Silver Shadows (25 page)

“A hereditary sword. Then you have children?” Ganamede inquired.

It was a logical question, but it struck Arilyn like a kick to the gut. She had never considered that particular aspect of the moonblaoVs demands, for she had never given a moment’s thought to the possibility that she might bear children of her own. Arilyn knew all too well the ambiguity that defined a half-elf s existence, and she would not wish this upon another. Nor would any child of hers be a likely candidate for the moonblade. As far as Arilyn knew, she was the only moonblade wielder in the entire history of these ancient swords who was not of pure moon-elf heritage. Not even \, a full-blooded elf of another noble race—the gold elves, V or the green, or the sea folk—had every held such a Ł sword and lived. What chance would a child of hers >; have against the moonblade’s silent test? And knowing what she did about the nature of the elfshadow, how could she pass such a sentence along? Immediate death, or eternal servitude. It was not much of a legacy.

Even if her offspring should claim the sword and fail,

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that death would not purchase her freedom. The moonblade she carried was of the Moonflower clan, and the line would not die with Arilyn. The gods only knew how many unknown royal aunts and uncles and cousins she had running blithely about on distant Evermeet!

Which brought her to a second disturbing realization: since she had no children of her own, she would have to name a blade heir from among her mother’s kin. It occurred to her, for the first time, that the ties between her and her mother’s people were far more complex than their common bloodlines.

“Lamruil,” she blurted out, remembering a name from her mother’s long-ago tales. “Prince Lamruil of Evermeet, youngest son of Amlaruil and mother’s brother to me. I name him blade heir. There are ‘doors to the gate’ on Evermeet. If I fall, see that he gets the moonblade.”

Ganamede gazed up at her, purely elven wonder shining through his wolflike features. “You are of Amlaruil’s blood? Why have you never spoken of this?”

Even the lythari were not immune to the power of the queen, Arilyn thought bitterly. What was it about Amlaruil that inspired such reverence?

“Maybe I don’t like to brag,” she said shortly. “But come on—they know we’re here, and they’re probably wondering what’s keeping us-“

Together they walked for several hundred paces. Ganamede stopped suddenly and for HO reason that Arilyn could ascertain.

“Look up,” he advised her softly.

Arilyn did so and found that she stood in the center of what appeared to be a thriving settlement. The elven village itself was a wonder. Small dwellings had been fashioned high in the trees, connected by swinging walkways. So cleverly did the settlement blend hi with the forest that no one could see it unless he stood in its midst and looked straight up—which, unless one had the benefit of a lythari escort, was about as likely to occur in the natural course of

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things as a salad-eating troll.

This, then, was Talltrees. But there was still no sign of the elven inhabitants.

“Where are they?” she said softly.

“All around. Read them the queen’s proclamation,” he urged her.

But the half-elf shook her head. That was AmlariuTs plan, and by Arilyn’s estimation it had little chance of success. The offer of Retreat was a last resort. She would earn her freedom fairly, and she would do it in her own fashion.

“People of Talltrees,” she called in a clear, ringing alto, speaking in the Elvish common tongue. 1 am come to you from Amlaruil, Lady of Evermeet, Queen of the Elven Island. Will you hear an ambassador of the queen?”

There was no sound to herald their coming, but suddenly the forest around her was alive with watchful, copper-skinned elves. Where they had been a moment before, Arilyn couldn’t say. She herself was considered skilled in matters of stealth, but these folk were of the forest, and one with it.

Their garb was simple and scant, fashioned almost without exception from the forest’s bounty: tanned hides, rough linen beaten and woven from wild flax, ornaments of feather and bone. But there was nothing primitive or crude about these green elves. They were an ancient people with ancient ways. Arilyn they regarded with detached, wary curiosity, but most gazed at Ganamede with an awe that approached reverence. It was likely the first time most of them had ever laid eyes upon one of the elusive silver shadows. This meeting, Arilyn suspected, would be a tale they would pass down to their children’s children.

A tall male, whose features struck Arilyn as oddly familiar, stepped forward with the dignity of a stag. lake most of the green elves, he was lightly clad. His ruddy skin was painted with swirling designs of greens

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and brown, and his dark brown hair was worn long and plaited back.

