Realms of War

'Another damn deserter,' the second soldier muttered as he rose to his feet. 'That's three this tenday.'

Ferret's captor was big, but the man facing her probably outweighed him by half. He knocked the cap from her head and thrust his face close to hers. His eyes widened in surprise.

'What have we here?' he murmured. Taking the elf's chin in one massive hand, he tipped her face up to catch the moonlight.

Ferret struck like her feral namesake, her teeth sinking deep into his neck. She wrapped her legs around his body and clung like a leech for as long as it took.

It didn't take long.

The man holding Ferret flung her away and caught his dying companion. As he staggered under the big man's weight, Ferret spat out a mouthful of blood and pulled a slim, curved knife from her boot. She couldn't reach the smaller man's throat, so she thrust her blade hilt-deep into his eye. Before he could cry out, she wrenched the hilt hard to one side and gave the knife a sharp, brutal turn, as if cranking a winch. The man was dead before he and his comrade hit the floor.

Ferret's lips firmed into a grim line as she regarded the entangled bodies. This was not good. No one was likely to seek out Lamphor before morning, but these men might be seen by any soldier who happened to pass by.

She hurried to the balcony's edge, following the heady scent of franchillia blossoms. Nimbly she climbed the rail and scrambled down the thick, flowering vines. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she started running for all she was worth.

Ferret skirted the mile-long path leading to the Trade Road, following a jagged course among the hillocks and rocky outcrops that characterized the land east of the sea cliffs. Soon she had the Trade Road in sight, and beyond it, the sweep of grasses and brush leading into the forest. She was almost to the road when a horn's blast split the still night air.

The baying of dogs answered the call.

Fear skimmed along the elf's spine, chilling her like a ghoul's caress. Tethyrian hounds were fearful creatures, long-legged and barrel-chested. Bred from mastiffs and racing dogs, they were fleet enough to run down deer, and so fierce that two of them could pull down a bugbear.

Ferret darted across the road and into the brush, twisting and turning as she ran. The belling cries of the hounds changed to excited barking, a sure sign that they'd found her trail and were closing in fast.

The trees were too small and far apart for the elf to escape into the canopy. Once she climbed, she'd be trapped—beyond the teeth of the hounds, yes, but easy prey for the men coming behind them.

Clouds parted, and moonbeams stabbed deep into a stand of young duskwood trees. Ferret caught a glimpse of reflective eyes near the upturned roots of a fallen elder tree. Only a moment passed before the lights disappeared into the tiny root-cave, but the elf's keen eyes registered a silvery coat and a long, plumy tail. It was a wolf, and a large one, perhaps preternaturally so.

She had only a moment to decide.

The crash of brush announced that the dogs were well past the Trade Road. Ferret ran directly toward the wolf's den. If she was wrong, she was dead.

At least the wolf would be quicker and kinder than the dogs.

* * * * *

Elaith Craulnober could not remember when he'd last felt so content, so at peace with himself and the world. Nor could he think of another place in all Faerыn he'd rather be. The garden behind Danilo Thann's Waterdeep townhouse filled him with nostalgia for Evermeet, and for once, those memories were untainted with shame or regret.

In this walled haven grew plants unique to Evermeet: tiny sapphire-hued grapes, delicate white 'welcome trumpets' so sensitive to heat they would turn toward anyone entering the garden, uniquely fragrant herbs, and even some of the sky blue roses associated with the royal moon elves. How Danilo had persuaded the elves of that reclusive island kingdom to part with such treasures was beyond Elaith's powers of imagination.

But the moon elf's favorite part of the garden was the tree-lined alee set aside for sword practice. Elaith had a fine elven weapon in his hand, a skilled sparring partner, and a worthy task before him. Life was good indeed.

His opponent, a tall half-elf female, came at him in a running attack. Elaith caught her sword with his and spun their enjoined blades down and around in a circular parry, turning as he went. The move brought them face to face, swords crossed and pointing upward.

The half-elf leaned in and delivered a straight-armed jab over their crossed swords. Elaith caught her fist with his free hand.

'A bold move, Princess Arilyn, but a risky one. You could lose your dagger hand that way.'

She shook him off and stepped back. 'Don't call me that. But you're right about the risk. It was a stupid move. I meant to press your sword down and back while I struck—'

'But you could not,' Elaith finished. 'You haven't the strength.'

Arilyn grimaced. 'Not yet.'

She came in again. Elaith parried two quick thrusts and a lunge with easy economy of motion. Their swords slid apart with a metallic hiss as Arilyn fell back.

As they circled each other, Elaith took a moment to study his opponent. As always, that meant forcing his way past the half-elf's resemblance to Amnestria, a princess of Evermeet.

His princess.

The task at hand, Elaith reminded himself, was seeing Amnestria's daughter back to fighting form.

The half-elf's too-familiar face was set in determined lines, but it was drawn and thin, and far too pale. Pain darkened her blue eyes, and her hair, which had been as smooth and glossy as a raven's wing when they'd first crossed swords, had sprung up into an unruly mass of damp black curls.

Her mother's hair had been nearly as dark, but it was that rarest shade of moon elf blue—the color of fine sapphires, the midnight blue of a star-filled night...

Elaith shook off the image.

'You move as fast as ever,' he told Arilyn, 'but your attacks lack power and your grip is unreliable.'

To demonstrate, he feinted low. The half-elf easily parried. Before she could disengage, Elaith stomped on her sword—an unconventional move that caught her by surprise and tore the hilt from her grasp.

Her practice sword had not yet hit the ground when Arilyn pivoted on her back foot and delivered a kick that landed several strategic inches south of Elaith's sword belt.

The moon elf staggered back, resisting the temptation to fall to the ground and curl up in agony.

Maybe, he conceded, his attack had not been quite so unexpected as he'd thought.

'Well countered,' he managed to say, 'but street fighting tactics are unworthy of a princess.'

'Next time I see a princess, I'll be sure to pass that along,' Arilyn assured him. 'It'd be a good thing for her to know. If a tactic is 'unworthy,' it's probably also unexpected.'

'Indeed.'

The half-elf hooked the toe of one boot under her fallen sword, flicked it up, and caught it by the hilt. When Elaith moved into guard position, Arilyn shook her head and slid her practice sword into the sheath that had, until recently, held her moonblade.

'Thanks for the match.'

Elaith's silver brows rose. 'We've only been sparring since dawn. No more than two bells have rung since we began.'

'You just don't want to quit when you're behind,' she teased him.

The moon elf shook his head. 'Princess, if you hope to wield your ancestral blade again, you must rebuild your strength.'

The smile fell from Arilyn's face. 'If you call me 'princess' one more time,' she said softly, 'I won't need the thrice-damned moonblade. I'll just tear out your liver with my fingernails.'

She spun away and shouldered her way past the tall, fair-haired man just entering the practice grounds. Danilo Thann, one of the few humans Elaith counted among his friends, watched the half-elf stalk toward the