Silver Shadows (38 page)

After a few moments the young prince joined them. He greeted Arilyn with a bow and slid an appraising gaze over the silk-clad Ferret.

“Your business in the east is completed? This visit is, I hope, a celebration of your success?”

“Not quite yet. We need some information. But first, how goes your apprenticeship?”

“Very well, actually,” Hasheth said in a smug tone. “Hhune is an ambitious man who carries out some rather audacious plans.”

“Just remember that one of those plans was the attempt to oust your father,” Arilyn said, hoping to temper the young man’s admiration of the lord. From what she had seen of Hhune, he was not particularly worthy of such adulation.

“I will remember and be on my guard,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “But tell me what you need to know, and I will begin the search.”

“I need anything you can get on a man who goes by the name of Bunlap. He has a fortress on the northern branch of the Sulduskoon.”

“The name is already known to me,” Hasheth said with satisfaction, delighted to be a step ahead of the Harper. “He is a mercenary captain from the northern lands. There is much demand for his services. His men are well trained and as loyal to their captain as is reasonable. My Lord Hhune occasionally employs his men as personal or caravan guards.”

“What is Bunlap doing in the Forest of Tethir?”

“That, I cannot tell you. He is not supposed to be in the forest proper. His men are supposed to guard the logging camp from attacks.”

Ferret leaped to her feet as if she’d been shot from a balista. “A logging camp? Where is this place?”

“In truth, I do not know. The records say the logs are shipped from southern lands.”

The elf woman shook with repressed fury—and something deeper than rage. “I would see something that was built of these logs. Now!”

Hasheth scowled, unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a tone. But Arilyn nodded, and the young man walked from the room. He returned with a polished circle of wood, some three feet across, that was in the process of being made into a small gaming table. This he placed on the floor; then he shot an inquiring glare at Ferret.

The female paid him no heed. She let out a small, strangled cry and fell to her knees beside the wooden circle. Her fingers traced the narrow rings, lingering at the pattern of tiny eyes that peppered the intricate grain. Finally she lifted grimly furious eyes to Arilyn.

“This tree was ancient when the hills of Tethyr were populated only by wolves and wild sheep! There are few

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trees of this age in the southern lands. This has to have been taken from the elven forest!”

A heavy silence fell over the room, “I’m no expert in local ordinance, but I know that’s hideously illegal,” Arilyn said. “Why would Hhune take such chances?”

“It may be that he does not know the origin of the lumber,” Hasheth suggested quickly.

“I doubt that. Well, Ferret, it’s not hard to guess what your next target will be,” Arilyn said grimly.

“Hhune,” agreed the elven assassin.

“But first we need your planning expertise,” Arilyn said, turning to the tense young man. She described the mission and what they needed of him. Hasheth agreed to all, but there was a distracted, mechanical quality to his responses that Arilyn heard and mistrusted.

When their planning was complete, the young man walked the women to the front gate. On impulse, Arilyn turned to Hasheth and said softly, “Listen, I don’t particularly like Hhune, but as long as he keeps away from the forest and the elves I’m content to let him live. Do this: find out why Hhune is taking such a risk and who might be at the head of it. If there’s a way to stop this without killing your new employer, well do it.”

“I will do what I can,” Hasheth agreed at once.

He stood at the gate for a long time after the half-elf and the exotic courtesan had left, pondering how best to handle this new wrinkle. Of course, he could arrange matters so that Arilyn and her associate never found their way out of Assante’s stronghold. That would be simple. A few words from him, describing the plans of a Harper within their midst, would surely buy him his coveted membership into the Knights of the Shield.

But there was no knowing what Arilyn had told her superiors, or whether the Harpers would send agents to replace her. Hasheth did not want any meddling northerners digging into Hhune’s affairs or taking his place as Harper informant. No, Arilyn must be protected.

But he could not allow her to harm Lord Hhune. The

merchant was too pivotal a part of the plans Hasheth had made for his own future. Certain sacrifices must be made, and the plans made a bit more complex, but surely, Hasheth concluded comfortably, such was not beyond a man of his abilities.

The lythari slipped from his den through an eastern door in the Forest of Tethir, one he had not used for many years.

