: do you have any idea how the others would respond, if I should ever speak of your true nature?"

"I have named my blade heir," Arilyn said simply.

This answer brought a small, tight smile to the green elf s face. "Very well. I will keep your secrets for now. Do what you can, Harper and half-elf, and know that if the People are well served I will fight at your back."

Arilyn nodded, accepting Ferret's words-and the threat implicit in them. At any time, the elven assassin could betray her or, more likely, kill her.

A light tap at the open portal forestalled any answer Arilyn might have given. Both females turned toward the sound. A young green elf female with glossy black hair and frantic black eyes peered into the room.

"You are needed, Ferret,1* she said quickly. "I bring word of battle; it is dire. The humans have brought magic to the forest. They have captured some of our people, and our warriors fight them hand to hand. They are sorely pressed."

Ferret leaped to her feet and snatched a quiver of black arrows from a peg on the wall. She took a thick handful of arrows from one of the clay pots and handed them to Arilyn, who had also risen from the floor.

"You have a chance to prove your worth to the People, sooner than you might have anticipated. Know that one human more or less is of no consequence to me," she said coldly.

"Understood," Arilyn agreed. She took the arrows and followed the nimble elves down to the forest floor.

Perhaps forty elves were gathered there; the rest of the village, the young ones and the aged, had vanished into the trees. Arilyn's gaze swept over the warriors, taking note of their weapons and the totem animals tattooed onto their shoulders. These totems and spirit guides said much of an elf e skill and character.

"I have several fire-forged short swords and daggers in my packs. You are a strong hunter, and you, and those two females standing together," she said as she removed the weapons and tossed them to the ground.

The elves she'd indicated eyed the fine weapons with interest, but all cast inquiring glances at Rhothomir.

"What do you know of human magic?" he asked Arilyn.

"Nothing good."

The answer came from her before she could consider its impact, but it brought a grimly amused smile to the face of the elven leader. "But you have faced it in battle?"

"Many times."

Rhothomir turned to the assembled warriors. "Ferret has made her decision. I add to it my own: the moon elf will lead this battle. Pick up your swords."

Arilyn accepted command with a curt nod, then turned to the raven-haired elf woman who had brought word of the battle. "How far?"

"Two hours' run, maybe less"

And then she was off, running like a rabbit through the thick foliage. The others fell in behind without sparing so much as a glance at their new war leader. Nor did Arilyn expect otherwise. She worked alone most of the time, but she had learned much from observing some of the best leaders the northern lands had known. There were times when the best thing to do was shut up and follow.

And so she did, running as lightly as any green elf, toward what she suspected would be the first of many such battles.

Thirteen

The clash and the cries of war-fere rang through the forest, speeding the footsteps of the green elves who ran toward battle. True to her word, Ferret stayed at Arilyn's back, running as softly as a shadow. The Harper did her best to ignore the threat the elf woman posed, so that she might concentrate on the battle before her. The sounds coming from the vale ahead-the clanging of swords, the grunts and screams of pain, the horrible, hate-filled oaths hurled by the human fighters- promised that the battle would be difficult and ugly.

Arilyn pulled to a stop some hundred yards from the battlefield, just as the first of the Talltrees warriors nocked an arrow and sent it hurtling into the midst of the wild melee. Before the first arrow found its mark, the elven archer followed with a second. Both arrows disappeared in a burst of white light, just short of their target. "Hold!" shouted Arilyn, flinging out a hand toward the other ready archers, for at least six other elves had bowstrings drawn and arrows ready for flight. Something in her tone and her face stopped them.

Before the elves' horrified gaze, twin bolts of arcane lighting sizzled back toward the first archer. The white lines of fire engulfed the elf. A brilliant areola flared around him, briefly, and then it was gone, leaving nothing of him but a flurry of black ash.

"They've got a Halruaan wizard," she told Rhothomir-and the watchful Ferret-in a grim tone. That's bad."

