Elfshadow - Elaine Cunningham [5]
"We met briefly many years ago," Kymil replied. He gently disengaged himself from Arilyn's impulsive grasp and resumed his reflective study of the statue of Hannali Celanil. Once or twice he glanced at Arilyn, and it seemed to her that he was trying to come to a decision about something.
Arilyn shifted impatiently, but Kymil did not seem inclined to say more. After a moment's silence she tore her expectant gaze from the quessir and squinted dutifully at the statue of Hannali Celanil, trying to see something of her mother in the cold white beauty of the goddess.
Moonlight seemed to linger on the statue as if delighted with its loveliness. More slender and beautiful than any human woman, Hannali Celanil bore the angular, delicate features of the elven race. A small, knowing smile curved her exquisite lips as she surveyed her domain through almond-shaped eyes.
One long-fingered hand rested over her heart, the other touched a pointed ear. Thus was Hannali Celanil often portrayed, to show that she was ever receptive to the prayers of lovers.
On the canvas of her imagination, Arilyn painted the statue's cheekbones and ears with a touch of blue, and replaced the elaborate white stone coif with Z'beryl's long sapphire braids. Arilyn mentally strapped a sword to the goddess's side, and finally she imagined that the eyes were a gold-flecked blue, warmed with a mother's love.
"Yes," Arilyn agreed. "I suppose it is very like her."
The sound of her voice drew Kymil from his reflection, and his abstracted look disappeared. He rested a hand on Arilyn's shoulder, a brief and silent gesture of condolence that seemed oddly foreign to his austere nature. "I am sorry for your loss, child," he said. "If I may ask, what do you plan to do now?"
Startled, Arilyn drew back, staring blankly at the quessir. The question was reasonable enough, but it jolted her into a disturbing realization.
She had no idea what she would do next. She simply hadn't thought that far ahead.
The silence was broken by the brassy, nasal tone of crumhorns. Arilyn recognized the signal for the changing of the guard; the barracks of the Evereska Watch stood at the foot of the hill, and the sounds of their ritual evening maneuver drifted up to the temple gardens.
"I'll join the watch," Arilyn volunteered impulsively.
A smile flickered across Kymil Nimesin's face. "If the wind had blown from the west, we might have heard chanting from the College of Magic. Would you then have decided to become a mage?"
Arilyn hung her head, embarrassed by her childlike outburst. But her tone was stubborn as she insisted, "No. I've always wanted to be a warrior, like my mother." As she spoke, her chin came proudly up and her hand drifted to the hilt of her mother's sword.
Her sword.
"I see." Kymil's eyes followed the movement, narrowing as he studied Arilyn's weapon. "Your mother was a mage as well as a fighter. As an instructor at the College of Magic and Arms, she was highly regarded. Did she teach you much of the art?"
Arilyn shook her head. "No. I'm afraid I have no gift for magic." Her grin was fleeting. "Not much interest, either."
"She did not pass on the lore of the moonblade, I take it?"
"You mean this sword? If it has a story, I've never heard it," Arilyn replied. "My mother only said that it would be mine some day, and she promised to tell me about it when I came of age."
"Have you used the weapon?"
"Never," she said. "Neither did Mother, although she kept the sword with her. She wore it always until…" Arilyn's voice faltered.
"Until the funeral," Kymil finished gently.
Arilyn swallowed hard. "Yes. Until then. Mother's will was read, and the sword was given to me."
"Have you drawn it?"
The quessir's question puzzled Arilyn, but she assumed he had his reasons for asking. She answered him with a simple shake of