This door took him to the easternmost reaches of the Suldusk hunting grounds, near the edge of the forest’s boundaries. Ganamede seldom came here, for the wild elves who lived among these ancient trees had little use for anyone outside their tribe. There were few wild elves as hostile and reclusive as the Suldusk.

Even so, Ganamede had promised to look out after the interests of all the green elves. In his wolflike form, he padded silently southward to the Suldusk settlement.

The terrain here was more uneven and wild than hi the western parts of the forest. The trees grew upon tall hills filled with caves and punctuated by rocky cliffs and ravines. To Ganamede’s eyes, it was more like the forests of the far Northlands than those of most of Tethyr. Indeed, here the first refugees from Cormanthor had settled so many years ago. The trees they’d brought from the elven forest still watched over the land.

The Suldusk, however, had lived beneath the trees of Tethir for time out of memory. Their tribe had been there to greet the refugees from Cormanthor—the elves who, in tune, had become the Elmanesse tribe—and they had received the gift of seedling trees from the northern forest. But relationships did not remain cordial between the tribes. There had been centuries of raiding, followed by an uneasy truce. For many years there had been no contact between the tribes at all.

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Even the lythari clans did not hunt Suldusk lands.

Ganamede’s sharp ears caught a distant sound— faint, but alien to the forest and therefore keenly audible. The lythari climbed a large hill that led toward the settlement. From there he would have a view of the valley below. Although it was heavily forested, he might catch a glimpse of the source of the disturbance.

Running lightly, the elf in wolf form crested the hill and came to a stop at the edge of a cliff. He stood, stunned, gazing out over the valley. What had once been a wondrous elven forest was ravaged and stripped of life and magic. Massive tree stumps dotted the land. The thick foliage had been burned away so that the dead trees could be more easily dragged to the river for transport.

Ganamede shook his silver head in denial. How could this be? The fierce Suldusk elves would never allow their home to be ravaged. Not while they lived, at least.

The lythari spun and ran for the elven settlement, which was hidden in a valley not far from the devastated forest. He stopped long before he reached it, halted by the scent of sorrow and death and despair. He crested the hill that overlooked the Suldusk valley, finding what scant cover remained. Cautiously he crept closer, for he had to know what had become of the Suldusk folk.

For a long time Ganamede stood gazing upon the ravaged Suldusk land. Then his silver form shimmered and disappeared, and he stood on the charred circle on two legs, a solemn, silver-haired elf. This he did without thought, driven by a deep and compelling need.

In his wolf form, Ganamede could not weep.

Nineteen

Bound together at the wrist with Arilyn’s amulet of water breathing, the two elven females entered the well that was Abrum Assante’s escape tunnel. While the giant shrimp went into a feeding frenzy over the ham hock Ariryn had thrown them, she and Ferret swam quickly upward. They

• bobbed to the surface of the water, cautiously scanned the , pink-marbled tunnels for guards, and then climbed out

As soon as Arilyn unfastened the amulet from around

their wrists, Ferret toweled the water from her hair and

then bound it up in a turban. She shook out a number

of veils from her pack and draped them over her nearly

naked form. Her role was to place Tinkersdam’s candles

tin the upper palace. Dressed as a Calishite courtesan,

:ahe could do so without attracting much attention. A

•new face among Assante’s women would be nothing : unusual; his harem was extensive, and the women ‘apparently came and went quickly enough. After all, guardian shrimp must be fed!

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And while Ferret set Tinkersdam’s destructive candles hi place, Arilyn would go about the task of stealing the slumbering Zoastria from Assante’s treasure rooms.

When Ferret was safely away, following the palace map Jill had drawn for her, the Harper drew her sword and strode toward the door to the first treasure room. As before, three guards barred the way. Arilyn didn’t slow her pace, but came on with deadly intent.

Two of the guards rushed her. Arilyn ducked under the first swing of the scimitar, and came up, twisting into a lunge at the second man. He parried her attack and shoved hard enough with his sword to send the much smaller female reeling back. Instinctively, Arilyn raised her blade overhead to meet his next slashing blow. She did not stop it so much as catch the blade with her own and press its attack slightly to one side.