The Harper quickly took stock of the battlefield. There was a small open area, thickly shaded by the giant trees that ringed it and crowded with men and elves in fierce hand-to-hand combat. More than two hours had passed since Talltrees had received word of the battle, and by all appearances it had raged without pause since that time. The ground was trampled and blood-soaked; few of the combatants had escaped wounds, hi the center of the battlefield, five or six elves had been manacled with foot-hold traps and were crowded together This, Arilyn reasoned, was the bait that had lured the green elves into open combat. Five men, three of them swordsmen and one an archer, stood over these prisoners. The other, the only unarmed person on the field, had to be their wizard. The armor he wore was more affectation than protection. The odd ensemble-metal-studded leather augmented with metal shoulder plates, chest guard, and cod piece-could only have come from the imagination of a Halruaan artificer. Around this inner group, standing in a circle with their backs to the captives, was a ring of well-trained swordsmen. These engaged the elves, all of whom fiercely tried to break through to their kindred. The lone human archer in the center of the circle was able to easily pick off any elf who managed to get past the outer perimeter.

Arilyn glanced at the ground in the battlefield's center; no spent elven arrows lay there. Nor did any of the humans bear arrow wounds. Clearly, the elven archer who had just perished by magic fire was not the first to meet this fate. There were limits to the number of times a wizard could cast such a powerful spell; this one probably had some sort of device that stored a number of fire-arrow spells, or that put a sphere of protection around him. Such things were not common., not even in magic-rich Halruaa, but neither were they particularly rare.

Arilyn thought fast, then turned to the elves clustered behind her. "Who's the best archer among you?" she demanded of Rhothomir.

The Speaker pointed with his bow to one of the fighters-a male, taller than most of the green elves and marked by his autumn-colored hair. "Foxfire, our war leader. None can match his bow."

"Call him," she said tersely.

Rhothomir lifted one hand to his mouth and let out a high, sharp call, like that of a hunting eagle. The red-haired elf tensed, hesitated, then backed away from the fighting. He turned and ran toward the waiting elves. His black eyes widened in astonishment when they settled upon the moon-elf woman.

"How many shots can you get off in one breath?** she asked. "Three? Four?"

"Six," he answered reflexively.

Arilyn grimaced. That's pushing it. Four's about my limit. Here's what I want you to do: shoot four bolts straight at the wizard, then get the hell out of my way. The returned fire will keep him busy and take out some of the men guarding your people."

"How-"

Before the elf could give voice to the question, Arilyn answered it. Her moonblade flashed from its sheath, slicing up toward the male's face. He flinched away instinctively and raised his dagger to parry the blow. Not fast enough. Arilyn completed the stoke, reversed her sword's direction, and slapped his dagger out wide with a one-handed backstroke. As she completed the counter-move, she stepped in close and held a small object directly in front of the elf eyes. It was a feather, one that had been hanging from his headband just a moment before.

"Fast sword," she said by way of explanation.

"Four bolts," Foxfire agreed, his black eyes bright with astonished admiration-and the beginning of new hope.

"Here's the plan," Arilyn said quickly, turning to the other elves. "Foxfire and I will give the wizard something to think about. The Halruaan will be distracted, but just for a moment. Fm going to charge him. As soon I as begin to move, you need to do two things: cut me a path through that circle, and take out the archer in the middle as well any guards who still stand. Got it?"

Foxfire pointed out four of the warriors. "Bows ready. Aim for the humans who are fighting Xanotter and Hawkwing, then shoot for the guards. Name your man, first and second."

The elves quickly called off descriptions of their chosen targets, then turned intently to the moon elf. Their war leader's excitement seemed contagious; apparently if Foxfire was willing to follow the moon elf's instructions, they would do likewise.

"Several fighters need to follow me into the breach," Arilyn continued. "Turn the battle inside out; engage them from inside the circle."

"You would have us surrounded?" demanded Ferret suspiciously.

"She would present our archers with the humans' broad backsides as targets," Foxfire corrected her with a grin. Still smiling, he turned to Arilyn and held up four black arrows. "I am ready to begin."

The Harper nodded and lifted her moonblade into guard position. Foxfire went down on one knee before her and pulled back his drawstring for the first shot.

Black lightning streaked toward the Halruaan wizard, followed by a second bolt and then two more, faster than Arilyn would have believed possible. The arrows burst into flame just short of the wizard. As Foxfire dove to one side, Arilyn gritted her teeth and prepared to meet the first sizzling line of force. Black lighting to white-the transformation happened almost too quickly for the eye to absorb.

