Silver Shadows (2 page)

“But may that night be long in coming!” Laeral said fervently. “As for the Harpers, believe me when I say that sometimes the best way of controlling their enthusiasm is to work along with them,” the mage added in a wry tone that suggested personal experience with this tactic. “Of one thing you can be certain: the Harpers will act with or without your blessing.” “What do you suggest?”

“Send a Harper agent to the elves’ forest stronghold to bear your invitation—a Harper who will work toward a Balance that will favor the elven community. In this way, if the forest elves refuse to retreat to Evenneet, they will at least have an advocate. That is more than they might get otherwise.”

Amlaruil studied her friend. The hesitancy in Laeral’s silver-green eyes suggested that there was more to this matter, things of which the mage could not easily speak. Seldom was Laeral reticent about anything. Foreboding tightened AmlanuTs throat, but she waited with elven patience for the woman to find her own way and time.

“Let us say that I would agree to such a plan,” the queen suggested calmly. “Have you an elven agent among the Harpers? A forest elf, one known to the community in question?” “No,” Laeral admitted.

“Then I do not see how your plan could succeed. Most Sy-Tel’Quessir are insular—suspicious of all elves from outside their tribe. The People of Tethir have not sworn allegiance to me, and so they might not reeejye an

ambassador from the island. Pressed as they are, they would likely kill any non-elf who ventured too near their hidden strongholds. No, it seems to me your Harper would have little hope of survival and even less chance for success.”

Laeral did not answer at once, nor did the queen press her. Their silence was filled by the sounds of the elven forest: the rustle of leaves, the soft hum of insects, the blithe call of carefree songbirds. This glade was a place of unparalleled beauty, surrounded and sustained by Evermeet’s ancient magic. The island was the last haven of the elves, and its peace and security had seldom been breached. Knowing this, the mage considered her next words carefully. What she was about to suggest trod cruelly upon the elves’ painful memories and touched the queen’s deepest sorrow.

“There is a half-elven Harper,” Laeral said slowly, “currently stationed in a city near the Forest of Tethir. She has passed successfully as an elf on other assignments. She is very convincing, very resourceful. I feel confident that she could find a way into the forest community.”

The queen’s face was suddenly wary. Her eyes darted toward the shimmering oval gate that had brought Laeral from the mainland to Evermeet. It was a magical bridge between the worlds of the elves and humans, and it had been born with a spark of life that had become a half-elven child—a child that Amlaruil would forever regret. That gate had cost Amlaruil the life of her beloved husband. Grief is seldom reasonable. In AmlaruU’s mind, the child and the deadly portal were as one.

“Yes,” Laeral said softly, confirming the queen’s unspoken conclusion. She took Amlaruil’s tightly clasped hands between both of her own. “You know of whom I speak. Half-elven by birth, but willing to do anything to serve the good of the People, She has proven this again and again. Perhaps that is her way of laying

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claim to a heritage that has otherwise been denied her.” The queen tugged her hands free, her expression implacable. “The half-elf bears Amnestria’s sword,” she said coldly. “A moonblade is a greater inheritance than most noble elves can claim and more honor than she deserves.”

It seems to me that steel is cold comfort,” Laeral observed. “And as for honor, half-elven or not, she wields Amnestria’s sword, a weapon so powerful that many an elven warrior could not touch it and live. Think on it, my friend: what better argument in the girl’s favor?”

Amlaruil turned away abruptly to stare with undisguised hatred at the magical gate that had cost her so much. Duty and grief warred on her delicate face for long, agonized moments. Finally, she lifted her head to a regal angle and once again faced her friend.

“You truly believe that this … that she is the best person for the task? That through her efforts the lives of the forest People might be spared?”

Laeral nodded, her silvery eyes full of sympathy for the lonely elf woman and admiration for the proud queen.

Then so shall it be.” Queen Amlaruil rose, speaking the words in the manner of a royal pronouncement. “Evermeet’s ambassador to the Forest of Tethir will be the Harper known as Arilyn Moonblade.”

