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.
Arilyn lifted an inquiring brow. That's something I might have said," she observed. "What are you? Are you the moonblade, or are you me?"
"Both, and yet neither." The elfshadow fell silent, as if carefully measuring her next words. "You know that each wielder of a moonblade imbues the sword with a new power, but you do not understand the source of that power. Unlike any other moonlighter who came before you, you were not told of the moonblade's secrets before you claimed the sword."
"So tell me."
"It is not so simple," the elfshadow cautioned her. The moonblades are ancient elven artifacts, arid the mysteries that went into their Grafting cannot be adequately described-no more than I could convey to you with mere words a melody you have never heard or a color you have never seen."
"Noted. Go on," Arilyn said tersely.
*Pirst let me point out that the moonblade accepted you when you were but a child, not to mention the first half-elf ever to inherit such a sword! This decision was not lightly made, for it was foreseen that you would do a great service to the People/"
The elfgate," Arilyn murmured, naming the magical gateway to Evermeet that she had discovered and then fought to protect.
That and more," the elfehadow agreed cryptically. "Once accepted, you slowly became attuned to the sword. That is how I came into being. For lack of a better description, I am the personification of your union with the sword."
"I see. Do all moonblades have people like you?"
"By the sea and stars! No, not at all. The ability to form and summon an elfehadow was one of the powers added to the moonblade you carry. By Zoastria," the shadow added in a lower voice.
Something in the elfshadow's tone convinced Arilyn that this was the name of the sleeping warrior. "So that's why IVe been having these dreams. Not since the time of the Harper assassin have I had such visions! But why would finding Zoastria's body stir them, if you are the personification of my union with the sword?"
"Like the elves who have gone before you, you added a power to the moonblade," the elfshadow continued softly. "A power that reflects your character and your needs."
Arilyn shrugged, impatient for the elfshadow to move on to something she did not already know.
"Moonblades contain great magic, and they grow in power with each wielder. But as with all magic, the cost is high." The elfshadow paused and spread her hands,
as if inviting Arilyn to observe in her what that cost might be. "My name is chosen well, for I am the shadow of what you will become."
Arilyn stared at her image, not wanting to understand. Yet she suspected that she knew what the elf-shadow meant. Suddenly, she realized that in some small way she had always known.
"Then when I die-“ she began.
"You will not die, strictly speaking. Your life essence will enter the moonblade. This is the ultdmate source of the sword's magic."
Arilyn turned abruptly away. For a long moment she stared at the wall, her face frozen as she struggled to control her roiling emotions. "So what you're saying is that this sword is full of dead elves," she said at last.
"No! That explanation is simplistic and crude, not to mention entirely inaccurate. Except in unusual cases, elves are immortal. We pass from this world on to the realms of Arvandor without tasting death as humans know it. But yes, each elf who accepts a moonblade understands that his or her passage to Arvandor will be delayed, perhaps for thousands of years, until the moon-blade's purpose is fulfilled. When a sword fells dormant, the elves are released. It is an enormous sacrifice, but one that certain noble elves take on gladly for the greater good of the People."
"But what of me?" The words poured from Arilyn in an agonized rush. "I am half-elven\ The gates of Arvandor are closed to such as I, and most of the elves Fve known believe I have no soul! What will become of me? Of us?" she amended bitterly.
The elfshadow merely shook her head. "I do not know. None of us know. You are the first half-elf ever to wield such a blade. At the risk of sounding like a two-copper cleric discussing the afterlife, you will have to wait and find out."
"But your best guess would be eternal servitude, cooped up like some genie in a cheap bronze lamp?"
Arilyn said with cold rage. "Thanks, but I'll pass."
“You cannot."
"The hell I can't. I didn't sign on for any of this!"
"Your fate was decided when you first drew the sword," the elfshadow insisted.
But Arilyn shook her head, her eyes blazing. "I'll accept that when I'm drinking tea and swapping stories with Zoastria's shade! There has to be a way out! Where would I find someone who knows it?"
"Arvandor," the shadow replied grimly. "And, possibly, Evermeet."
Arilyn threw up her hands. To her, one was about the same as the other. She would never be accepted on. the elven island. And not even for the sake of her soul-if indeed she had one-would she take something unearned from the hands of her mother's people!