Элейн Каннингем - Silver Shadows

“You should not have killed Achnib,” he told Hasheth mildly. “He was not terribly intelligent, but neither was he personally ambitious. He carried out his duties well enough, with loyalty usually found only in retainers with four legs and fleas. Such men are hard to find. I thought you might kill him, but I’d hoped otherwise. That is the only part of the test you failed, however. Overall you have done well.”

“T-test?” faltered Hasheth.

“Of course,” the lord returned in an amused tone. “You do not think I would allow you to give away my entire fleet, do you? Mark me, I am not happy about the ship you gave to the pirates, but you shall pay for it from your earnings. And other than that lapse, you did precisely as I had anticipated. The fleet is now in the hands of the Council of Lords. I could-not keep it—the risks of discovery were too great. But the merchants of Tethyr will continue to benefit from the protection the fleet offers, while the Council pays for its upkeep. And who, I ask you, is both head of the shipping guild and a ranking member of the council? Who will control this fleet?”

Understanding—and fear—began to enter the young man’s eyes as he realized he was not quite as clever as he had thought himself. The realization that he had been acting according to Hhune’s design—and no doubt with the lord in full knowledge of his activities—both humbled and horrified him.

“But how—” he began.

“How?” repeated Hhune coolly. “That is what you are here to learn. You have made a good start. If you wish to become a ranking member of the Knights of the Shield, you will have to do better. You may start by telling me about this pretty Harper of yours and her plans for Zazesspur.”

Arilyn said her good-byes to Hasheth several days after the final battle. The Harper listened to his explanation of the situation, doubting most of it but willing to let the matter rest. She reclaimed her horse from the young man, glad to be done with her sojourn in the southern city.

She had not particularly wished to return to Zazesspur, but Tinkersdam had elected to stay behind. He had acquired a taste for battle and decided that tumultuous Tethyr was as good a place as any to test his toys. Ferret, too, had traveled with her to the city, intending to even a score with Lord Hhune. Strangely enough, after a long and private conversation with young Hasheth, she seemed willing to abandon that notion.

But that very night, at the hands of an unknown and unseen assassin, the reign of Pasha Balik came to an abrupt and bloody end. It was rumored that he had been betrayed from within, for no one saw the assassin come or go. The only sign left behind was a long, jewel-colored scarf, such as that which might be used to fashion a lady’s turban.

And the next morning, Hasheth became a full member of the Knights of the Shield, having proved his loyalty by purchasing Hhune’s safety at a cost many men might consider too high.

Arilyn left before dawn, unaware of the events of the night just past and the changes that would soon sweep Zazesspur. Her heart was light as she rode swiftly toward the north—and home. For the first time in her life, she truly knew where she belonged.

The Harper had not gone far beyond the city walls when the she heard the sounds of battle on the road ahead. Incredibly, a familiar tenor voice was lifted over the clash of swords. She nudged her horse into a run.

The words of the song became clear as she neared the battle. Set to a rollicking tune, it was the sort of ditty she had come to expect—and had learned to endure.

A familiar mixture of exasperation and elation flooded the half-elf’s heart. The irreverent song could have come from only one person. Arilyn flung herself from her horse and raced toward the fighting, her moonblade in hand.

But the battle on the road ahead was more comic than life-threatening. In the center of the conflict stood Danilo, his arms crossed as he observed the fight between his small band of hired escorts and a group of would-be brigands. For his part, he sang his battle song, which was probably meant to spur on the fighting in classic bardic tradition. Although how this particular song might have inspired anyone was beyond Arilyn’s comprehension.

Unaware of the amused half-elf’s presence, Danilo continued to sing:

Danilo did not content himself with his bardic endeavors. Between stanzas he cast small cantrips that threw confusion into the enemy ranks. Arilyn chuckled as a brigand fell facedown on the dirt path, his boot laces suddenly tied together.

The young mage looked up sharply at the rich, rare sound of elven laughter. When his gaze settled on Arilyn, joy broke, like a sunrise, over his face. He drew his sword and started fighting in earnest as he worked his way through the circle of fighters toward her.

Arilyn sighed. Danilo could handle a blade well enough, but he was no swordmaster. At the moment she had no patience for prolonged battle. So she drew the moonblade, held it high, and let out a ringing battle cry in the Elvish tongue.

The brigands looked up, startled by the fearsome sound. The addition of an elven warrior to their foe was too much for their faltering resolve. The band scattered and made for the hills to the east—where, Arilyn noted with a touch of dark humor, a certain alchemist awaited them, all too eager for opportunities to try out his latest lethal devices.

The nobleman put away his sword and came swiftly toward her. Arilyn noted that Danilo’s face had been deeply bronzed by the summer sun, and he seemed leaner, hardened by life on the road. He looked considerably older, too, as if time had touched him in a way that a few months’ absence could not explain. Arilyn had no love for magic, but she recognized the mark that powerful spells left upon those who cast them. Apparently Danilo had not been idle during their time apart. It seemed that when tales were told, they would be spoken both ways!

There was something else about him that was different as well. Arilyn, who had recently come into a knowledge of herself and her path, recognized the peace of a similar understanding that lingered about him. Nor was there a hint of pretense on his face. For once the mask he held to the world was utterly gone and his heart was entirely in his eyes.

Danilo took her hands in his; this time Arilyn did not pull away.

“We meet as we parted,” he said quietly.

“Pretty much,” she agreed in a wry tone. “Why is it that I so often find you surrounded by people who’d dearly love to see you dead?”

A fleeting smile touched his face. “The curse of charm, wealth, and fame, I suppose,” he said dryly. “But enough jests. I have sorely missed you.”

With these words, he released her hands and reached out to touch the enspelled moonstone that was set into the hilt of her sword. It was a gesture he had often made during the past two years. Suddenly Arilyn recognized it for what it was. It was the only caress she had permitted him, his only tangible proof of the bond that lay between them. She wondered, briefly, how much Danilo understood of her magical gift of rapport, or how he would feel when he learned it was no longer there. But she must tell him, and at once. No one could touch a moonblade but its wielder, upon pain of death.