The elf queen turned away and began to walk toward the palace. “So shall it be,” she repeated to herself in a whisper that seemed too fragile to bear the weight of her bitterness. “But I swear before all the gods of the Seldarine, the elves would have been better served if the sword she carries had turned against her!”

Two

Tethyr was a land of many contrasts and contradictions. Ancient ways and modern notions, pretensions of royalty and egalitarian fervor commingled uneasily in a land whose natural complexity only magnified her recent woes. Tucked between the moors and mountains of Amn and the vast desert kingdoms of the far south, Tethyr possessed a mostly northern terrain and a temperate climate. The land was a hodgepodge of fertile farmland, deep forests, and sun-baked hills that were as dry and forbidding as any desert. The customs and interests of the peoples who settled each area were as diverse as the land itself.

But Zazesspur, the largest city of this troubled land, looked firmly to the south. A port city with an excellent deepwater harbor, it was set at the mouth of the Sulduskoon River and on the path of important overland routes. Zazesspur saw trade and travelers from many lands. Yet her current ruler, a southerner by the

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Silver Shadows

15

name of Balik, did his best to limit the influence of outsiders. The grandson of a Calishite trader, he styled himself as pasha and cultivated an oriental splendor— and a distrust of northerners—that recalled the attitudes of his forebears. Since Pasha Balik’s rise to power some dozen or so years before, parts of the city had taken on a decidedly southern character. Both the best and the worst aspects of the great city of Calimport could be found in Zazesspur. Sleek palaces of white marble, formal gardens filled with exotic plants, wide boulevards, and open-air bazaars redolent with rare spices vied for space with sprawling shanty towns and narrow, crime-ridden streets.

Oddly enough, however, most of the illegal activities of Zazesspur were conducted from the better parts of town. The School of Stealth—a school of the fighting arts which was a thinly veiled front for the powerful assassins’ guild—was housed in a sprawling complex at the edge of the city. Intrigue was always in fashion, and the going price for an assassin’s services was high: So, however, was the price on an assassin’s life. Arilyn Moonblade walked lightly down the narrow back-alley street that led to the women’s guildhouse, making no more sound than the narrow shadow she cast. She was a broadsword’s width short of six feet tall, with raven-dark hair that hung in careless waves about her shoulders and eyes of an unusual dark blue flecked with bits of gold—beautiful eyes that might have inspired bardic odes, had they not been so wary and forbidding. Pale as moonlight and alert as a stalking cat, Arilyn had about her a tense, watchful air and the too-thin, too-taut look of one who seldom paused for either food or sleep. For an assassin, the choices were few and straightforward: constant vigilance, or death.

The half-elf had been a member of the assassins’ guild for several months, and she was no longer considered an easy mark. Zazesspur’s professional killers were strictly ranked, and the sash of pale gray s^lk that

belted Arilyn’s waist proclaimed her to be a fighter of the highest skill. But there were still those who refused to believe that a woman—much less a half-elven woman from the barbarous Northlands—could defend the Shadow Sash she wore.

The system for advancement within the guild was simple: an ambitious assassin merely killed someone of higher rank and took his sash. Arilyn had defended her rank more times than she cared to admit. When forced to do so, she fought with an icy skill and an even colder fury that was becoming legendary among her associates. Not one of them, however, suspected that the half-elf wanted nothing more than to be rid of her dark—and largely undeserved—reputation. Nor would they ever know. Solitary and cautious by nature, with each grim challenge Arilyn became more intensely watchful and more fiercely alone.

Thanks to several months of hard-won survival, Arilyn’s instincts were as keenly honed as a bladesinger’s sword. She didn’t need to hear footsteps or glimpse a shadow to know she was being followed. Nor did she expect such things. Silence was the first lesson taught to fledgling assassins, and the faint light coming from the high, narrow windows of the women’s guildhouse up ahead cast all shadows behind her. Yet Arilyn knew she was being hunted. She could not have been more certain of this if the stalker had announced his intent with blaring horns and the yapping of hounds.

