All who gathered carried the grandchildren of Cormanthor-seedlings from the ancient trees that in centuries to come would extend the wondrous forest for miles. It was a small thing, perhaps, in the face of all that the sylvan folk had lost and all that they would continue to endure. But each tree was a living link to their beloved forest and a symbol of the new coalition between the tribes, the lythari, and the other sylvan creatures. They who had merely endured, would now rebuild.
And so they worked together throughout that long day, with a harmony rare among the forest folk. With the coming of night, they retreated to the familiar haven of the trees.
When the evening meal was over and the songs and tales fell silent, Foxfire sought out Arilyn and asked her to walk with him. They walked in silence until they found themselves back in the seedling forest. It was an oddly appropriate place, one that mingled new beginnings with ancient and cherished memories.
"I have a message for you from Rhothomir," he began. "It is not one he could easily give himself, so I offered to speak for him. This I do with all my heart."
"Speaker for the Speaker now, are you?" she teased him. The elf smiled faintly, but he would not be deterred.
"The People of Tethir offer you a home in their midst. Join the tribe and live beneath the trees your own hands planted. This is your place," he concluded softly.
"There is a part of me that would like to accept," she said with complete honesty. There is a part of me that will remain. But look around you," she said, sweeping a hand toward the fledgling trees and the little mounds of soft earth where the sylvan folk had planted seeds of hope.
"You will live to see these trees grow. I am half-elven, Foxfire, and I will be gone before the branches of these two oaklings meet overhead. There are things I must do elsewhere. Like the lythari, it is given to me to walk between two worlds. You have shown me that my soul is elven and have helped me to know that my path and my heart lie with the humans. But I can promise you this," she vowed as she drew her moonblade from its ancient scabbard. "As long as the fires of Myth Drannor burn within this sword, a hero will return to the Forest of Tethir in time of need."
She showed him the blade, and the bright new rune that blazed upon it, and then she slid the moonblade carefully back into its place. "It is given to me to add a power to the sword. This is it: when the people of Tethir are in need, the wielder of this blade will come. But most likely, it won't be me. My life will not be that long, and I wish you to have peace long after I have joined my ancestors."
Foxfire nodded and then gathered her into his arms. Arilyn went to him, remembering everything, and regretting nothing. Her elven soul would always be linked to this forest. Perhaps, in some future age, she would return, her essence giving strength to the elven sword. But as she had said to her dear friend, her heart lay elsewhere, and so did her path.
Twenty-five
It was after midsummer when Lord Hhune's carriage rolled through the northern gates of Zazesspur. He had enjoyed a very eventful interlude in Waterdeep, the rival city to the north. Granted, some of his plots and plans had withered on the vine. It did not appear as if the northern outposts of Zazesspur's thieves and assassins guilds would take hold-a pity, for these were favored tools of the Knights of the Shield. And he, Hhune, had been labeled as a member of this hostile group and barred from Waterdeep. The Knights had also lost their capable agent in Waterdeep. The Lady Lucia Thione had been unmasked and exiled. It would be many long years before the Knights of the Shield again managed to place an informant so high in Waterdhavian society.
Even so, Hhune felt certain he could turn these losses into personal gain. Although he could not enter the northern city again, there was to be no disruption of shipping between Zazesspur and the north. And Waterdeep was still reeling from a series of disasters: crop failure, incursions of monsters stripping the forests of game and the fields of cattle, political uncertainty. Zazesspur's goods and surplus crops would find an eager, almost desperate market. Finally, he had with him the deposed agent, and he had spent much of the trip southward mentally devising various uses for her.
Lucia Thione, formerly the ranking agent of the Knights of the Shield in the north, was a rarity in Tethyr: a surviving member of the old royal family, albeit a very distant relation. The tide of royalist sentiment in Zazesspur was swelling, and who knew what heights an ambitious man might reach with such a consort at his side? In addition to her purple blood, she was a woman of rare beauty and keen business acumen. At one time, Hhune would have counted himself lucky merely to spend time in her company. He was ecstatic to find her utterly in his power!
Of course he had said nothing of this to her. Lady Thione fully expected to meet her death hi the land of her forebears, and she had spent the trip trying to subtly insinuate herself into Hhune'a good graces. It was gratifying to hiro to have this beautiful, nobly bred woman pursuing his fevor, and he intended to allow her to work for it!
Eager though he was to install his "guest" in his country estate, Lord Hhune set a brisk pace for his town offices. Business must always come before pleasure. He strode in, nodded to the clerks, and called for his scribe.
To his surprise, the young Calishite brat-the royal apprentice Bank's men had saddled him with-came to his bidding.
"Good day, Lord Hhune," Hasheth said. "I trust that your business in the Northlands went well?"
"Where is Achnib?" Hhune demanded.
The lad's face darkened. "He is dead, my lord," he said bluntly. "May all traitors and thieves meet the same end. But you need not hear of this from my lips. Word of
your approach reached us this morn. Duke Hembreon awaits you in your office."
Hhune's boots suddenly seemed rooted to the floor. Amid the changeful winds of Zazesspurian power, the Duke stood as unbending as a sycamore. His was an ancient family with vast wealth, and he himself was a grave, distinguished man whose impeccable sense of honor and duty extended to all he did. Therefore, Hembreon tended to view his position in the Knights of the Shield as noblesse oblige. He was also one of the most important leaders of the group, Hhune reminded himself as he shook off his immobility.
The duke stood as Hhune entered the room and gave him his hand. "You have performed a great service to the people of the city."
"I live to serve," Hhune said smoothly, but he cast a quick sidelong glare at his young apprentice. Hasheth gave him a subtle nod, as if encouraging him to play along.
"As you requested, Lord Hhune," Hasheth began, "in your absence I strove to ferret out who among your men might be in league with the Nelanther pirates. It was Achnib, as you suspected. Two of these pirates are even now hi the city's dungeons-men who have sworn that Achnib hired them, paying with information of shipping schedules and routes.
"Nor was that his only crime. He was stealing from you, skimming the profit from the caravans and hoarding coin. What he planned to do with such is beyond belief."
"Achnib was always ambitious," Hhune said in a sage tone, hoping this would fit into the incredible scenario the younger man was weaving.
"The scribe was not content with selling information to the pirates. He began to traffic in armed ships with a; warlord known as Buniap. Worse, there is a faint trail I which attempts to place this crime at your door."
"Indeed?" Hhune managed, marveling at the young I man's audacity.
Incredibly, Duke Hembreon seemed to swallow the absurd recitation. He rose and extended a hand to Hhune.