by Paul S. Kemp
Ferret darted across the road and into the brush, twisting and turning as she ran. The belling cries of the hounds changed to excited barking, a sure sign that they'd found her trail and were closing in fast.
The trees were too small and far apart for the elf to escape into the canopy. Once she climbed, she'd be trapped-beyond the teeth of the hounds, yes, but easy prey for the men coming behind them.
Clouds parted, and moonbeams stabbed deep into a stand of young duskwood trees. Ferret caught a glimpse of reflective eyes near the upturned roots of a fallen elder tree. Only a moment passed before the lights disappeared into the tiny root-cave, but the elf's keen eyes registered a silvery coat and a long, plumy tail. It was a wolf, and a large one, perhaps preternaturally so.
She had only a moment to decide.
The crash of brush announced that the dogs were well past the Trade Road. Ferret ran directly toward the wolf's den. If she was wrong, she was dead.
At least the wolf would be quicker and kinder than the dogs.
Elaith Craulnober could not remember when he'd last felt so content, so at peace with himself and the world. Nor could he think of another place in all Faerыn he'd rather be. The garden behind Danilo Thann's Waterdeep townhouse filled him with nostalgia for Evermeet, and for once, those memories were untainted with shame or regret.
In this walled haven grew plants unique to Evermeet: tiny sapphire-hued grapes, delicate white "welcome trumpets" so sensitive to heat they would turn toward anyone entering the garden, uniquely fragrant herbs, and even some of the sky blue roses associated with the royal moon elves. How Danilo had persuaded the elves of that reclusive island kingdom to part with such treasures was beyond Elaith's powers of imagination.
But the moon elf's favorite part of the garden was the tree-lined alee set aside for sword practice. Elaith had a fine elven weapon in his hand, a skilled sparring partner, and a worthy task before him. Life was good indeed.
His opponent, a tall half-elf female, came at him in a running attack. Elaith caught her sword with his and spun their enjoined blades down and around in a circular parry, turning as he went. The move brought them face to face, swords crossed and pointing upward.
The half-elf leaned in and delivered a straight-armed jab over their crossed swords. Elaith caught her fist with his free hand.
"A bold move, Princess Arilyn, but a risky one. You could lose your dagger hand that way."
She shook him off and stepped back. "Don't call me that. But you're right about the risk. It was a stupid move. I meant to press your sword down and back while I struck-"
"But you could not," Elaith finished. "You haven't the strength."
Arilyn grimaced. "Not yet."
She came in again. Elaith parried two quick thrusts and a lunge with easy economy of motion. Their swords slid apart with a metallic hiss as Arilyn fell back.
As they circled each other, Elaith took a moment to study his opponent. As always, that meant forcing his way past the half-elf's resemblance to Amnestria, a princess of Evermeet.
His princess.
The task at hand, Elaith reminded himself, was seeing Amnestria's daughter back to fighting form.
The half-elf's too-familiar face was set in determined lines, but it was drawn and thin, and far too pale. Pain darkened her blue eyes, and her hair, which had been as smooth and glossy as a raven's wing when they'd first crossed swords, had sprung up into an unruly mass of damp black curls.
Her mother's hair had been nearly as dark, but it was that rarest shade of moon elf blue-the color of fine sapphires, the midnight blue of a star-filled night…
Elaith shook off the image.
"You move as fast as ever," he told Arilyn, "but your attacks lack power and your grip is unreliable."
To demonstrate, he feinted low. The half-elf easily parried. Before she could disengage, Elaith stomped on her sword-an unconventional move that caught her by surprise and tore the hilt from her grasp.
Her practice sword had not yet hit the ground when Arilyn pivoted on her back foot and delivered a kick that landed several strategic inches south of Elaith's sword belt.
The moon elf staggered back, resisting the temptation to fall to the ground and curl up in agony.
Maybe, he conceded, his attack had not been quite so unexpected as he'd thought.
"Well countered," he managed to say, "but street fighting tactics are unworthy of a princess."
