Silver Shadows - Elaine Cunningham [119]
A tall, thick-bodied man reeled toward the Harper, his hands clutching at his torn and bloody jerkin. Arilyn shoved him aside and looked up into the face of his killer.
An icy fist clutched at Arilyn's chest as she gazed upon her mother. She was as beautiful as Arilyn remembered-as tall as her daughter, with the same milky skin and gold-flecked blue eyes, but her small, fine-featured face was crowned with a cloud of thick, wavy hair the color of spun sapphires. Beautiful, yes, but grim and terrible. This was not Z'beryl of Evereska, the loving mother and patient instructor of swordcraft This was the elf Z'beryl had once been: Amnestria, daughter of Zaor and Amlaruil of Evermeet, crown princess of the elves, battle wizard, and warrior. And this was the face Amnestria showed to her enemies.
The regal elf woman raised her blood-drenched sword and pointed it at Arilyn. To the stunned half-«lf, the gesture seemed ominous, accusing. Amnestria spoke, but only a word: "Beware!"
Arilyn heard the ringing clash of steel on steel, so dose and so loud that it seemed to echo through her bones and teeth. Instinctively, she raised her moonblade and whirled toward the sound.
Her own elfshadow stood behind her, shadow-sword uplifted in a defensive parry against the broadsword that would have cleaved Arilyn's head from her shoulders. The man who held the sword was easily the size of Arilyn and her elfshadow combined. Grinning with sadistic delight, he forced the joined swords downward, pressing Arilyn's shadow slowly to her knees.
The half-elf recovered her wits and lunged forward. Her moonblade dug between his ribs; she wrenched it out and plunged it in again. Arilyn's elfshadow threw aside the dying man's sword arm and wheeled away to find another fight.
Arilyn took a deep steadying breath and made a quick survey of the battle. Although she now understood that her mother's elfshadow had meant to warn her of the danger behind her, she could not rid herself of the feeling that Z'beryl-no, from now on she would forever be Amnestria-was ashamed of the course her daughter and blade heir had taken. Arilyn's mother had willingly embraced the service and the sacrifice required of those who wielded a moonblade, as had all the elves who now fought. Was Arilyn, a mere half-elf, incapable of such nobility?
Instinctively, the Harper knew this was not so. She would do what she must for the elven People, as she always had. If that meant giving up her dream of freedom from the demands of the moonblade, then so be it. She would serve the sword, throughout eternity if need be.
With new resolve, Arilyn waded through the fighting toward the place where young Hawkwing had faltered and fallen. But her own arms seemed numb and heavy, and the moonblade refused to move at quite its usual speed. Too late she remembered the warning her own elfshadow had given her: she could not expect both to call forth the magic and wield it.
She managed to block a chest-high thrust and then flung the attacking blade aside. But a second mercenary got through her guard-not with a sword, but with a mailed fist. The blow struck Arilyn's jaw hard and sent her reeling to her knees. It was then she saw the wound that had at last brought Hawkwing to ground.
The elven girl lay on one side, staring forward with a single fierce black eye. From the other protruded the hilt of a dagger.
For just a moment, grief clenched Arilyn like a giant fist, squeezing the breath from her body and stealing her will to fight. It was just for a second, but even that was too much. A shadow fell over Hawkwing's body; Arilyn looked up into the point of a nocked and ready arrow. This man had seen her fight; apparently he was not going to chance facing her sword.
Before he could release the arrow, a large missile hurtled over Arilyn's