Elfshadow

Awe filled both Bran and Danilo, who had now reached the garden. It held them, immobile, in its spell. Never had they seen such fighting. In any company, each of the agile gold elves would be considered a rare champion. Although two of their number had fallen to Arilyn's sword, the remaining four wove a dance of death around the half-elf. Off to one side stood another gold elf, a tall slender quessir who awaited the battle's outcome with an expression of self-righteous confidence.

At that moment, one of the fighters managed to knock Arilyn's borrowed sword from her hand. In the bright moonlight, Danilo could see the triumphant sneer on the face of Tintagel Ni'Tessine. Panic struck the nobleman, and with it a moment of indecision. He had not intended to reveal the moonblade until he'd found the elfgate and moved it to safety.

Tintagel Ni'Tessine raised his sword arm across his chest, preparing to deliver a backhanded strike to Arilyn's throat. Danilo made his decision swiftly.

"Arilyn!" he shouted, thrusting his wounded hand into the magic sack. A second blast of pain ripped through his arm as his fingers closed around the magic sword. The startled elves looked toward him, and Danilo hurled the sheathed blade toward Arilyn.

A flash of blue lightning ripped through the garden like an explosion. Magic thunder shook the ground, and the gold elves were knocked to the ground by its force.

Arilyn stood at base of the statue with a glowing sword in her hand, a powerful figure of magic and vengeance. Smoke from the explosion flowed toward her. Before Danilo's stu

"The elfgate!" shouted Kymil Nimesin, pointing. "You must get past her and into the elfgate!"

The elven fighters rose to their feet and exchanged uneasy glances. Danilo took one look at Bran Skorlsun's puzzled face and immediately understood what troubled the elves. They could not see the gate.

Some dimensional doors were visible only to powerful mages. Of all the people gathered in the garden, only Danilo could see what Kymil Nimesin was pointing to.

The nobleman grabbed the spell scroll from his bag and prepared to move the elfgate. With a start, he realized that Khelben had not told him where the gate should be moved. An ephemeral smile touched his lips when an answer presented itself. Conjuring a mental picture of the elfgate's new location, the young mage began the lengthy chant and gestures of the spell.

"For the honor of Myth Dra

"Your sword ca

"Times have changed. Care to chance it?" she asked. Tintagel confidently advanced, and in three strokes Arilyn's moonblade had found his heart. The elf's eyes widened in disbelief as he slumped to the ground. With a keening wail, Filauria fled the battle and dropped to her knees beside her brother's body.

"The time to mourn our martyred dead will come later," raged Kymil. "You must get through the elfgate."

Arilyn slashed viciously at her two elven attackers, intent on preventing them from following Kymil's orders. The moonblade found the heart of one elf, killing him instantly. With her next stroke, Arilyn gutted her final opponent. His sword fell to the ground as he clutched at his spilling entrails. Arilyn slipped on the spilled blood and fell to the ground.

"Show me," Filauria demanded. Kymil pointed her in the direction of the elfgate and shoved. The etriel ran, leaping over Arilyn's prone body and into something she could not see.

At that moment Danilo completed his spell. The scroll disappeared from his hands, and a second magical explosion rocked the garden. The survivors stared in horror. Only half of Filauria Ni'Tessine had made it through the elfgate.

A scream of frustration echoed through the temple garden. Kymil Nimesin's patrician reserve had vanished along with the hope of fulfilling his lifelong quest. With quick, jerky movements, the elf formed the gestures for the teleportation spell that would take him away from the scene of his failure.

"Wait!" Arilyn shouted. As Kymil glared murderously at her, she rose to her feet. "You haven't lost yet."

Kymil's obsidian eyes fixed upon Arilyn, hatred somehow making their black depths even darker.

"Don't speak in riddles. You haven't the wit for it," he snarled in scornful response.

Arilyn came closer, facing down her former mentor. "I renew my challenge to single combat, to continue until one of us is disarmed or disabled. If you win, I will reveal to you the gate's new location."

A flicker of interest showed in Kymil's black eyes. "And in the unlikely event that you win?"

"You die," she said succinctly.

"No!" Bran shouted from across the garden. "Many think of you as the Harper Assassin. You've got to bring Kymil Nimesin to trial or you may hang in his place."

"I'll take that risk," she said steadfastly.

"Maybe you will, but I won't," declared Danilo. "Unless you promise me that you won't kill that ski

Arilyn cast an exasperated look at the nobleman. In response, he stripped off his gloves. The moonlight revealed a badly burned hand and a face haggard from the effort of casting the spell. "If you fight me, you'll have to kill me," he added softly. "I shouldn't think it would be too difficult."

His implacable tone convinced Arilyn he was serious. "I think I liked you better as a fool," she said.

Danilo would not be distracted. "Swear it!"

"All right. You have my word. I shall leave enough of him to take to trial. Agreed?"

"Done," Danilo said. "Go get him."

Arilyn again addressed the elf. "Well? What will it be?"

"The mere knowledge of the gate's location will do me little good," Kymil pointed out, bargaining, testing the limits of Arilyn's resolve.

"If it comes to that, I'll take you to it myself. I'll bring the moonblade and open the damned gate for you. I'll even throw you a farewell party before you leave for Evermeet," she said.

"Agreed." Kymil drew his sword and raised it to his forehead in a contemptuous salute. The elf and the half-elf crossed blades, and the fight was on.

Scarcely remembering to breathe, Danilo Tha

It was an incredible, mesmerizing dance of death, with individual movements almost too quick for the humans' eyes to follow. With elven grace and agility, Arilyn and Kymil faced off, each stretched to the limit by the other's skill and impassioned resolve. Evenly matched in height and strength and speed, at times the combatants were distinguishable only by color: Arilyn a white blur against the dark sky, Kymil an incongruous streak of golden light.

Elven swords flashed and twirled, and sparks from the clashing weapons shot upward into the darkening sky so rapidly that the incredulous Danilo was reminded of festival fireworks. The ringing blows of sword on sword came so quickly that the echoing clangor blended into one reverberating, metallic shriek. A small sound separated itself from the unearthly howl, and a voice began to focus in Danilo's mind. The voice spoke not with words, not with sound, and not to him. Irresistible as the song of the lorelei, the magic voice soared above the din of battle: entreating, insisting, compelling. It called for vengeance. It called for death.