The moonblade flared with eldritch blue light as the first magical attack seared toward its wielder. Deftly Arilyn parried the bolts, one after another, moving her sword just slightly to meet each one and to send them shimmering back toward the astonished wizard.

Immediately Arilyn kicked into a run. She heard the ping and whine of the elven arrows that flashed past her-almost close enough to touch-as she ran toward the humans Foxfire had pointed out. One of them, a large man with a badly cut face and bloodstained beard, dropped his sword to clutch at the pair of arrows that suddenly sprouted from his throat. He fell forward. Arilyn leaped over his prone form and hurled herself, sword leading, at the Halruaan.

The wizard was surrounded with a blaze of his own magical fire, but the same amulet that protected him from arrows kept the lightning from blasting him. It merely set fire to his magic shield. Within his glowing sphere, the wizard began the casting of yet another spell.

Arilyn did not fear the fire-one of the moonblade's ancient powers was a resistance to flame. Her moon-blade plunged into the arcane fire, and white lightning licked up her sword to stop at the glowing moonstone in its hilt. Arilyn felt no pain, but a twinge of worry began to gnaw at the corner of her mind. Her sword did not pierce the glowing bubble.

She flung the moonblade out wide and at least managed to thrust the wizard's hands apart, to interrupt whatever dire casting he planned to unleash upon the ekes.

Glowering, the wizard conjured a sword of his own and lunged at her. His blade did not pierce the glowing sphere, either. Apparently the wizard's field of protection kept everything but magic from passing through. Unfortunately, Arilyn had none to hurl.

But she noted how his sword thrust pressed line, causing it to bulge out toward her. A plan came to her-a variation on the most basic and dirty trick in a gutter fighter's repertoire. It was well, she thought wryly, that no one would expect such an attack from the noble moon elf she appeared to be.

She darted in, sword held high. The wizard parried; sparks flew, even though their blades were far from touching. Again Arilyn lashed out, and again, measuring each time the distance between his sword and the point where hers clashed against the protective shield. It seemed to be lessening with each stroke, and the fire dimming. That meant the final attack she had planned would not be a killing stroke. Even so, Arilyn was willing to bet that it would put the wizard out of action for some time to come.

Holding her moonblade firmly in both hands, Arilyn swung upward, catching the wizard's fire-enshrouded blade and throwing his arm up high. She continued the swing in a tight, abrupt downward arc, pivoting her body to one side to follow through. The moonblade's point drove into the ground; Arilyn leaped, kicking out hard to the side and pushing herself off the embedded sword.

She aimed directly for the wizard's metal cod piece, and her aim was true. Though the fiery shield kept her boots from connecting directly with the armor, the wizard's shrill bellow announced that the fire had done its work well enough.

Arilyn scrambled to her feet and yanked her sword from the ground, blinking in the sudden darkness that followed the dissipation of the wizard's shield. Apparently the surge of pain had sufficiently disrupted his concentration to dispel the protection. The wizard danced and howled, torn between removing the hot armor-and in the process searing his magic-wielding fingers-or leaving the cod piece where it was and suffering a somewhat more personal injury. Ultimately, his devotion to his Art took second place.

"Figures," Arilyn muttered as she turned to survey the battle. The wizard frantically cast aside the steaming metal and fled stumbling into the forest, and she let him go. He wouldn't be casting any more spells today, and the elves faced a more immediate threat.

One of them, a female who was little more than a child, had faced off against a swordsman who was easily four times her weight. The girl had the advantage of speed and stamina-large dark circles stained the sides and front of the man's tunic, and his breath came in loud, snorting gasps-but still she was at a disadvantage in terms of strength, experience and-most importantly at this crucial moment-reach.

Even as Arilyn turned toward the duel, the swordsman lunged at the elf maid's throat at the same time as the girl thrust toward his belly. She had a dagger; he held a hand-and-a-half sword that could run her through before she even came close.

Arilyn darted in and thrust her moonblade between the two combatants, catching the longer blade and forcing it up. The elf child ducked reflexively, but she did not turn aside her thrust. Her dagger plunged deep; she wrenched it free and whirled to face the nearest human, leaving Arilyn to finish the man or let him die in his own time.

The green elves, Arilyn noted, did not intend to take prisoners.