“I am Rhothomir, Speaker of the Talltrees tribe. For the sake of the noble lythari who has seen fit to lead you here, we will consider the words of Amlaruil of Evermeet.”

Consider. For the sake of the lythari.

That was not exactly welcoming, but in truth Arilyn took a certain perverse satisfaction in the rare lack of enthusiasm this male showed for the elven queen.

But now came the tricky part. Propriety demanded that she give her name, her house, and her credentials. Since she was woefully short on all three, she would simply use what she had, follow the elf s lead, and hope for the best.

Arilyn pulled her moonblade, lifted it high in a sweeping, formal elven salute, and then went down on one knee before the Speaker. “I am Arilyn Moonblade, daughter of Z’Beryl of the Moonflower clan,” she said, using the name her mother had taken in exile. “As sworn swordmaiden, I have forsaken clan ties to take the name of the ancient and magical sword I carry. Word of your troubles has reached Evermeet. In the name of Queen Amlaruil, I offer my sword and my life in defense of your tribe.”

With these words she laid the moonblade at the green elf s feet.

For a long moment Rhothomir regarded her in silence. “Evermeet’s queen sends us a single warrior?”

“What would your response be if she had sent a thousand?” Arilyn retorted. “What benefit would there be if so many feet were to trample a path through the woodlands, a path so broad your enemies could walk in comfort to your very door? With the help of my friend, Ganamede of the Greycloak tribe, I have left a path that none can follow.”

A moment’s silence. “You walk silently, for a n’tel-que’tethira? he admittedly grudgingly, using an Elfish

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word that roughly translated as “city-dweller.” He considered the matter for another span of several moments, then turned away.

“Take up your sword and leave this place as silently as you came. We have no use for it, or you.”

“No.”

A silent ripple of astonishment ran through the elven assembly. Apparently, such a direct challenge to the Speaker’s authority was an uncommon event.

An elven female walked to Rhothomir’s side, her black eyes fixed upon Arilyn and the watchful iythari.

“Do not send them away. Think, Brother. If the silver shadows would fight for us, how quickly we could deal with those humans who defile our forest!”

Arilyn’s eyes widened. She had never heard that voice, but somehow she knew it. It belonged to a female assassin who spoke only in whispers, one who used cosmetics to dim the luster of her skin and to transform her elven features into the exotic almond-eyed beauty of a woman of the far eastern lands. The silk turban had concealed ears as pointed as those of a fox, as well as gleaming chestnut hair that was now pulled back into a single braid. If there had been any doubt in Arilyn’s mind about the elf woman’s dual identity, it would have been removed by the sight of the tatoo on her bare shoulder: the stylized, graceful form of a hunting ferret.

The Harper also heard the dual meaning in the elf woman’s words: people of human blood defiled the elven forest, but for the sake of an alliance with the lythari, Ferret would consider accepting Arilyn’s presence and her secret. But if the elf woman were to reveal Arilyn’s true nature, Prince Lamruil would fall heir to the moonblade at once! The sanctity of Talltrees, though honored by the presence of a lythari, would be deemed profaned and put at extreme risk by a half-elfs presence. They might even attack the lythari who had brought her here, thinking him a traitor to elvenMnd. No matter what else came of this meeting, Arilyn

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vowed, she would see that Ganamede escaped safely.

Since Arilyn was still on one knee, she was roughly at eye level with the wolflike being. She turned to gaze into Ganamede’s eyes. “Speaker Rhothomir, listen to your sister’s counsel. I have asked the lythari of the Greycloak tribe to come to your assistance,” she said, her eyes pleading with her friend to play along. The noble Ganamede will leave now to hold council with his people as to what might best be done.”

The lythari gave her a searching look. She responded with a faint smile and nod that suggested all would be well.

After a moment, Ganamede inclined his head. “I will ask them,” he said softly, but his eyes were deeply puzzled. He turned and loped silently off into the forest.