"Next time I see a princess, I'll be sure to pass that along," Arilyn assured him. "It'd be a good thing for her to know. If a tactic is 'unworthy,' it's probably also unexpected."
"Indeed."
The half-elf hooked the toe of one boot under her fallen sword, flicked it up, and caught it by the hilt. When Elaith moved into guard position, Arilyn shook her head and slid her practice sword into the sheath that had, until recently, held her moonblade.
"Thanks for the match."
Elaith's silver brows rose. "We've only been sparring since dawn. No more than two bells have rung since we began."
"You just don't want to quit when you're behind," she teased him.
The moon elf shook his head. "Princess, if you hope to wield your ancestral blade again, you must rebuild your strength."
The smile fell from Arilyn's face. "If you call me 'princess' one more time," she said softly, "I won't need the thrice-damned moonblade. I'll just tear out your liver with my fingernails."
She spun away and shouldered her way past the tall, fair-haired man just entering the practice grounds. Danilo Thann, one of the few humans Elaith counted among his friends, watched the half-elf stalk toward the garden's back gate.
"Where is she going?"
"To have her nails tended, I expect," Elaith said dryly.
Danilo blinked. After a moment he shook himself free of that puzzling vision. "We will have visitors very shortly. I received a sending-an amazing bit of magic, by the way-requesting that permission to enter this garden be granted to Shalana O Rhothomir, sister to the Wealdath's elf chieftain, Ganemede, a lythari."
"A lythari," Elaith echoed incredulously. He'd only half believed the race of wolf-natured, shapeshifting elves existed. "In Waterdeep?"
"Oh, it wouldn't be the first time. Ganemede and Arilyn are old friends. He can open a magical gate nearly anywhere, using her moonblade as a focus."
Elaith's gaze shifted to the weapons rack, where hung an ancient elven long sword. Eight runes marked the shin shy;ing length, and the blue-white moonstone in the hilt fairly glowed with magic. Just a tenday past, it had turned on its half-elf wielder rather than shed the blood of a moon elf who'd thought himself long past redemption.
"I wonder if the princess will ever wield it again," he said softly.
A faint smile touched the corners of Danilo's lips. "You're lucky she didn't hear you call her that. As to the other thing, Arilyn knew what might happen when she challenged you. She figured taking the sword's backlash was the quickest, surest way to convince the forest elves to fight under your command and alongside your men."
"A form of persuasion that nearly cost her her life."
"Arilyn thought the cause worthy, and she thought you were worth the risk. Considering the response of her moonblade, it appears she was right about you."
"Imagine my surprise," the elf murmured, "especially considering my own moonblade was decidedly less optimistic."
The air near the weapons rack changed, taking on a subtle shimmering that might easily be mistaken for rising heat. If not for an elf's innate knack for perceiving magical gates, Elaith might not have seen it at all. Danilo was less prepared, and his eyes widened when two elves suddenly appeared in the garden.
Elaith recognized the female as one of the forest elves who'd recently come to Waterdeep and fought under his command. Ferret, she called herself. The male resembled no forest elf Elaith had ever seen. In fact, his coloring was similar to Elaith's: silvery hair, amber eyes. Like Elaith, he was tall for an elf, long of leg and broad through the should
ers. Had Elaith not known otherwise, he might have mistaken the lythari for kin.
"There is trouble in the Wealdath," the female said without preamble.
Danilo's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of resignation. "I'll get Arilyn."
"Not the half-elf, not this time," Ferret said. She nodded toward Elaith. "It's him we need."
The sun hung low over the city's western walls when Elaith returned to Danilo's elven garden. Gathering supplies and information, making the necessary contacts, readying spells-such things took time.
A shimmering halo rose around the lythari. Ferret impatiently seized Elaith's hand and pulled him toward it. The three elves stepped through into the deep green shade of an ancient forest.
One step-the journey was that quick, that smooth and simple.
Elaith inclined his head to Ganemede in a gesture of respect. "I have traveled magic's silver paths many times, but never so skillfully managed."
The lythari nodded acknowledgment. "Meet me here at nightfall."
