Not that forest wolves posed a serious threat. They were shy, intelligent creatures who kept to themselves and killed only what they needed for survival. Only in the borderlands, where human poaching had stripped the forest of the wolves' natural prey, had they become a nuisance. From time to time, hungry wolves ventured out into the fields and farmlands. Most of these contented themselves with the mice and voles that were plentiful in cultivated lands-wolves could live solely on such prey-but a few developed a taste for mutton.
If cornered by an indignant shepherd, a poaching wolf would defend itself. It was possible that just such a wolf had wounded or even killed someone who had relatives wealthy enough to purchase the half-elf s services. There were other possibilities, however, that dictated a certain amount of caution on Ferret's part. Extremely rare, although more common in these troubled times, was a rogue wolf, one that either through sickness or despair had left its nature behind to become a ravening beast, Most often the atrocities attributed to them were not committed by wolves at all, but by lycanthropes- humans who'd been cursed with a wolfs form and an unnatural lust for blood. Although Tethir's ancient magic acted as a barrier to many such abominations, it was possible-possible-that the half-elf had been hired to track and slay such a monster. Best to keep a distance from that battle!
From her leafy perch, Ferret followed Arilyn toward the glade. At the half-elf's approach, a pair of deer lifted dripping muzzles from the pool and bounded off into the trees. There was no sign of any wolf, however, nor did the half-elf seem concerned by this lack. She shouldered off her pack and began to remove several items from it, including a small, shimmering mound of what appeared to be liquid silver.
The half-elf removed her green cape and stripped off her clothing-the dark, nondescript garments of a Zazesspurian assassin-all the while wearing an expression of extreme distaste. She stuffed them into the hollow of a tree and then waded into the pool, splashing and scrubbing herself repeatedly as if to wash off some invisible taint.
Arilyn's pale skin appeared almost luminous in the tree-filtered moonlight. Even to Ferret's critical eyes, she was as pale and slender as any moon elf-an apparent sister to the white-limbed birch trees that ringed the forest glade.
At length the half-elf waded back and began to dress herself in the garments she'd taken from her pack: leggings, under tunic, shirt-all of which were dyed in practical shades of deep forest green. Then she picked up the fluid silver. It fell like a waterfall into the shape of a fine hauberk, a long tunic of elven chain mail finer than any Ferret had ever seen. This the half-elf slipped over her head; it molded immediately to her form and moved with her like water. Arilyn belted on her ancient sword so that the moonstone-hilted blade was prominently displayed. She raked both hands through her still-wet curls, tucking her hair behind her pointed ears and then tying an elaborate green-and-silver band around her forehead to hold it in place. In moments, the half-breed assassin was gone; in her place stood a noble warrior, a proud daughter of the Moon People.
Ferret shook her head in silent disbelief. Had she not seen the transformation herself, she would not have believed it possible. Oh, she knew that Arilyn had a knack for disguises, but this went far beyond an assassin's tricks.
Before Ferret could assimilate this, the half-elf took a small wooden object from her pack and lifted it to her lips. An eery, wavering cry floated out into the forest and froze the watchful Ferret to her perch. She had heard that sound before, but never from a mortal throat!
There was a moment's silence, and then an answering call came from the trees beyond. Arilyn blew again, a long high call followed by several short, irregular bursts-some sort of signal, no doubt-and then she waited calmly.
The vines on the far side of the glade parted, and an enormous silver wolf padded into the clearing. It was twice as large, perhaps even three times as large, as any wolf Ferret had ever seen. In truth, it could be said to resemble a forest wolf only insofar as a unicorn could be likened to a horse, or an elf to a human. The creature's blue eyes were large and intelligent, almond-shaped like those of an elff and its ears were long and pointed above its sharply triangular face. There was a fey grace to its step, and lingering about it was an eldritch aura that seemed to capture and embody the essence of the forest's magic.
Lythari.
Ferret formed the word with silent, awed lips. All her life she had heard tales of the lythari, an ancient race of shapechanging elves, the most elusive and most magical of all the forest People. Few knew of their existence beyond those who dwelt in the forest. Those who spoke of the Silver Shadows did so with reverence-and dread.
The lythari were usually as reclusive as the wolves they resembled, but from time to time they moved with incredible ferocity against some enemy of the forest. Even the wild elves, who-next to dryads and treants- were the most attuned to the ways of the woodlands, did not understand the ways of the lythari and occasionally fell under their swift wrath. Few forest dwellers had caught a glimpse of a lythari, and never in elven form.
As if to mock Ferret's unspoken thoughts, the lythari's wolflike form shimmered and disappeared. In its place stood a young elven male, beautiful and fey even by the measures of elvenkind. Ferret bit her lip, hard, to keep from crying out in wonder. The lythari was taller than the half-elf and just as pale, and his hair retained the shimmering silver color of his wolflike form. He called Arilyn by name, speaking the common Elvish tongue, and embraced her warmly. But try though she might, Ferret could make out nothing of the low, earnest conversation that followed.
She watched in wonder as the lythari slipped back into his wolf form and stood patiently, allowing the half-elf to climb onto his back. Thus mounted, Arilyn Moonblade slipped beyond the forest glade-and beyond Ferret's reach. No one, not even a tracker as skilled as she, could follow a lythari who did not wish to be found.
To Ferret, this could mean only one thing: the lythari intended to take Arilyn to his den and wished to remove all possibility that someone could trace her to this hidden place.
As Ferret slipped down from the tree, she pondered the mystery that was Arilyn Moonblade, a half-woman who bore the sword of an elven warrior and had earned
the friendship of a lythari. Yet Ferret knew of several times that Arilyn had killed for no other apparent purpose than the coins the deed would place in her pockets. The other assassins applauded her cold-blooded skill and accepted her as one of their own. But having seen both sides of Arilyn, Ferret simply could not reconcile the two halves.
The lythari male apparently knew the better part of Arilyn Moonblade, the noble elven warrior, the identity that Ferret had just now glimpsed. Unfortunately-and herein lay a danger beyond reckoning-the lythari also knew all the secrets of the forest.
Did this young male know that he was about to betray them to a half-elven assassin?
Eleven
There was nothing, Hasheth was coming to learn, that could lift the heart and enflame the pride like a good plot successfully executed. Not even the grinding, mind-numbing chore of copying piles of receipts into Hhune's ledgers could dim the young man's inner glow of excitement. He had done well-even Arilyn Moonblade, Harper and Shadow Sash, had admitted as much.
And in truth, Hasheth did not mind his apprenticeship so very much. In a way, these bits of parchment and paper were like pieces of a puzzle, and there was little that he enjoyed more than a good puzzle. The Harpers, what a life they had-traveling the world, tracing convoluted plots to their source. The only thing that could possibly be more interesting would be devising such a plot, one so tangled that not even the best among the Harpers might unravel it!
Despite his pride, the young prince possessed enough self-knowledge to know that he himself was not capable