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"This ballad-"

"Will be sung in every tavern in Zazesspur," Hhune finished firmly. "You may believe me when I say this." With these words, he took a large gold coin from his pocket and flipped it to his apprentice.

The young man deftly fielded the coin and studied it. The proud, stiff posture of his shoulders melted, and the eyes he lifted to Hhune's face were wide with wonder- and the dawning of true respect.

"I see that you know the marks on that coin," the lord said dryly. "And it is well that you do, for the Knights of the Shield were largely responsible for your father's rise to power. If you are to enter my service, you should also understand my position with this powerful group, and your worth to me. That coin may mark me as an agent of the Knights, but information is the true currency. With this currency, an ambitious man can purchase power. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my lord," Hasheth agreed eagerly.

"Good. You should also understand that very little happens in these southern lands that the Knights have not planned, and by which we do not profit. It is not so in the north. This could change, if we had agents who could infiltrate the ranks of the Harpers and bring us information gathered by those northern meddlers. Could such a thing be done, do you think?"

"It can, my lord."

Hhune noted the confidence in the prince's voice, the proud, determined tilt of his chin. So there was another

Silver Shadows

Harper beside that Thann nuisance, Hhune mused, and one whom Hasheth knew. Perhaps the woman for whose affections Hasheth was willing to betray a former ally.

"She is very beautiful, this Harper?" Hhune asked casually.

"A goddess, my lord," the prince blurted out, and then bit his lip as he realized what he had revealed.

The lord chuckled. 1 care not how you amuse yourself Nor do I wish to know the name of this other Harper-not yet, at least. Do all that you can to gain her trust. Prove yourself a competent informant. In doing so, you will serve me well."

"As you wish, Lord Hhune," he agreed.

Hhune, who was in feet a rather astute judge of men, did not doubt that all would be done as agreed. He recognized the fires of ambition, and seldom had he seen them burn so brightly as they did in Hasheth's black eyes. This youth would do whatever he could to further his own cause.

The lord rose to his feet, signifying that the interview was at an end. "You will return to the city at once. My scribe, Achnib, has been instructed to teach you of my shipping affairs. Learn well. We will speak more when I return."

"Return, my lord?"

"Each summer I travel to Waterdeep to attend the midsummer fair and to receive the report of our agent there, a countrywoman, Lucia Thione, who is highly placed both in business and society."

The young man looked impressed, as Hhune had intended. The Thione family was related to the royal house of Tethyr. Few members had escaped the sword after the fall of the royal family. That one of these survivors was allied with the Knights of the Shield gave an additional luster to the secret society.

All things, including loyalty, had a price. As Hhune sent the young man on his way, there was no doubt in his mind that he was now the proud owner of a prince-

a prince who also happened to be a trusted ally of the Harpers. It was, in his estimation, a bargain well made.

The night passed slowly for Arilyn, for try as she might, she could not banish from her mind the image of the elven warrior she had seen in Assante's treasure rooms. When at last she slept, her dreams were haunted by the face of her unknown ancestor and by a chorus of Elvish voices that demanded that the dishonor done to the swordmistress be redressed. Arilyn woke before dawn with the voices still ringing in her ears and the conviction that there was more to the night vision than the promptings of her own outrage. The dream had an eldritch intensity of a sort Arilyn had not experienced in over two years.

Instinctively her eyes went to her moonblade, which lay bared and ready on her night table, within easy reach. Arilyn reached out a tentative hand to touch the sword. As she expected, a surge of restless magic jolted through her.

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.