The wicked scimitar continued its descent, cutting deep into the first man’s shoulder. His scimitar clattered to the floor, his sword arm ruined, and his life’s blood flooding the pink marble of the floor.

Arilyn continued her turn, slashing across the wounded man’s throat as she went. She then whirled upon the dumbfounded swordsman who had helped to fell his own comrade. In three strokes, her sword found his heart. Yanking her blade free, she advanced upon the final man.

“Open the door or die,” she said succinctly.

The guard did not need time to ponder his choices. He pulled a ring of keys from his belt and tossed it to Arilyn. She caught it and tossed it back.

“No. You.” She remembered all too well the laborious task of disabling the devices that trapped the lock. There was no tune for such precautions this time.

Fortunately for her, the guard did not know of the magical traps. He slipped a huge iron key into the latch and turned it. As he did so, Arilyn stepped back.

A flare of arcane light ripped through the^ halls. Arilyn shielded her eyes, but not before she caught a

glimpse of the guard’s bones, gleaming weirdly through his flesh as his body jolted and shook. Finally he fell, charred beyond recognition, his skeletal fingers still clutching the white-hot key. The door swung open as he fell.

Arilyn stepped over the body, ignoring the dry, brittle crunch as she accidently trod on what had once been a human hand.

She made her way directly to Zoastria’s resting place and lifted the dusty lid of the glass tomb. As she gathered the tiny elf woman in her arms, as one might hold a sleeping child, the first of Tinkersdam’s explosions ripped through the palace.

“An hour, maybe less,” Arilyn muttered sarcastically, quoting Tinkersdam and wishing the alchemist possessed a more precise awareness of time’s passing.

She headed toward the door with Zoastria cradled against her chest, dodging a gauntlet of falling treasures as she went. All around her, statues toppled, and shelves laden with treasures rocked and crashed to the floor. As Arilyn ducked out of the path of a falling suit of armor, the second explosion hit, this one more powerful I than the first. The tremors knocked Arilyn to her knees, •.but somehow she kept her hold on the sleeping elf woman. As she staggered to her feet, she blessed the fact that Zoastria had been small and slight.

Dust and small rocks rained down on her as she hurried back to the well. Ferret was already there, her knife pressed to the throat of an elderly Tethyrian man. As they had anticipated, Assante realized that explosions of this magnitude would destroy many of his defenses, and he had come to the lower levels of his palace to avail himself of his escape tunnel.

The palace is coming down,” Ferret lied fiercely. i “Those explosions were but the first of many. Take the ‘fastest way out, and take us with you, and you have a [chance of Living through this. When we are beyond the i palace grounds, you will be set free. If you call out for

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help or try to attack us, I will kill you at once, and we will take our chances without you as hostage. Do you understand?”

The former assassin nodded slightly; even so small a movement sent a thin line of blood running down into his shirt. Assante set a course through the halls and up sweeping marble stairs. The noise that assaulted them as they entered the main hall reminded Arilyn of a cavalry charge at the heat of battle.

Screaming, dragging wounded friends or gathering up armloads of possessions, Assante’s retainers frantically sought escape from the burning building. Since so much emphasis had been given to keeping unwanted visitors out, the doors leading in and out of the palace were few. In the confused rush for these exits, many people had been knocked down and were now being trampled underfoot. Those who retained their balance surged toward the doors, too frantic to notice that their feared master was among them.

Ferret gave the knife at Assante’s throat an encouraging twitch, and the master assassin waded out into the chaos and confusion. To Arilyn’s disgust, the assassin did not hesitate to use his knife on his own people. Indeed, Assante cut a way for them through the milling throng, killing with brutal efficiency and then climbing coldly over the bodies. He would certainly have tried to turn his blade upon his captors, old as he was, but for one precaution Arilyn had insisted upon: both she and Ferret openly wore their Shadow Sashes, flaunting their rank among Zazesspur’s professional assassins. Only a fool would challenge two such seasoned killers, and Assante was no fool. He would wait for his chance and then strike. She only hoped Ferret had gained enough experience to realize this and to strike first.