Silver Shadows - Elaine Cunningham [39]
The Harper snatched back her tingling hand. Then, with a sigh, she reached for the weapon and slid it back into its ancient sheath. She kicked off her covers and rose, buckling on her swordbelt with practiced fingers.
Barefoot and clad only in her leggings and under tunic-and, of course, the moonblade-Arilyn walked over to the window. The city below still lay sleeping, except for those who, like herself were most likely to do business under the cover of night.
For a long time Arilyn stood at her tower window, staring at Zazesspur's rooftops with eyes that did not see, struggling to accept what she knew to be true. After a silence of more than two years, the elfehadow, the essence of the moonblade, was growing restless. Once again the spirit of the magic sword was demanding something of the half-elf who commanded it.
The last time this had happened, twenty and more Harpers lay dead before Arilyn finally recognized the voice of the sword. She knew the cost of ignoring the moonblade's warnings, yet the sunrise colors had faded from the sky before she was able to decide upon a course of action. The morning was nearly spent before she was ready to proceed.
The half-elf did not consider herself a coward. From an early age she had battled armed men, fought monsters of almost every description, met the Tuigan hoard in the lingering horror that was war. There was only one thing under the stars that Arilyn Moonblade truly feared: the unknown powers hidden in the ancient sword that was strapped to her side.
There were aspects of the moonblade's magic that Arilyn understood and wielded with skill. The moon-blade warned her of danger, struck with preternatural speed and power, enabled her to take on a number of disguises, and gave her a resistance to fire that had spared her life more than once. It was the elfshadow, her own mirror image, that Arilyn dreaded. Yet what else could she do but summon the elfshadow and learn from it what she could?
The Harper placed her hand on the moonblade's hilt and drew a long, steadying breath. The elven sword hissed free of the scabbard and glittered in the bright morning light as Arilyn held it high in her two-handed grip.
"Come forth," she called softly.
In response, a faintly azure mist rose from the sword and swirled into the air, taking on a familiar, yet ghostly form. The Harper's arms lowered until the moon-blade's point rested on the wooden floor. But Arilyn hardly noticed, so intent was she on the image taking shape before her.
For a moment she had the feeling she was looking at her own reflection in some moonlit pond. Then the elfshadow stepped out of the mist and stood before her, as apparently solid and mortal as Arilyn herself. Unlike the Harper, the elfshadow was dressed as if for the road, in the worn but comfortable boots and breeches that Arilyn favored when left solely to her own desires.
For a long moment the half-elf and the elfehadow regarded each other solemnly. A strange impulse-the urge to scratch her nose just to see if the elfshadow followed suit-flashed into Arilyn's mind. The absurdity of this brought a tiny smile to her lips.
"Well again, sister," the elfshadow said, speaking in an exact duplicate of Arilyn's contralto tones. "I had hoped you would call me forth long ere this."
The Harper folded her arms over her chest and glared. "I've been busy."
A sad smile crossed the elfshadow's face. "You still blame yourself for the death of those Harpers, though the hand that slew them was mine."
There's a difference?" Arilyn asked bitterly.
"Oh, yes. For the time being, at least."
The half-elfs brow furrowed with puzzlement. She had many questions; this one seemed a logical place to start. "I don't suppose you want to explain that."
"No more than you want to hear the explanation," the elfehadow responded with an unexpected touch of dry humor.
Arilyn lifted an inquiring brow. That's something