Redemption

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 Faerun 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, 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 these 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 very 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. She mirrored his movements, so that they ended up 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, this meant forcing his way past the half-elf’s resemblance to Amnestria, a princess of Evermeet.

     His princess.

     But that was in the past. The task at hand was seeing Amnestria’s daughter back to fighting form.

     And that, Elaith conceded, might take longer than he’d anticipated.

     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 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 elven 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 swordbelt.

     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 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’re 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 from him 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 garden’s back gate. 

     “Where is she going?”

     “To have her nails tended, I expect,” Elaith said dryly.

     Danilo blinked. After a moment he shook himself free of this puzzling vision. “We will have visitors very shortly. I received a sending—an amazing bit of magic, by the way—requesting that permission to enter this garden be granted to Shalana O Rhothomir, sister to the Wealdath’s elf chieftain, and Ganemede, a lythari.”

     “A lythari,” Elaith echoed incredulously. Until this moment, he’d only half believed this race of wolf-natured, shapeshifting elves existed. “In Waterdeep?”

     “Oh, it wouldn’t be the first time. Ganemede and Arilyn are old friends. He can open a magical gate nearly anywhere, using her moonblade as a focus.”

     Elaith’s gaze shifted to the weapons rack, where hung an ancient elven long sword. Eight runes marked its shining length, and the blue-white moonstone in the hilt fairly glowed with magic. A sword of the Moonflower clan, it had turned on its half-elf wielder rather than shed the blood of a moon elf who’d thought himself long past redemption.

     “I wonder if the princess will ever wield it again,” he said softly.

     A faint smile touched the corners of Danilo’s lips. “You’re lucky she didn’t hear you call her that. As to the other thing, Arilyn knew what might happen when she challenged you. She figured taking the sword’s backlash was the quickest, surest way to convince the forest elves to fight under your command and alongside your men.”

     “A form of persuasion that nearly cost her her life.”

     “Arilyn thought the cause worth her sacrifice. She thought you were worth the risk. Considering the response of her moonblade, it appears she was right about you.”

     “Imagine my surprise,” the elf murmured, “especially considering that my own moonblade was decidedly less optimistic.”

     The air near the weapons rack changed, taking on a subtle shimmering that might easily be mistaken for rising heat. If not for an elf’s innate knack for perceiving magical gates, Elaith might not have seen it at all.  Danilo was less prepared, and his eyes widened when two elves suddenly appeared in the garden.

     Elaith recognized the female as one of the forest elves who’d recently come to Waterdeep and fought under his command. Ferret, she called herself. The male resembled no forest elf Elaith had ever seen; in fact, his coloring was similar to Elaith’s: silvery hair, amber eyes. Like Elaith, he was tall for an elf, long of leg and broad though the shoulders. Had Elaith not known otherwise, he might have mistaken the lythari for kin. 

     “There is trouble in the Wealdath,” the female said without preamble.

     Danilo’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of resignation. “I’ll get Arilyn.”

     “Not the half-elf, not this time,” Ferret said firmly. She nodded toward Elaith. “It’s him we need.”

* * *

--a scene from "Redemption," from the Forgotten Realms anthology Realms of War--