Even as this thought formed in her mind, a few humans broke ranks and fled into the forest. One of them stopped suddenly, his head jolting back and his arms outflung. Several arrows bristled from his back.

"Foxfire, no! Let them go!" Arilyn shouted as she turned toward two more combatants. There was a moment's hesitation; then she heard the shrill, birdlike command that called off the vengeful elves.

Arilyn prodded the swordsman with the tip of her blade, drawing him away from the wounded and exhausted elf woman he was battling. The man whirled, lunged, and lunged again. A ranger, Arilyn noted with disgust,catching a glimpse of the unicorn pendant he wore at his neck-the symbol of the goddess Mielikki. There were few humans she held in higher regard than rangers, and none that she despised more than those handful of noble woodsmen-warriors who had forsaken their path.

This one fought in the style of the Dalelands-a single sword, a quick and aggressive attack. Arilyn fell back a step, drawing his next attack. Rather than parry it when it came, she leaped back. The sudden and unexpected lack of resistance threw the swordsman off-balance for a moment. That was enough. Arilyn spun away from his attack, pivoting on her outer foot and swinging her sword up and around as she circled behind him. She brought it down, hard, on the back of the man's neck. The moonblade cut through bone and flesh in a single strike, beheading the faithless ranger.

"Give my regards to Mielikki,'* Arilyn muttered darkly and then turned to look for another fight.

There was none. All around her the elves were tending to their wounded, cleaning their weapons, collecting their spent arrows. Ferret, however, still had the light of battle in her black eyes; she came at Arilyn like a stooping falcon.

"Why did you let them go? What base treachery is this? They will be back; they are too near Talltrees!"

They had to go," Arilyn said calmly, stooping to clean the former ranger's blood from her sword. "Else, how would we follow them and find out to whom they reportr

Again the elves looked to Foxfire. He nodded, not once taking his eyes from the moon elf. "That is good counsel. Faunalyn, Wistari-you follow them and report what you learn."

The two scouts left at once to do his bidding. Foxfire came over to Arilyn and offered her his hand. She took it and allowed him to help her to her feet.

"I have prayed to the Seldarine for guidance, and this is how they have rewarded me," he said with a smile.

"Only one god, the patron of the forest, would answer me so well; Rillifane Rallithil himself must have sent you!"

"Actually, that would be Amlaruil Moonflower. Not that there's all that much difference between the two," Arilyn said dryly as she tugged her fingers free.

To her surprise, this irreverent comment brought a grin to the green elf s bronzed face. She liked that. He had a steady nerve in battle but also possessed a warmth unusual among the aloof and insular People.

As Arilyn watched Foxfire move about the battlefield, she understood why this elf was a leader among his people. There was a natural charisma about him, an aura of confidence and energy that was contagious. They respected him, that was plain, but there was more than that. Arilyn noted that Foxfire had the gift of making each individual his eyes fell upon feel as if he or she were the most valued person beneath the stars. He greeted the adolescent elf maid with a warrior's handclasp, which Arilyn suspected would please the fierce child more than any praise. And he let each elf tend the task to which he or she was best suited, giving no commands where none were needed. The young female-the one who had brought word of the battle to Arilyn and Ferret-was obviously some sort of healer. She moved from one wounded elf to another, judging the severity of their wounds and giving orders regarding their care. Foxfire had little need, it seemed, to stake out territory of his own for the sake of pride or status. What needed to be done was done as best it might; that was enough.

Enough? It was a damn sight more than most leaders accomplished, Arilyn noted with ever-growing admiration.

Later, after the wounded had been tended and litters fashioned from skins and poles to carry those who could not walk, the elves set out for Talltrees. Despite the success of her battle strategy, the elves seemed wary of Arilyn. She heard the whispers that explained her presence among them to those who had not witnessed her arrival-and noted wryly how frequently the word

“lythari" came into these explanations.

After a while Foxfire made his way to Arilyn's side. Although he did not seem to share his people's reservations, it was obvious that he was aware of them. "Your ways are strange to us, and the forest folk are slow to accept that which is new," he said softly. "But in time, they will accept you as a leader."

"Not a leader. An advisor. The People follow you."

The elf considered this, then accepted with a nod, apparently seeing the wisdom of the arrangement she suggested. "How did you know what to do in battle?"