"It's a brisk walk to Suldanessellar, but we can be back before dusk," Ferret said. Without waiting for a reply, she circled the trunk of an enormous oak and started down a faint path.
Elaith soon found that keeping pace with a forest elf was no easy task. Before long Ferret veered off the path and headed for a thicket of thorny bushes-formidable thorns, Elaith noted, each as long as his thumb.
"Stay close behind me," Ferret instructed. She paused, cocked her head, and considered. "Better yet, keep a hand on my shoulder. The thorns might not recognize you otherwise."
There was magic here, subtle but powerful, quite different from anything Elaith knew. Curious, he did as Ferret bid.
The branches parted to let them pass. It seemed to the moon elf that the guardian thicket begrudged his presence, for the branches slid back into place behind him with an ominous hiss, close enough for the thorns to scrape against his travel leathers, but not quite hard enough to pierce them.
Finally they stepped out of the thicket into a tree-ringed forest glade. Stones had been piled into a shoulder-high cairn in the center of the glade and crowned with a platform of rune-carved wood. On it rested a low-sided casket topped with a rounded glass lid. Within lay an elf female of middle years, clad in armor of a style not seen in five centuries. Still as the grave she lay, untouched by death's corruption. Magic lingered in the air like incense, and so did something rarer and more wondrous: a sense of legend. Elaith went to one knee to honor a story he had not yet heard.
"Zoastria's tomb," Ferret said.
Memory stirred. Elaith knew that name. His heart quickened as he rose and stepped closer. The entombed elf's face seemed familiar to him, and her long, braided hair held the distinctive black-sapphire shade Elaith thought of as Moonflower blue. More than fifty years ago, an elf who looked very like that sleeping warrior had come to Evermeet. Thasitalia Moonflower had been kin to the royal family of Evermeet, and she named Princess Amnestria as her blade heir. Elaith had been captain of the king's guard then, betrothed to Amnestria and full of hope for the future they planned to share.
"Zoastria Moonflower, a friend to the forest folk," Ferret said, confirming Elaith's suspicions. "She was slain in battle some four years past."
Elaith whirled toward her. Anger, sudden and inexplicable, filled his heart and blazed from his amber eyes.
"That's impossible. Zoastria was the fourth moonfighter in her line. She lived and died long before you were born."
"The first time, yes," Ferret agreed, unperturbed by the moon elf's ire. "But every moonfighter adds another magic to the sword, is that not true? The elf who passed the sword to Zoastria ensured that as long as her moonblade's magic endures, a hero will return when the need is great. Arilyn is of this line. When she placed the sword in her ancestor's uncor shy;rupted hands, Zoastria became a living elf."
Deathless sleep… the first of her line… a hero will return… her line… will return… a living elf.
Ferret's words tumbled through Elaith's mind, staggering in their implications.
Amnestria was the seventh in Zoastria's line.
It was possible. Somehow he'd always known it. When he'd caught his first glimpse of Arilyn nearly six years ago, for a moment he'd thought her Amnestria reborn. Such things were not unknown in Faerыn, even among the elves. But except for that one scalding moment of hope, Elaith had never really expected Amnestria to return.
But what if she could? What if she did?
"This place troubles you?" asked Ferret.
"Perhaps we should reconsider the plan."
That was not what Elaith had expected to say, but the words seemed right to him. He'd been so busy arranging the usual web of primary, secondary, and contingency plans that he'd neglected to weigh these arrangements on any sort of moral scale. In all candor, he was not in the habit of doing so. But if he'd been spared by Amnestria's moonblade to play some part in her return, he'd damn well better get into the habit!
The forest elf's face fell slack with astonishment. "Abandon the plan? Whatever for? It is a good plan."
"But not an honorable one."
"And for that, all gods be thanked," she said tartly. "Any honorable course would bring reprisals against my people."
She brushed a lock of hair off her forehead with a quick, impatient hand. "Why these doubts? You are a fine battle leader. Foxfire has been singing your praises since he returned from Waterdeep."
"Foxfire is a competent battle leader himself-more than competent, and he knows this forest far better than I do. Perhaps he could devise-"
"No." Ferret cut him off abruptly and decisively. "Foxfire is too pure of heart to do what must be done. Why else would I have come for you?"
