Silver Shadows (26 page)

“So you also are a Harper,” Ferret said thoughtfully. “That would explain much. Do you think what is said of the People is true?” she demanded in an abrupt change of mood.

“I must know,” Arilyn said simply. “It may well be that your people have provocation for all and anything they have done, but you must understand that these attacks—whether true or contrived—can bring only more trouble to the forest elves.”

She held up a hand to silence the angry tirade that Ferret clearly had ready. “You spoke of pushing the human invaders from the forest. I must know of this, too. This would be the first step: stop them, and then follow then* trail back wherever it might go. If there is a plot against the elves, the conspirators will be dealt with.”

Ferret considered this. “If you are a Harper, why do you claim to be Evermeet’s ambassador?”

Arilyn took the copy of the queen’s pronouncement from her pack and placed it on the floor in front of the green elf. Ferret picked up the parchment and read it slowly.

“Evermeet’s queen thinks we would Retreat?” she said scornfully.

“And the Harpers think you should compromise with the humans of Tethyr,” Arilyn added with equal feeling. “I know that neither path will serve the forest folk; yet I’m obligated to act on behalf of both Amlaruil and the Harpers. If you give me a chance, I believe I can do better. I have already said how.”

Ferret tossed the royal pronouncement aside and asked casually, “Tell me one thing more: do you have any idea how the others would respond, if I should ever speak of your true nature?”

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“I have named my blade heir,” Arilyn said simply.

This answer brought a small, tight smile to the green elf s face. “Very well. I will keep your secrets for now. Do what you can, Harper and half-elf, and know that if the People are well served I will fight at your back.”

Arilyn nodded, accepting Ferret’s words—and the threat implicit in them. At any time, the elven assassin could betray her or, more likely, kill her.

A light tap at the open portal forestalled any answer Arilyn might have given. Both females turned toward the sound. A young green elf female with glossy black hair and frantic black eyes peered into the room.

“You are needed, Ferret,1* she said quickly. “I bring word of battle; it is dire. The humans have brought magic to the forest. They have captured some of our people, and our warriors fight them hand to hand. They are sorely pressed.”

Ferret leaped to her feet and snatched a quiver of black arrows from a peg on the wall. She took a thick handful of arrows from one of the clay pots and handed them to Arilyn, who had also risen from the floor.

“You have a chance to prove your worth to the People, sooner than you might have anticipated. Know that one human more or less is of no consequence to me,” she said coldly.

“Understood,” Arilyn agreed. She took the arrows and followed the nimble elves down to the forest floor.

Perhaps forty elves were gathered there; the rest of the village, the young ones and the aged, had vanished into the trees. Arilyn’s gaze swept over the warriors, taking note of their weapons and the totem animals tattooed onto their shoulders. These totems and spirit guides said much of an elf e skill and character.

“I have several fire-forged short swords and daggers in my packs. You are a strong hunter, and you, and those two females standing together,” she said as she removed the weapons and tossed them to the ground.

The elves she’d indicated eyed the fine weapons with

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interest, but all cast inquiring glances at Rhothomir.

“What do you know of human magic?” he asked Arilyn.

“Nothing good.”

The answer came from her before she could consider its impact, but it brought a grimly amused smile to the face of the elven leader. “But you have faced it in battle?”

“Many times.”

Rhothomir turned to the assembled warriors. “Ferret has made her decision. I add to it my own: the moon elf will lead this battle. Pick up your swords.”

Arilyn accepted command with a curt nod, then turned to the raven-haired elf woman who had brought word of the battle. “How far?”

“Two hours’ run, maybe less”

And then she was off, running like a rabbit through the thick foliage. The others fell in behind without sparing so much as a glance at their new war leader. Nor did Arilyn expect otherwise. She worked alone most of the time, but she had learned much from observing some of the best leaders the northern lands had known. There were times when the best thing to do was shut up and follow.

And so she did, running as lightly as any green elf, toward what she suspected would be the first of many such battles.

