Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [49]
In response, Wyn took the gemlike flute from its protective bag and played a few notes. "Yes, that's the one," Elaith said, pleased.
The elf turned to his men. "I'll need your swords. Dirks and daggers as well, if you please."
Puzzled, the mercenaries handed over their weapons.
"Considering the company I'm keeping these days, I prefer to keep both of my swords within reach," Danilo said cheerfully. "If it's all the same to you."
"By all means," Elaith returned just as pleasantly. "Much good may they do you, of course."
Morgalla's brown eyes narrowed at the insult to Danilo. "That elf is startin' to wear a hole in the sole of my boot," she muttered, watching as Elaith arranged the weapons in anintricate pattern of crosses and circles.
When that was done, he nodded to the elven minstrel and took his place in the center of the design. Wyn began to play a slow, lyrical tune. The moon elf went into the dance, stepping lightly between the crossed swords, alternating heel and toe.
As Danilo admired the elf's fluid grace, he noted that Elaith had not added one of his own weapons to the arrangement. As did Danilo, the elf wore a sword at each hip. Something about Elaith's second blade was familiar.
The Harper's eyes narrowed as he realized the nature of the weapon worn by the rogue elf. It was a moonblade, an ancient elven sword that was passed from one generation to the next. A moonblade could judge character, and it would become dormant rather than trust its magic to an unworthy heir. Danilo had known that Elaith owned such a sword, and that the sword's rejection of the elf had been the seed that bore fruit in a life of treachery and evil. Why would the erf wear it now?
Danilo puzzled over this question as the music moved faster and faster. A strange mixture of elegance and menace, the elven dance was compelling to watch. The moon elf's pale face was rapt and intent as he whirled and leaped in time to the crystal flute's song. His silver hair glinted in the firelight and he himself seemed transformed into a beautiful and deadly weapon. Then the elf flicked one booted foot, sending a dagger high into the air. It spiraled down like a falling star, catching the firelight as it tumbled. Effortlessly he caught it and sent it spinning upward again. The pace became more frenzied now, and one by one Elaith kicked the weapons into flight Leaping and ducking, he avoided the falling blades, catching some and allowing others to land in an ever-shifting pattern before sending them up again with a deft flick of wrist or boot. It was an amazing display of artistry and agility, and Danilo found himself watching with bated breath and rapid heart. Elaith was as sinuous and graceful as the serpent for which he was named, and as quick.
The flute soared to a final, lingering note, and the dance stopped. Elaith stood in a perfect circle of blades, his arms raised to the stars, his silver hair gleaming and his angular face suffused with ecstasy. Magic lingered about the elf, and every blade seemed to gleam with an intensity that the fading firelight could not explain. With uncanny certainty, Danilo knew that the elf's dance held the power of rite. Elaith himself was a conduit for some mystical link between stars and steel. The insight flickered in his mind, gone before he could grasp and examine it. Danilo realized afresh how little he understood of the elves. With the knowledge came a stab of sadness and a longing he could not name.
The company released its collective breath in a sigh of awe and relief. Hushed conversations sprang up between small groups, and no one made a move to reclaim his weapons. It was plain that no one else would perform this night.
Elaith walked from the circle, his chest rising and falling quickly from the effort of his mystical elven dance. He picked up a waterskin and shook it. It was nearly