Even so, several heartbeats passed before she caught sight of him. Although half-elven, Arilyn had in full measure the keen sight of elvenkind: sharp detail, long range—and wide sweep. Behind her, at the outermost edge of her peripheral vision, she saw a tall, broad figure, cloaked and cowled into anonymity, rapidly closing the distance between them.

No one had reason to walk this particular path but Arilyn and her sole female colleague, for the tall, narrow tower that housed the women’s guildhouse was the

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humblest and most remote building in the complex. It seemed likely, therefore, that the man behind her had career advancement in mind.

But Arilyn walked steadily on, giving no sign that she was aware of the assassin’s presence. Just a few paces ahead was a walkway that branched off from the path, leading into the even narrower alley that ran between the high courtyard walls of the opulent men’s guildhouse and the council hall. The attack would surely come there.

When just one step remained between her and the alley, Arilyn exploded into action. In one fluid movement she whirled, seized the man’s cloak with both hands, and threw herself back into a roll. The startled assassin went down with her. Before the man’s weight could pin her to the ground, she twisted her body in a half-turn, brought her knees up to her chest, and kicked her feet out high and hard. The man somersaulted over her and landed heavily on the dirt.

Before his grunt of impact died away, Arilyn rolled up onto her knees beside him. She stiffened two fingers into a weapon, scanned his cloaked-and-cowled form for a target spot that would render him temporarily immobile, and drove down hard.

Her fingers plunged into the side of the man’s neck— too deep, and far too easily! Arilyn grimaced as her hand disappeared into the dark-cloaked figure, winced as her fingertips drove into the hard-packed earth below.

Mouthing a silent curse, the half-elf snatched her hand out of the insubstantial body. She jerked back the cowl that obscured the apparition’s face. The faint moonlight fell upon strong features, dark hair both silvering and receding, and a black beard distinctively streaked with silver.

“Khelben,” she muttered with exasperation, settling back on her heels and staring with dismay at the figure who, with a dignity astonishing under the ^circum—

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stances, coolly rose to his feet and brushed the dust from bis cape.

At this moment Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun—the archmage of Waterdeep, a Master Harper, and her own superior—was hardly Arilyn’s favorite person. The Harpers had sent the half-elf and her partner, Danilo Thann, to Zazesspur on a diplomatic mission, and although Khelben was not responsible for the grim role she had assumed as her cover, Arilyn found that she had little wish to face him—or, to be more precise, to face the sending that he had conjured and sent over the miles to speak in his stead. Arilyn assumed that BlackstafFs magical double would be as devoted to solemn discussion as the original model, and this she simply could not bear. She would do her duty by the Harpers, but she’d be damned if she’d sit around and chat about it!

“Nice sending,” she said as she rose to face the archmage’s double. “More solid than most.”

There was a touch of regret in her voice. The implication—that she might have preferred to attack an even more solid target—did not escape the archmage. A sardonic smile lifted one corner of his dark mustache.

“Well met to you, Arilyn Moonblade,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. “By Mystra, I swear that with each day that passes, you grow more like your father! I’ve seen that very expression on his face more times than I care to count!”

Arilyn stiffened. Her relationship with her human father was a tentative and fledgling thing, too new for comfort and too personal for casual talk. And if truth be told, although she found much to admire in the man, she did not care to be reminded of her mixed heritage.

“I doubt you conjured a sending merely to chat about your long-dead quarrels with Bran Skorlsun,” she observed. “We’re both here on Harper business. If it’s all the same to you, let’s get on with it.”

The image of Khelben Arunsun nodded and asked for

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her report. With a few terse words, Arilyn described the progress in her mission to help defuse an attempt by the guilds of Zazesspur to depose the ruling pasha and establish guild rule. Of her presence in the assassins’ guild, and the ever-growing toll this subterfuge was taking on her, she said nothing. Fortunately, Khelben did not press her for details.

“You and Danilo have done well,” the archmage said at last. “Pasha Balik is aware of the threat, and your friendship with Prince Hasheth has gained the Harpers a valuable contact in the palace. Now that the situation in Zazesspur is under control—at least for the moment—the time has come for us to speak of other matters. You are aware of the recent troubles in the Forest of Tethir?”

The Harper nodded, her face cautious.