Elfshadow - Elaine Cunningham [30]
"That's bad enough," Arilyn said with a rare hint of bitterness. "Where magic is concerned, I draw the line where the moonblade ends."
"I don't understand you." Kymil shook his head. "Granted, there was an unfortunate incident during the Time of Troubles-"
"Unfortunate?" Arilyn broke in, her voice incredulous. "I wouldn't exactly call the accidental disintegration of an entire adventuring party a 'misfortune.' "
"The Hammerfell Seven," Kymil said, his tone dismissing the human adventurers as inconsequential. "You yourself had little need for concern from magic fire."
"Oh? Why not?"
For an instant Kymil looked disconcerted, then he smiled faintly. "Ever the demanding student. Elves and elven magic were not as severely affected as humans by that interlude."
He settled back and steepled his fingers, the very picture of an erudite professor. Knowing what was coming, Arilyn groaned silently. Kymil was currently guest-teaching a seminar at the Evereska College of Magic and Arms on the effect on elven magic by the Time of Troubles. Not a scholar in the best of times, Arilyn was of no mind to sit through the inevitable lecture. And she did not care to relive the Time of Troubles, the disastrous interlude when gods walked Faerun in the form of mortal avatars, creating havoc and immense destruction.
"It is thus," Kymil began, his voice taking on a pedantic tone. "In layman's terms, humans use the weave to work magic. Elves are, in a sense, part of the weave. Tel'Quessir are inherently magic, by our very nature, and…"
Arilyn abruptly lifted one hand, again cutting him off. "Many would consider me N'Tel'Quess: not-people. I am half-human, remember? I have little inherent magical ability."
Kymil paused, then inclined his head in a gesture of apology. "Forgive me, child. Your superior gifts often lead me to forget the unfortunate circumstances of your birth."
Arilyn had known Kymil for too long to be insulted by his patrician airs. "Unfortunate circumstances? I am a half-elf, Kymil, not a bastard." She grinned fleetingly. "Of course, there are those who would disagree."
As if on cue, a hoarse voice roared her name. Arilyn edged aside the curtain for a look. She shook her head and swore softly in a mixture of Elvish and Common.
Arilyn's bilingual curse brought a startled gasp from Kymil Nimesin. She shot a quick glance at him and bit her lip to keep from laughing at his outraged expression. "Sorry."
He started to speak, undoubtedly to chide her about her undignified use of Elvish. His words were drowned out by a racket that sounded like a minor barbarian invasion.
A small horde of ruffians had stormed into the tavern. They stomped around in a rather aimless fashion, overturning empty tables, emitting an assortment of whoops and shouts. The leader of the band was a uncouth giant of a man, an almost comic caricature of a thug. The man's appearance was sinister enough: an eyepatch covered one eye, a mace studded with iron spikes hung from his belt, and a shirt of rusty chain mail more or less covered his belly. Yet something about him tended to inspire covert smiles. Perhaps it was a pate as bald as a new-laid egg, framed by a wispy blond fringe that had been gathered into two long, skinny yellow braids.
The blond-and-bald man stalked over to Myrin Silverspear. Grabbing the slender innkeeper, the lout hoisted him up to eye level.
"Maybe you didn't hear me, elf. I asked if Arilyn Moonblade was here tonight. If you don't answer me, my men here-" He jerked his head at the group of toughs clustered behind him. "My men will take to questioning your patrons. Not good for business."
Not many men, human or elven, could maintain dignity while their feet dangled several inches from the floor, but Myrin Silverspear returned the huge oaf's threatening glare with a calm, measured look. Something in the innkeeper's expression took the bluster out of the ruffian's face, and he lowered