The Dream Spheres

Foxfire took a band from his arm and tossed it at the moon elf's feet. It was a ritual Dan had read of—no doubt the band carried the insignia of Foxfire's position as warleader.

"I will honor the moonblade's decision, and my people with me," he said in musical, deeply accented Elvish. The forest elves rose and came to stand behind him. Of course, they could not know that the moonblade's magic had been unreliable, even contradictory.

At that moment Danilo understood what Arilyn was doing. Fear rose in him like a tide. As if she sensed this, she turned and met his eyes. Gone was any hint of reserve. Her heart was in her eyes, and Danilo had no doubt that it was his. Nor did he doubt that this last, supremely honest gaze might well be her silent farewell.

Arilyn spun away and turned to Elaith. She drew her sword, raised it in challenge.

White-faced, the elf drew his weapon and mirrored her salute. There was no fear on his face, though he clearly expected to die. Danilo suspected that he wished for death. The answer Elaith sought from the Mhaorkiira had never come, but death by moonblade's decree would lay to rest the question that had haunted his soul. Danilo marveled at the unlike pair, the incredible courage of both elves.

Arilyn raised her sword for a powerful two-handed blow and brought it whistling down. She never got close.

A terrible flash lit the room. For a moment, Dan's horrified gaze perceived the outline of skull beneath Arilyn's face, the bones in her arms. Then the vision was gone, and the half-elf lay on the floor. Her hands were blackened. Her eyes were open and staring, but she was utterly still.

Before Danilo could move, Elaith threw aside his sword and dropped to his knees. He balled one fist and pounded on the half-elf's chest. He struck again, and then again. Instinctively Danilo moved to stop him, but Foxfire caught him and held him back.

"He does right," the warleader said softly.

Danilo realized the truth in it. He nodded to show that he understood, then put aside the elf's restraining hands and went to kneel beside his love and his elven friend. For several moments he could do nothing but watch as Elaith continued his brutal ministrations.

Arilyn suddenly drew breath in a sharp gasp. Her eyes shut as she struggled against the pain of her burns. When she had mastered herself, she opened her eyes and regarded the somber, watching elves.

"You have your sign," she said in a faint, ragged voice. "Do as the elf lord bids you."

A forest elf came forward, a small female, brown as a wren. "Go with the others," she told Danilo brusquely. "I am a shaman and will heal her." She looked to Foxfire to help her move the wounded half-elf. The warleader shook his head and nodded to Dan.

Danilo carefully eased Arilyn into his arms and followed the shaman out of the room. "You expected that to happen," he said softly.

She nodded once, with great effort, and turned to Elaith. The moon elf followed at Dan's side, his eyes intent on Arilyn. His inscrutable calm was gone, shattered by the sacrifice his "princess" had made for the elven folk, the family of her human love, and for him.

"You did not get the Mhaorkiira, but you have your answer," she said. "Are you content?"

An expression of wonder suffused the elf's face. "All these years," he marveled. "The things that I have done. I am beyond regret—beyond redemption, or so I thought."

"Sometimes the difference between a rogue and a hero," she said carefully, "comes down to who is telling the tale. Ask these elves who I am. They will speak of the moonblade. Ask humans, they will say assassin. It could be the same for you."

"You're talking too much," scolded the shaman.

Arilyn's eyes drifted shut. "Needed to be said."

Danilo left her with the fierce little elf woman and returned to the main hall. Since Elaith did not seem to want to discuss what had just happened, he left that conversation for later and sought out Foxfire.

"That was a noble gesture," he said. "A rare kindness to offer a stranger."

The forest elf gave him an enigmatic smile. "I have seen you before, once, in a battlefield near my forest. Arilyn called all the elfshadows from her sword. Yours was among them."

"No longer. That bond is broken."

"Changed," Foxfire corrected. "Never broken. She has need of you."

This surprised Danilo. "How so?"

"Arilyn is courage. Never have I seen an elf who embodied courage so completely. However, she is half-elven, and so there are some qualities she lacks. Music and light laughter—these are as important to the elven soul as starlight. These she finds in you. See that you give them to her, and I will always name you a friend."

There was truth in these words, and also the answer Danilo had long sought. He raised one hand in the elven pledge. Foxfire laughed and extended his hand for the salute that human comrades exchanged. They clasped wrists, then joined the others in preparation for the battle to come.

Twenty

Arilyn and the forest elves took to the rooftops. It felt odd, but amazingly right, to be back in the familiar company of her friends. The band took to the new challenge with ease, making their way across the uneven line of roofs as surefooted as squirrels.

They crept up to the Tha

The night was dark, with a slim, fading moon and a thick mist. When the tren emerged from the shed, they blended into the shadows. Even to Arilyn's heat-sensitive eyes, they were little more than a cool blur.

"No one but elves would have seen them," the half-elf mused as she fitted her first arrow to her bow. "Oth wasn't expecting this."

At her side, Foxfire nodded and raised his bow. On his signal, all six elves fired.

The arrows dove in like silent, deadly falcons. A faint, rumbling cry drifted up to them, a sound that was abruptly and wetly silenced.

"We got at least one," Arilyn said.

"Two," the forest elf corrected. "There are three more. We should pursue?"

"No need. Listen." There was a faint hiss as the surviving tren dragged their slain kin beyond range. "They eat their own rather than leave evidence of their presence," she explained.

Foxfire shook his head in disgust. "All the same, some of us should stay here. You go along with the others."

She nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder in farewell, then was gone, ru

The tren touched the wound. "I think I die soon. Wounded clan chief doesn't live long—others will attack. But I will die wearing your blue hide."

Arilyn danced back and drew her sword. "Notions of fashion in this city," she said grimly as she circled in, "are getting entirely out of hand." She lunged at the creature, a quick attack that forced him back on his heels. Immediately she pivoted into a half turn and swept her sword in low.

Knute turned also, protecting his hamstrings and swatting away the blow with his thick, short tail. The blade sliced deep, but there was little blood. Almost casually, the tren kicked aside the severed appendage. He swiped at Arilyn, a knife in each clawed hand—two quick, slashing blows.

She parried them both, but the pain of the impact jolted through her hands. The prayers of the shaman had healed the blackened skin, but the blow from the moonblade's magic had dealt deep and possibly lasting damage. Arilyn fought aside a wave of weakness and fell back to prepare for the next attack.