Never had Danilo seen the moonblade respond in such fashion. This was nothing like the blue glow that warned of coming danger, or the soft green luster that led Arilyn to aid her fellow elves.
The woman gave another cry, this one closer to a strangled sob. Danilo tore his eyes from the moonblade. A dairymaid stood beside her upturned stool and pail, her hands at her mouth and her eyes enormous, oblivi shy;ous to the spilled milk pooling at her feet. The girl seemed to be in no immediate danger, but Danilo tracked her gaze to the source of her distress.
Behind Arilyn, almost indistinguishable from the play of light and shadows cast by the milling crowd, was the ghostly image of an elven woman.
Though the form was faint and as translucent as a soap bubble, Danilo made out the ghostly elf's stern expression, the sapphire-colored hair braided tightly in a practical, battle-ready fashion.
'Thassitalia,' Arilyn murmured.
Danilo had heard that name, and he knew at once what it meant. This was an elfshadow-a manifestation of the moonblade's magic and the symbol of the spirit-deep link between elf and sword. Thassitalia had been one of Arilyn's ancestors, one of the elves who had wielded the moonblade and whose spirit lent magic to the elven sword.
He had seen the elfshadow before, but it had ap shy;peared more solid and it had worn Arilyn's face. That had been a time of uncertainty and danger, for the moonblade's magic had been twisted and exploited by an elven mage. Arilyn had confided once that she often had nightmares about the possibility that this could happen again. It would seem that her fears had come to pass.
The ephemeral shadow studied them, her insubstan shy;tial face awash with puzzlement and consternation.
Arilyn was equally dumbfounded. 'I did not summon you,' she said to the ghostly elf in the Elvish language. 'Return to the sword at once.'
The essence of the warrior Thassitalia merely shook her head, not in refusal, but as if to indicate that she could not hear or understand.
Danilo caught Arilyn's arm. 'Let's move on before we create a panic,' he said in a low voice.
She nodded and fell into step as he ducked down a narrow opening between two buildings. They followed a Harper's road, an intricate, hidden path through the back ways of the city, over rooftops and through the hidden entrances of shops whose owners were sympa shy;thetic to the Harper folk.
Each step of the way, the ghostly elf followed them like a third shadow.
* * * * *
Elaith Craulnober padded lightly through a simi shy;larly convoluted path, as quiet and anonymous as the occasional cat that prowled the alley for vermin.
For all his wealth and power, the elf still moved about the city without attracting much notice. He preferred it that way. This was one reason why his recent inclusion onto Galinda Raventree's social registry had been so ill advised.
There were many people of wealth and influence in this city who knew his name, but not his face. Elaith could deal with them or gain information in casual con shy;versation that they would never knowingly confide to a competitor. To oblige the man he had named Elf-friend, he had yielded this advantage. The peerage knew him now-or at least, they thought they did. If they had true knowledge, they would not move against him by send shy;ing masked men and second-rate soldiers such as Rhep.
It was almost a shame that they would never know the shape of his vengeance, but that was the way of things. Elaith would never have achieved his wealth or success if he had dealt in an open and forthright manner. Nor would he survive now if too much atten shy;tion came to be focused on him and his activities. It was time for the eyes of the merchant nobility to turn else shy;where.
He found Rhep loitering behind an Ilzimmer-owned warehouse, shooting dice against the wall with a trio of Ilzimmer soldiers. Elaith lingered in the shadows long enough to take the measure of his foe. A woman clad in a tawdry scarlet gown leaned against a discarded barrel and watched the game, not apparently much concerned about the outcome of the men's wager. From the coarse comments the men made, Elaith discerned that she was to be the prize. The men had pooled their coin to pay her rent.
It would be convenient, Elaith mused, if Rhep won the wager. He could then follow the man to his afternoon's entertainment and deal with him in relative privacy.
Rhep's luck, however, was not good. A short, ginger-bearded man with a peg leg stumped off in triumph with the woman. His comrades threw a few more rounds for the sport of it, all the while discussing the likelihood of finding a tavern that would extend credit. The elf managed to catch Rhep's eye as they turned to leave.
The man stopped abruptly and made a show of pat shy;ting himself down. 'You lads go ahead. Seems like I lost my best dice,' he improvised.
As soon as the men were out of earshot, Elaith stepped from the shadows. 'Your nose is healing nicely,' he commented. 'It's a bit bigger and flatter than it used to be, but why quibble about a drop in a keg?'
Rhep scowled. 'Hold your tongue, elf. I'd just as soon kill you quick, but keep it up and I'll be getting ugly.'
'It's rather too late to be concerned about that, don't you think?'
The big man wrenched open the door to the ware shy;house and jerked his head toward the opening. 'Inside. We settle this now.'
Elaith bowed and extended one hand, indicating that the man should precede him. The soldier flushed a dull red at this reminder of his earlier treachery. He drew his sword and made a point of backing into the ware shy;house rather than turning his back to the elf.
Elaith silently applauded him. As insults went, it was a rather good one. Any claim that he was on the same level as this thug was base slander.
'Only one leaves this place,' Rhep said.
'Agreed.' The elf drew his sword and began to circle.
Rhep turned to keep the elf in front of him, but he waited for the first strike. Elaith obliged, delivering a high, lightning flash of an attack.
Before the mercenary could parry, Elaith spun, step shy;ping past the man. As he did so the sword whistled just short of Rhep's ear. On the backstroke, he brought his sword low and slashed once across the seat of the man's leather breeches.
Rhep howled and whirled at the elf, lunging as he went, but Elaith was no longer there. The elf moved with his opponent, keeping just beyond the edge of his side vision. His next attack came in high, cutting a thin, shallow line across the man's cheek.
The elf danced back a step and gave Rhep a chance to face him down. The mercenary advanced with a furious onslaught of quick, hard blows. Elaith deftly parried each one with an economy of motion that was contemp shy;tuous in its ease. For a long time he was content to defend, one hand on his sword's hilt, the other resting lightly on his hip, his feet never moving. His faint, mock shy;ing smile never faltered. He intended to enjoy this.
At last Rhep backed away. They circled each other, swords held in low guard position, while the human caught his wind. With one hand he reached around behind his back to explore his first wound. His hand came back bloodied. He wiped the stain on his tunic and sent the elf a defiant sneer.
'Always heard elves favored attacking a man from behind, if you catch my drift.'
Elaith let the crude comment pass. 'Consider your shy;self lucky. I could have hamstrung you,' he pointed out.
This notion stole the sneer from Rhep's face. His bravado vanished as he realized the truth of the elf's words and saw the battle could have been finished that quickly and that easily. His eyes were dark with the image of himself lying helpless, unable to rise, impotent to do anything but await the killing stroke.
'No games,' Rhep said grimly. 'Let's have done with this.'
He came in with a rush, sword held high with both hands. He smashed down hard toward the elf, wagering everything on his superior size and strength.
Elaith whirled aside, not bothering to parry the mighty blow, but Rhep kept coming, battering away at the elf, pounding at him with all his force and fury.
It was actually a good strategy, Elaith acknowledged. It forced him into a two-handed grip and slowed him
