Элейн Каннингем - Silver Shadows

“Yet here I am,” Arilyn pointed out.

“Yes.” The queen was silent for a long moment, and the gaze she turned upon the half-elf grew more searching. For the first time the queen’s features showed a touch of regret. “You have done remarkably well. To my knowledge, no one has ever before had to discover a moonblade’s powers alone. Had we known you possessed the potential to wield the moonblade, we would have taken another course. We knew, of course, that Amnestria’s blade would pass to you, but we never expected you to …”

“Survive?” Arilyn finished dryly.

“Few elves are up to the demands of an ancient moonblade,” the queen pointed out. “Most have lain dormant for centuries, and only a handful of the swords retain their power. Many elves refuse their inheritance, with no dishonor. It was not unreasonable for us to assume that a half-elven child would be unequal to the challenge.”

“But you let me try, fully expecting that I would be slain. I drew the moonblade that first time knowing nothing of this, or of the hidden requirements of the sword.”

“And had you known all, would you have done differently?”

The question was shrewd, and Arilyn was momentarily startled by the queen’s insight. Obviously, she could not deny the truth in Amlaruil’s words, and she responded with the gesture of a fencer acknowledging a hit.

“What was done is done, and I am content to leave it so,” Arilyn said. “But there is a reason why I speak of these matters now. My mother spoke often and fondly of her youngest brother, and so I have named Prince Lamruil as my blade heir. Will you tell him of his inheritance and see that he is properly prepared to receive it? I took up the sword unprepared. I would not see another do likewise.”

The queen stood in silence for a long moment. “It will be done. On behalf of my son, I thank you for showing him this honor.” She paused, as if considering what to say next. “You were speaking of your fee,” the queen prompted, clearly eager to once again put the conversation, and the extraordinary half-elf, in terms she could understand and control.

Arilyn met her gaze squarely. “I want a vast tract of land to the east of the Forest of Tethir, stretching from the borders of Castle Spulzeer to the origins of the Sulduskoon River. Have your agents—or the Harpers, or whoever you please—obtain the land.”

“Your fees are high,” the queen commented.

“The wealth of Evermeet is fabled to be beyond reckoning. And you did say that I could name my price.”

The queen gave her a searching look. “And what will you do with these lands?”

In response, Arilyn dug one hand into her bag and drew out a handful of seeds: winged maple seeds, pine cones, acorns.

For a long moment, the queen and the half-elf held each other’s gaze. “It will be as you have requested. The lands will be ceded to you to do with as you see fit.”

Arilyn bowed and walked to the place where Ganamede had disappeared.

“One more thing,” Amlaruil said softly. “In behalf of the People, I accept your fealty and your sword. May you always serve them as well as you have today.”

The half-elf turned to face the queen. She drew her moonblade and saluted in a uniquely elven gesture of respect.

The two elf women stood for a moment gazing upon one another, but there was nothing more that either could say. They were unlikely to meet again, and Amlaruil could in truth give the half-elf no more acknowledgment than this. Yet it was more than Arilyn had anticipated, and she was content.

As if sensing that her task was done, the silver wolf appeared. Arilyn slipped with him back into his veiled world, and to Tethir beyond.

And behind her, the elven queen stared thoughtfully at the shimmering gate that had brought the half-elf to Evermeet. Since she was ever the queen, part of her mind dealt with practical matters. It had never occurred to her that the lythari might be able to access this particular gate. Although no lythari had ever proven traitorous, safeguards must be taken.

Amlaruil stooped and picked up the commission the half-elf had left behind. She absently unrolled it and glanced at the elegant script. Her eye settled on a certain curving rune, and a jolt of astonishment shook her. A subtle, skillful turn of the quill had transformed the half-elf’s chosen name “Moonblade” to “Moonflower,” the clan name of the royal moon elf family.

“Captain Macumail,” Amlaruil murmured, recognizing at once the source of this forgery.

The outrage she expected to feel at this sacrilege simply did not come. Amnestria was lost to her, but her daughter’s daughter was a credit to the People … and the clan.

“Arilyn Moonflower,” the queen repeated softly. Although she realized no elf on Evermeet could ever hear her speak these words, they felt right and good upon her lips.

At dawn, several days hence, the survivors of Zoastria’s Stand stood together at the eastern boundaries of Tethir. They all came: the green elves—both Elmanesse and Suldusk—the lythari, even the fauns and centaurs. Only Jill and Kendel Leafbower were missing, for now that his self-assigned task had been completed, the dwarf was eager to see his kinfolk once again, and the two had departed the evening before.

All who gathered carried the grandchildren of Cormanthor—seedlings from the ancient trees that in centuries to come would extend the wondrous forest for miles. It was a small thing, perhaps, in the face of all that the sylvan folk had lost and all that they would continue to endure. But each tree was a living link to their beloved forest and a symbol of the new coalition between the tribes, the lythari, and the other sylvan creatures. They who had merely endured, would now rebuild.

And so they worked together throughout that long day, with a harmony rare among the forest folk. With the coming of night, they retreated to the familiar haven of the trees.

When the evening meal was over and the songs and tales fell silent, Foxfire sought out Arilyn and asked her to walk with him. They walked in silence until they found themselves back in the seedling forest. It was an oddly appropriate place, one that mingled new beginnings with ancient and cherished memories.

“I have a message for you from Rhothomir,” he began. “It is not one he could easily give himself, so I offered to speak for him. This I do with all my heart.”

“Speaker for the Speaker now, are you?” she teased him. The elf smiled faintly, but he would not be deterred.

“The People of Tethir offer you a home in their midst. Join the tribe and live beneath the trees your own hands planted. This is your place,” he concluded softly.

“There is a part of me that would like to accept,” she said with complete honesty. “There is a part of me that will remain. But look around you,” she said, sweeping a hand toward the fledgling trees and the little mounds of soft earth where the sylvan folk had planted seeds of hope.

“You will live to see these trees grow. I am half-elven, Foxfire, and I will be gone before the branches of these two oaklings meet overhead. There are things I must do elsewhere. Like the lythari, it is given to me to walk between two worlds. You have shown me that my soul is elven and have helped me to know that my path and my heart lie with the humans. But I can promise you this,” she vowed as she drew her moonblade from its ancient scabbard. “As long as the fires of Myth Drannor burn within this sword, a hero will return to the Forest of Tethir in time of need.”

She showed him the blade, and the bright new rune that blazed upon it, and then she slid the moonblade carefully back into its place. “It is given to me to add a power to the sword. This is it: when the people of Tethir are in need, the wielder of this blade will come. But most likely, it won’t be me. My life will not be that long, and I wish you to have peace long after I have joined my ancestors.”