Silver Shadows - Elaine Cunningham [147]
Darkness, deep and swift and compelling, surged up from spmewhere within the mercenary's soul, drawing him down toward oblivion.
Beneath the shadows of Tethir's trees, Zoastria faced off against a pair of swordsmen. The moonblade in her hand flashed and darted and thrust with astonishing speed. Terrifying speed, and a power that lay on the outermost boundaries of the elf woman's skill and strength.
The force behind each stoke, each lunge, nearly tore the sword from Zoastria's hand. Keeping her balance was difficult. More than once she had overextended and presented an opening to the humans' blades. Her arms and shoulders bled from several small wounds. If not for the uncanny speed of the moonblade's strike, which allowed her to quickly cover such lapses, she likely would have been slain.
The half-elf had admonished her to hold the sword in a two-handed grip, else it would be too difficult to control. Zoastria, in her pride, had ignored the warning.
From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of the half-elf just as she ran a half-orc fighter through. Not bothering to retrieve the blade from his chest, she ripped the sword from his hand and turned to meet the next attack.
The tiny moon elf darted between the two men, ducking below the instinctive sweep of their blades and whirling back to lunge at the man to her right. She got in below his guard; the moonblade sank easily between his ribs.
But the man was not through just yet. As he fell, he lashed out with his sword. Zoastria was in too close for the edge to find her, but the hilt and crosspiece struck her hard across the face. Her head snapped painfully to one side.
The elf threw herself sideways so that her continued motion would absorb some of the force of the blow. She hit the ground hard, spat teeth, and rolled to her feet. Dragging the increasingly heavy moonblade up into guard position, she faced down her second opponent.
Before she could strike, a stunning jolt tore through her from behind. She glanced down at the bloody arrow protruding from her body.
With a yelp of triumph, the swordsman hauled his blade up and across his body in a backhanded slash. Zoastria raised her head and prepared to meet death.
A sword flashed in over her shoulder and dove toward the swordsman. It pierced his leather gauntlet, plunging deeply between the twin bones of his forearm and pinning his arm to his chest.
Thin but strong arms gathered up the elf woman and bore her away from the fighting. Zoastria looked up into the eyes of her half-elven descendent.
"That arrow has to come out," Arilyn said, placing her hand on the crimson shaft.
"Do not," the elf woman replied as fiercely as she could in her fading voice. "It has pierced a lung. If you remove it, I will die all the faster, and there are things that must be said. I name you blade heir. Take up the moonblade once again and finish this fight."
With those words, Zoastria seized the arrow and tore it free. Blood bubbled from the corner of her lips, and her head slid limply to one side.
Arilyn stood, staring down at the elf woman. Zoastria had aped her own death so that her blade heir could claim the sword. A moonblade could have but one wielder.
The half-elf turned and strode to the place where the moonblade had fallen. Indecision shimmered over her, for neither of her choices looked promising. To take up the blade was to willingly embrace untold centuries of servitude-perhaps an eternity's imprisonment-to the moonblade's magic. There was also the very real possibility that the sword would not accept her this time, for she had rejected it and turned aside from the elven sacrifice it required.
The sounds of battle tore Arilyn's gaze from the sword. All around her, the forest folk fought fiercely for their home. Yet the humans