Her words stung Elaith more than they should have. "These are strange words to speak over Zoastria's tomb."
"If I'd known how you would respond to this place, I would have spoken them elsewhere."
"Then why did you bring me here?"
"It is traditional for the sy Tel'Quessir to honor ancestors before a battle." Ferret pointed to the Craulnober moonblade on Elaith's hip, sheathed and peacebound. Bringing it had been an act of impulse. The symbolism was important to Elaith, even though he could not wield the sword.
"I do not know the places sacred to your line," Ferret went on, "so I brought you here to honor another moonfighter's legacy."
Something in Elaith's face made her falter. "Did I do wrong?"
"No," he said in a dull, soft tone. "You did not do wrong."
You did not, he repeated silently, but it appears that I must.
And just like that, his decision was made.
Some men called Elaith impulsive, though usually not to his face. That wasn't quite true. Elaith believed in destiny.
There was a reason the Craulnober moonblade rejected him, a reason Amnestria's moonblade had spared his ill-spent life. There was a reason he was thrice-pledged to the Moonflower family: raised by the elf queen, trained by her warrior king and made captain of the royal guard, betrothed to the youngest princess. And the reason for a life entwined with the royal family seemed suddenly, bleakly evident.
He could do things they could not.
Amnestria had been pledged to the service of the forest elves. It was strangely fitting that Elaith take her legacy upon himself. There was a great need in the Wealdath, but this time, the forest people did not need a hero.
They needed him.
Thanks to Ganemede's magic, five elves stepped into the shadows of the Mytharan Woods, a place that was old and strange even by the standards of this ancient forest. The small band included the lythari and two recruits Ferret had brought back from the elven settlement Suldanessellar. One was Kivessin Sultaasar, an elf of the Suldusk tribe. The other, to Elaith's astonishment, was Captain Uevareth Korianthil, a moon elf from Evermeet. Apparently Queen Amlaruil had sent representatives to the Wealdath four years ago, after the forest elves fought off an incursion of human mercenaries. She'd made it known to
Tethyr's humans that another such attempt against her forest kin would not go unanswered.
That raised the stakes considerably.
Elaith turned to Captain Korianthil. "Are you certain you wish to be a part of this?"
The moon elf nodded, his face grim. "The Lady Shalana is right; the humans who followed her into the forest cannot carry tales of an elven assassin. There would be reprisals, and Queen Amlaruil would honor her promise. I will not see Evermeet dragged into Tethyr's so-called Reclamation War.
"And I have other reasons," Korianthil continued softly. "You were my first commanding officer. It is an honor to serve under your command once again."
Elaith's brows rose. "Even in such a task?"
"Even so."
"We all have our reasons for killing humans," growled the Suldusk elf. "Should we hire a bard to set them all to music, or should we just get on with it?"
Elaith found himself liking the gruff warrior. "You're the expert on the Wealdath's ogres," he told Kivessin. "We'll follow you."
The elf headed off into a deep stand of ferns. Soon they heard the murmur of running water. A small creek wound its way through the forest floor. As they followed it north, the ground became rockier and the creek deeper and swifter. They walked without talking, keeping close watch on the forest around them.
Elaith could smell the ogre camp long before it came into sight. The humid forest air held the scent of campfire, seared meat, and the sharp, musky odor of the creatures themselves.
He raised one hand to indicate a halt. He took an amulet from his bag and looped it around his wrist. The world shifted weirdly, and suddenly he was looking down at his companions from a great height. The four elves staring up at him wore identical expressions of astonishment and revulsion.
"Green, I take it, is not a good color for me?" He spoke lightly, but his voice came out as a deep-throated growl.
"I'm serving under an ogre," Captain Korianthil muttered. "This just keeps getting better and better."
Elaith sent him a tusk-filled grin and turned toward the camp.
Three ogres left to guard the camp; the others were out hunting. The guards were busily arguing over a game of dice, so Elaith had no problem creeping into the younglings' den.