Arilyn released her breath on a long, silent sigh of relief She hated deceiving her friend. Fortunately, Ganamede seemed to have taken her request at face value. He was disappointed in her, that she apparently did not understand the nature of the lythari folk. Even so, he would do as she asked, though he knew what his people’s response would be. Better that than letting him know how tenuous her own position was.

As soon as Ganamede was beyond reach, Arilyn reached for her sword and stood. She met Ferret’s steady gaze. If there was yet any hope of forging a link with the green elves, it would be here.

“I can offer more than a possible alliance with the lythari. Most of you have not fought humans. I have. I know their ways, their world, their tactics.”

“There is something in what you say,” Rhothomir admitted. He turned to his sister. “You are the lore-keeper; you have more knowledge of the humans than any of us, as well as the elves who live beyond the forest. What do you say?”

“I would speak with this one alone,” Ferret said. “There are things we should know about her and about the sword she carries. We all have heard tales of such

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swords. It may be that this moonblade was forged for just such a task.”

There is great risk in accepting outsiders,” the Speaker said.

“And we will weigh the risks along with the benefits. Let me speak with this … moon elf, and judge whether what she offers is worthwhile.”

After a moment’s deliberation, Rhothomir agreed. Ferret strode over to a stout oak and tugged one of the vines that entwined its trunk. A long ladder unrolled, spilling down from one of the dwellings overhead. The elf woman indicated with a deft, impatient gesture that Arilyn should ascend the ladder.

With Ferret close behind her, the half-elf made the dizzying climb into trees. The dwelling was small and sparsely furnished: a bearskin served as a bed; some large clay pots held personal effects; a few garments hung from pegs on the wall. The elf motioned for Arilyn to take a seat on the bearskin and then seated herself on the floor, as far away as the small room permitted.

“How is it that you know a silver shadow?” Ferret demanded.

“We are friends from childhood. I freed him from a snare.”

“In Tethir?”

“No. In the Greycloak Hills, a place many days’ travel to the north of here. Ganamede’s tribe takes its name from those hills—or perhaps it is the other way around. Lythari can travel far distances in ways that seem magical, even to an elf,” Arilyn added, anticipating the elf woman’s next question.

Ferret’s gaze slipped to the sword at Arilyn’s side. “How is it that you carry one of these swords? It is alive—I saw it glow with magic when we fought in the Harper’s room!”

“Yes. That was a very convincing death scene,” Arilyn added dryly. “As for the sword, it came to me as such a blade conies to any who wields it. It was passed down to

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me from my mother, Z’beryl.”

“But how is that so? No moonblade has ever before been turned to evil!”

“Nor has this one,” Arilyn said softly. “It cannot shed innocent blood. If you would like to test this in combat, I would be happy to oblige you.”

The challenge hung heavy in the silence that followed. “What are you?” Ferret said at last. “Half-elf assassin, or noble elven warrior?”

“What are you?” Arilyn countered. “When last I saw you, you were three against one, fully prepared to kill a good man for the sake of a few gold coins.”

Ferret leaned forward. “You know the Harper? Where is he?”

“Far beyond your reach,” Arilyn said coldly.

The elf woman gazed thoughtfully at Arilyn for several moments; then a slow, taunting smile spread across her face. “Well, well. The half-uwmott is not so cold a fish as she appears! This Harper, this human, what is he to you?”

“I don’t see how that could possibly interest you.”

“Oh, but it does. As it happens, the People have a use for just such a hound as a Harper. Even if we could push the human invaders from the forest, what is to stop them from returning? No, there is something more at work here. The tribe needs someone who can sniff out the trail to its source.”

“And that’s what you hoped to do in Zazesspur? By murdering the business rivals and faithless mistresses of any man who could afford your services?”

Ferret’s gaze did not falter. “Those, and others of my own choosing,” she said candidly. “I worked for myself and on behalf of my People. Those whom I thought to be enemies, I killed.”

The two females regarded each other in silence for a long moment. “There is something in what you say,” Arilyn admitted. “There are things at work here that must be understood. Had Danilo not been forced from

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Zazesspur, he and I could have worked together—he among the humans, I among the People. I will find my way to the source of Tethir’e troubles, but part of that answer must be found in the forest.”