"I know these men. Not these very ones," she amended, "but I have a knowledge of the breed."

"You are a warrior of Evermeet. How is it that you know the ways of humankind?" he asked.

Arilyn was not one for talking, but she found she did not mind his questions. Unlike Ferret's, these bore no note of accusation, but a genuine interest. "My clan is from Evermeet, but I have lived all my life upon the mainland.''

"Yet you do the bidding of Evenneet's sovereign. Your devotion to Queen Amlaruil must be great indeed," he said solemnly.

Arilyn did not miss the faint twinkle in his eyes, however, that marked his words as teasing. Nor did she miss the subtle question that lay under his words.

She did not answer at once, for nothing that came to mind would ring true. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed Ferret, who followed her like a shadow-far enough away to eschew suspicion, but close enough to come to the aid of her tribe's war leader if Arilyn should lift a treacherous blade against him. She remembered something Ferret had said earlier that day, when she had unexpectedly spoken up in Arilyn's behalf.

"I have a duty to the elven people, and all my life I have done what I could. This task, however, was laid upon me by the sword I carry. It is a matter of destiny," she said quietly.

The words were true; the fact that she was trying to avoid her likely destiny was one of those small details best left unexamined. Foxfire accepted her explanation without further questions. He pointed to the trees ahead, and to the thin wisps of smoke curling up toward the stars.

Talltrees," he said with quiet satisfaction.

Contained in that word was more than Arilyn could explain-more than she had ever experienced. Never had she called a place home, not in the sense that Foxfire expressed with a single word: a yearning satisfied, a journey ended, a place to which a person belonged.

And a wondrous homecoming it was. The elves who had stayed behind came to greet their warriors with an outpouring of emotion that would amaze anyone who ever had thought of elves as cold and aloof. Among their own, in the security of Talltrees, the green elves showed a warmth that amazed Arilyn.

The wounded were tended first and the warriors fed; then all the tribe erupted into celebration. Those who could dance did so, to the pulsing of resonant skin-covered drum and the haunting music of reed pipes. Skin of berry wine, potent and deceptively sweet, were passed from elf to elf.

At last the revelry subsided into a contented calm. Rhothomir called for the lore-talker to tell the story of the day's battle.

To Arilyn's surprise, Ferret stepped forward. It still seemed odd to Arilyn, who was accustomed to hearing the female speak in whispers, to hear that low and resonant voice. But the elf woman's love of story, and her duty to her role, was soon apparent. Ferret told the story of the battle, sparing none of the painful details-although Arilyn thought it odd that she did not give the names of the elves who were slain. Nor did she omit the contribution that Arilyn had made. It was a fair and evenhanded account, told with a flair any bard might envy. *

Seeing Arilyn's puzzlement, Foxfire leaned in close to whisper, "The time for mourning will come with the dawn, or perhaps the day after-or perhaps not at all. The spirits of the green elves are slow to leave their forest home; we do not name them as lost who are still among us."

Arilyn merely nodded, hoping her silence would signify respect rather than extreme lack of interest. The afterlife was not a matter she cared to discuss. Fortunately, Ferret had bowed to the request for another tale.

"In a time beyond the years of any here, our people walked beneath a forest far different from the one we now call home," she began. "Cormanthor, it was called, and in its shadows thrived an elven kingdom of such might and wonder as this world has never known. But even there the elves glimpsed the coming twilight. The world changed, and Cormanthor fell.

"The People who survived were forced to flee. Many retreated to Evermeet, but there were tribes of green elves who would not forsake the land named Faerfin, in honor and in memory of the first elven home. These faithful scattered over the land, carrying with them seedlings from the sacred forest, the children of the maple, the oak, and the elm. We walk beneath these trees today, the children's children of Cormanthor.

"Nor were these green folk the only ones who wished to keep alive that which was Cormanthor. There were many People, some of the moon and the gold races, who continued to walk upon Faerun. One of these is remembered with honor by all the People of Tethir: the moon fighter Soora Thea, who carried a sword of Myth Drannor.