Thirteen

The clash and the cries of war-fere rang through the forest, speeding the footsteps of the green elves who ran toward battle. True to her word, Ferret stayed at Arilyn’s back, running as softly as a shadow. The Harper did her best to ignore the threat the elf woman posed, so that she might concentrate on the battle before her. The sounds coming from the vale ahead—the clanging of swords, the grunts and screams of pain, the horrible, hate-filled oaths hurled by the human fighters— promised that the battle would be difficult and ugly.

Arilyn pulled to a stop some hundred yards from the battlefield, just as the first of the Talltrees warriors nocked an arrow and sent it hurtling into the midst of the wild melee. Before the first arrow found its mark, the elven archer followed with a second. Both arrows disappeared in a burst of white light, just short of their target. “Hold!” shouted Arilyn, flinging out a hand toward the other ready archers, for at least six other elves had

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bowstrings drawn and arrows ready for flight. Something in her tone and her face stopped them.

Before the elves’ horrified gaze, twin bolts of arcane lighting sizzled back toward the first archer. The white lines of fire engulfed the elf. A brilliant areola flared around him, briefly, and then it was gone, leaving nothing of him but a flurry of black ash.

“They’ve got a Halruaan wizard,” she told Rhothomir—and the watchful Ferret—in a grim tone. That’s bad.”

The Harper quickly took stock of the battlefield. There was a small open area, thickly shaded by the giant trees that ringed it and crowded with men and elves in fierce hand-to-hand combat. More than two hours had passed since Talltrees had received word of the battle, and by all appearances it had raged without pause since that time. The ground was trampled and blood-soaked; few of the combatants had escaped wounds, hi the center of the battlefield, five or six elves had been manacled with foot-hold traps and were crowded together This, Arilyn reasoned, was the bait that had lured the green elves into open combat. Five men, three of them swordsmen and one an archer, stood over these prisoners. The other, the only unarmed person on the field, had to be their wizard. The armor he wore was more affectation than protection. The odd ensemble—metal-studded leather augmented with metal shoulder plates, chest guard, and cod piece—could only have come from the imagination of a Halruaan artificer. Around this inner group, standing in a circle with their backs to the captives, was a ring of well-trained swordsmen. These engaged the elves, all of whom fiercely tried to break through to their kindred. The lone human archer in the center of the circle was able to easily pick off any elf who managed to get past the outer perimeter.

Arilyn glanced at the ground in the battlefield’s center; no spent elven arrows lay there. Nor did any of the humans bear arrow wounds. Clearly, the elven archer who had just perished by magic fire was not the first to

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meet this fate. There were limits to the number of times a wizard could cast such a powerful spell; this one probably had some sort of device that stored a number of fire-arrow spells, or that put a sphere of protection around him. Such things were not common., not even in magic-rich Halruaa, but neither were they particularly rare.

Arilyn thought fast, then turned to the elves clustered behind her. “Who’s the best archer among you?” she demanded of Rhothomir.

The Speaker pointed with his bow to one of the fighters—a male, taller than most of the green elves and marked by his autumn-colored hair. “Foxfire, our war leader. None can match his bow.”

“Call him,” she said tersely.

Rhothomir lifted one hand to his mouth and let out a high, sharp call, like that of a hunting eagle. The red-haired elf tensed, hesitated, then backed away from the fighting. He turned and ran toward the waiting elves. His black eyes widened in astonishment when they settled upon the moon-elf woman.

“How many shots can you get off in one breath?** she asked. “Three? Four?”

“Six,” he answered reflexively.

Arilyn grimaced. That’s pushing it. Four’s about my limit. Here’s what I want you to do: shoot four bolts straight at the wizard, then get the hell out of my way. The returned fire will keep him busy and take out some of the men guarding your people.”

“How—”

Before the elf could give voice to the question, Arilyn answered it. Her moonblade flashed from its sheath, slicing up toward the male’s face. He flinched away instinctively and raised his dagger to parry the blow. Not fast enough. Arilyn completed the stoke, reversed her sword’s direction, and slapped his dagger out wide with a one-handed backstroke. As she completed the counter-move, she stepped in close and held a small object directly in front of the elf s eyes. It was a feather, one tha^iad

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been hanging from his headband just a moment before.

