Элейн Каннингем - Silver Shadows

All things, including loyalty, had a price. As Hhune sent the young man on his way, there was no doubt in his mind that he was now the proud owner of a prince—a prince who also happened to be a trusted ally of the Harpers. It was, in his estimation, a bargain well made.

The night passed slowly for Arilyn, for try as she might, she could not banish from her mind the image of the elven warrior she had seen in Assante’s treasure rooms. When at last she slept, her dreams were haunted by the face of her unknown ancestor and by a chorus of Elvish voices that demanded that the dishonor done to the swordmistress be redressed. Arilyn woke before dawn with the voices still ringing in her ears and the conviction that there was more to the night vision than the promptings of her own outrage. The dream had an eldritch intensity of a sort Arilyn had not experienced in over two years.

Instinctively her eyes went to her moonblade, which lay bared and ready on her night table, within easy reach. Arilyn reached out a tentative hand to touch the sword. As she expected, a surge of restless magic jolted through her.

The Harper snatched back her tingling hand. Then, with a sigh, she reached for the weapon and slid it back into its ancient sheath. She kicked off her covers and rose, buckling on her swordbelt with practiced fingers.

Barefoot and clad only in her leggings and under tunic—and, of course, the moonblade—Arilyn walked over to the window. The city below still lay sleeping, except for those who, like herself, were most likely to do business under the cover of night.

For a long time Arilyn stood at her tower window, staring at Zazesspur’s rooftops with eyes that did not see, struggling to accept what she knew to be true. After a silence of more than two years, the elfshadow, the essence of the moonblade, was growing restless. Once again the spirit of the magic sword was demanding something of the half-elf who commanded it.

The last time this had happened, twenty and more Harpers lay dead before Arilyn finally recognized the voice of the sword. She knew the cost of ignoring the moonblade’s warnings, yet the sunrise colors had faded from the sky before she was able to decide upon a course of action. The morning was nearly spent before she was ready to proceed.

The half-elf did not consider herself a coward. From an early age she had battled armed men, fought monsters of almost every description, met the Tuigan hoard in the lingering horror that was war. There was only one thing under the stars that Arilyn Moonblade truly feared: the unknown powers hidden in the ancient sword that was strapped to her side.

There were aspects of the moonblade’s magic that Arilyn understood and wielded with skill. The moonblade warned her of danger, struck with preternatural speed and power, enabled her to take on a number of disguises, and gave her a resistance to fire that had spared her life more than once. It was the elfshadow, her own mirror image, that Arilyn dreaded. Yet what else could she do but summon the elfshadow and learn from it what she could?

The Harper placed her hand on the moonblade’s hilt and drew a long, steadying breath. The elven sword hissed free of the scabbard and glittered in the bright morning light as Arilyn held it high in her two-handed grip.

“Come forth,” she called softly.

In response, a faintly azure mist rose from the sword and swirled into the air, taking on a familiar, yet ghostly form. The Harper’s arms lowered until the moonblade’s point rested on the wooden floor. But Arilyn hardly noticed, so intent was she on the image taking shape before her.

For a moment she had the feeling she was looking at her own reflection in some moonlit pond. Then the elfshadow stepped out of the mist and stood before her, as apparently solid and mortal as Arilyn herself. Unlike the Harper, the elfshadow was dressed as if for the road, in the worn but comfortable boots and breeches that Arilyn favored when left solely to her own desires.

For a long moment the half-elf and the elfshadow regarded each other solemnly. A strange impulse—the urge to scratch her nose just to see if the elfshadow followed suit—flashed into Arilyn’s mind. The absurdity of this brought a tiny smile to her lips.

“Well again, sister,” the elfshadow said, speaking in an exact duplicate of Arilyn’s contralto tones. “I had hoped you would call me forth long ere this.”

The Harper folded her arms over her chest and glared. “I’ve been busy.”

A sad smile crossed the elfshadow’s face. “You still blame yourself for the death of those Harpers, though the hand that slew them was mine.”

“There’s a difference?” Arilyn asked bitterly.

“Oh, yes. For the time being, at least.”

The half-elf’s brow furrowed with puzzlement. She had many questions; this one seemed a logical place to start. “I don’t suppose you want to explain that.”

“No more than you want to hear the explanation,” the elfshadow responded with an unexpected touch of dry humor.

Arilyn lifted an inquiring brow. “That’s something I might have said,” she observed. “What are you? Are you the moonblade, or are you me?”

“Both, and yet neither.” The elfshadow fell silent, as if carefully measuring her next words. “You know that each wielder of a moonblade imbues the sword with a new power, but you do not understand the source of that power. Unlike any other moonfighter who came before you, you were not told of the moonblade’s secrets before you claimed the sword.”

“So tell me.”

“It is not so simple,” the elfshadow cautioned her. “The moonblades are ancient elven artifacts, and the mysteries that went into their crafting cannot be adequately described—no more than I could convey to you with mere words a melody you have never heard or a color you have never seen.”

“Noted. Go on,” Arilyn said tersely.

“First let me point out that the moonblade accepted you when you were but a child, not to mention the first half-elf ever to inherit such a sword! This decision was not lightly made, for it was foreseen that you would do a great service to the People.”

“The elfgate,” Arilyn murmured, naming the magical gateway to Evermeet that she had discovered and then fought to protect.

“That and more,” the elfshadow agreed cryptically. “Once accepted, you slowly became attuned to the sword. That is how I came into being. For lack of a better description, I am the personification of your union with the sword.”

“I see. Do all moonblades have people like you?”

“By the sea and stars! No, not at all. The ability to form and summon an elfshadow was one of the powers added to the moonblade you carry. By Zoastria,” the shadow added in a lower voice.

Something in the elfshadow’s tone convinced Arilyn that this was the name of the sleeping warrior. “So that’s why I’ve been having these dreams. Not since the time of the Harper assassin have I had such visions! But why would finding Zoastria’s body stir them, if you are the personification of my union with the sword?”

“Like the elves who have gone before you, you added a power to the moonblade,” the elfshadow continued softly. “A power that reflects your character and your needs.”

Arilyn shrugged, impatient for the elfshadow to move on to something she did not already know.

“Moonblades contain great magic, and they grow in power with each wielder. But as with all magic, the cost is high.” The elfshadow paused and spread her hands, as if inviting Arilyn to observe in her what that cost might be. “My name is chosen well, for I am the shadow of what you will become. ”

Arilyn stared at her image, not wanting to understand. Yet she suspected that she knew what the elfshadow meant. Suddenly, she realized that in some small way she had always known.