There was in times past an evil race of beings, neither human nor ogrish, that made war upon the forest folk. Their power came from a vast image of stone, the hideous image of a creature from the dark planes. Long ago these people fell, but at certain times their restless undead ventured from the gorge in which they once had lived to make war upon the goodly folk. With them were fearsome creatures from the dark planes. From all sides these creatures pressed the elves, and for a time it seemed as if the fall of Cormanthor would be a nightmare relived. But Soora Thea was a mighty war leader, and it is said she had the power to command the silver shadows. In the final great battle, the undead creatures and their Abyssal allies were utterly destroyed.

"What became of Soora Thea, we do not know. Unlike the green folk, she was a traveler, and her home was all of the land. But before she left Tethir, she promised that in times of greatest need, and for as long as the fires of Myth Drannor burned within her sword, a hero would return to the People."

Ferret turned her burning black eyes directly upon Arilyn. There was nothing to be added, but the half-elf understood at last why Ferret had accepted her presence here. Even more than most elves, these folk revered the silver shadows. The very possibility that Arilyn might command the lythari gave them hope and awoke in them the strength that could be found only in ancient tales and traditions. She could see it in their eyes-the bright hope that spilled over into a uniquely elven display of joy.

The drums and reed flutes took up the refrain again, and every elf who could stand whirled into the.dance. Foxfire pulled Arilyn to her feet and into his arms. She rewarded his hospitality by treading squarely on his toes.

"I move better with a sword in my hand," she said ruefully.

Foxfire tossed back his head and laughed. "If you dance half so well as you fight, you will have grace enough to charm the entire Seldarine."

Arilyn smiled. Speaking of charm, this one had it by the bucketful. MA silver tongue is rare among the forest folk. I was given to think that you preferred plain words," she teased him.”

"Then I shall speak plainly. I am glad you have come,"

The intricate pattern of the dance changed, and Arilyn was whirled away into the circle. The elves spun and dapped, drawing down the starlight, weaving it into threads of magic with their music and dance.

Lake the stardust spoken of in a lullaby, the mystic dance settled upon the elves and lulled them to repose. The wounded who could not dance rested comfortably, many smiling softly as their unseeing eyes gazed upon pleasant and healing memories. Most of the children had slipped deep into reverie, and their parents bore them quietly away to their rest. The celebration ended, not in a drunken stupor as did so many human revels, but on a note of quiet exultation.

Arilyn treasured the moment of peace as a rare gift. Along with the elves, she quietly made her way to her resting place.

A small dwelling had been given her, and as she climbed the ladder it began to occur to her just how tired she truly was. She stripped off her clothes and washed from the basin of mint-scented water that had been left there for her. Before sleeping, she pulled on fresh leggings and a tunic-clothes better suited for fighting than sleeping. But not even the peace of Talltrees could erase the habits of a lifetime, or the memories of the many times she had leaped from bed to battle.

One final preparation remained. Arilyn took from her pack the mask Tinkersdam had made for her, and she pressed it carefully to her upper face. Should anyone happen to look upon her, they would see not a slumbering half-elf, but a moon elven warrior in well-deserved reverie.

Despite all that had happened, despite the success in battle, and despite Ferret's tales, Arilyn knew what would become of her if the green elves realized that a human's daughter slept among them.

The dance was long finished and most of the elves had retired, but for some reason Foxfire did not share their calm. He felt unaccountably restless-excited, perhaps, by the first real hope he had felt for many days. He had managed to hide his growing despair, but not until now did he realize how heavy the burden of it had been…

He noticed that Korrigash, too, seemed immune to the magic of the star-web woven by the dance. The dark-haired hunter sat alone by the embers of the cookfire, staring at the few pinpricks of light left among the coals.

Korrigash was one of the elves who had been caught in the traps, and his pride was no doubt more sorely wounded than this leg. Tamara insisted that Korrigash would soon walk and run and hunt as well as ever he had, but Foxfire knew how unwelcome the prospect of even a brief period of inactivity must be to the hunter.

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 Mend'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! Iferhaps 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 {alien 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 tins 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 far 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 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 Vnenlar'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. 1 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?"

Foxfire 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, hut 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.

"What is it that you seek to do, and to undo?" the elf-shadow asked, but there was a note of reproach in her voice.

"I need to call you out in battle," Arilyn said, ignoring the elfshadow's rhetorical question. Of course the thing knew what she planned-it was her, albeit a straight-laced and rather too noble version of herself. "Actually,

Silver Shadows