Элейн Каннингем - Silver Shadows

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.”

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 the 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.”

The Duke regarded him somberly. “There is wisdom in what you say, as well as a modesty becoming to a man of your years. You do well to bring this matter so openly before me. It will be as you have asked. The Knights will leave Hhune’s traitor in your hands. But as for this Bunlap—where can this man be found?”

“He has a fortress near the mouth of the Sulduskoon’s northern branch. The logging camp is much farther to the east, where the river and the forest touch.”

A frustrated grimace twisted the Duke’s face. “The Knights of the Shield do not have an army to send against him over such distances!”

“An assassin, then,” the young man suggested. “I know of one who will do the task well and take word of its completion to the elves. She is half-elven, and eager to see that peace is made between her mother’s folk and her father’s. To this end, she has received assurances from the forest folk that the death of Bunlap will end the troubles.”

This was, of course, an utter fabrication, but Hasheth assured himself that the end result would bear out his words as true. After all, Arilyn had set her sights on the destruction of the logging operations. To do so, she would have to remove Bunlap from the picture.

“See to it and report to me when all is done,” the Duke said.

Hearing the dismissal, Hasheth rose and walked from Duke Hembreon’s chambers, doing his best to hide his elation.