“Fast sword,” she said by way of explanation.

“Four bolts,” Foxfire agreed, his black eyes bright with astonished admiration—and the beginning of new hope.

“Here’s the plan,” Arilyn said quickly, turning to the other elves. “Foxfire and I will give the wizard something to think about. The Halruaan will be distracted, but just for a moment. Fm going to charge him. As soon I as begin to move, you need to do two things: cut me a path through that circle, and take out the archer in the middle as well any guards who still stand. Got it?”

Foxfire pointed out four of the warriors. “Bows ready. Aim for the humans who are fighting Xanotter and Hawkwing, then shoot for the guards. Name your man, first and second.”

The elves quickly called off descriptions of their chosen targets, then turned intently to the moon elf. Their war leader’s excitement seemed contagious; apparently if Foxfire was willing to follow the moon elf’s instructions, they would do likewise.

“Several fighters need to follow me into the breach,” Arilyn continued. “Turn the battle inside out; engage them from inside the circle.”

“You would have us surrounded?” demanded Ferret suspiciously.

“She would present our archers with the humans’ broad backsides as targets,” Foxfire corrected her with a grin. Still smiling, he turned to Arilyn and held up four black arrows. “I am ready to begin.”

The Harper nodded and lifted her moonblade into guard position. Foxfire went down on one knee before her and pulled back his drawstring for the first shot.

Black lightning streaked toward the Halruaan wizard, followed by a second bolt and then two more, faster than Arilyn would have believed possible. The arrows burst into flame just short of the wizard. As Foxfire dove to one side, Arilyn gritted her teeth and prepared

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to meet the first sizzling line of force. Black lighting to white—the transformation happened almost too quickly for the eye to absorb.

The moonblade flared with eldritch blue light as the first magical attack seared toward its wielder. Deftly Arilyn parried the bolts, one after another, moving her sword just slightly to meet each one and to send them shimmering back toward the astonished wizard.

Immediately Arilyn kicked into a run. She heard the ping and whine of the elven arrows that flashed past her—almost close enough to touch—as she ran toward the humans Foxfire had pointed out. One of them, a large man with a badly cut face and bloodstained beard, dropped his sword to clutch at the pair of arrows that suddenly sprouted from his throat. He fell forward. Arilyn leaped over his prone form and hurled herself, sword leading, at the Halruaan.

The wizard was surrounded with a blaze of his own magical fire, but the same amulet that protected him from arrows kept the lightning from blasting him. It merely set fire to his magic shield. Within his glowing sphere, the wizard began the casting of yet another spell.

Arilyn did not fear the fire—one of the moonblade’s ancient powers was a resistance to flame. Her moonblade plunged into the arcane fire, and white lightning licked up her sword to stop at the glowing moonstone in its hilt. Arilyn felt no pain, but a twinge of worry began to gnaw at the corner of her mind. Her sword did not pierce the glowing bubble.

She flung the moonblade out wide and at least managed to thrust the wizard’s hands apart, to interrupt whatever dire casting he planned to unleash upon the ekes.

Glowering, the wizard conjured a sword of his own and lunged at her. His blade did not pierce the glowing sphere, either. Apparently the wizard’s field of protection kept everything but magic from passing through. Unfortunately, Arilyn had none to hurl.

But she noted how his sword thrust pressed

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line, causing it to bulge out toward her. A plan came to her—a variation on the most basic and dirty trick in a gutter fighter’s repertoire. It was well, she thought wryly, that no one would expect such an attack from the noble moon elf she appeared to be.

She darted in, sword held high. The wizard parried; sparks flew, even though their blades were far from touching. Again Arilyn lashed out, and again, measuring each time the distance between his sword and the point where hers clashed against the protective shield. It seemed to be lessening with each stroke, and the fire dimming. That meant the final attack she had planned would not be a killing stroke. Even so, Arilyn was willing to bet that it would put the wizard out of action for some time to come.