But the mercenary captain was none too happy with the news that greeted him upon his arrival. Most of the members of his last war band had died in the forest, and his best archer had been stuck more times than a seamstress's pincushion. The expensive Halruaan wizard still lay abed, suffering from low spirits and unspecified injuries. Worse, Vhenlar had not managed to retrieve a single long-eared corpse for the priest to interrogate.

"Leave 'em or join 'em. That was the choice we had," Vhenlar informed his captain. "I say we leave 'em altogether-and forever-and let well enough alone."

"In due time," Bunlap informed him, staring moodily at the forest.

"What's to be gained from going on?" pressed Vhenlar. The logging operation is over. You got your money out of it and came away clean. What more do you want?"

"It's a personal matter-" the captain began.

But Vhenlar wasn't having any of that. "Not again! I've seen you plunge headfirst and neck-deep into trouble one time too many. I didn't spend four years dodging the Zhents just so I could live the rest of my years looking over my shoulder for vengeful elves. I've had a bellyful. Give me my pay, and I'm gone."

The captain shook his head, not even bothering to look at the angry archer. "Three more battles. That's all it should take. The first will be a minor skirmish. Then it's on to the logging camp. Old Hhune put a fair amount of money into it. That site is strategic and it's ours. We can even pick up the lumbering trade, once things cool down a bit, only there will be no need to split the proceeds with anyone else. You could retire a very, very rich man."

"I'm not going back into that forest," Vhenlar began.

"You won't have to. You can fight this one in your preferred fashion-from behind the parapets, shooting down at the attackers. For this you need not leave the safety of the fortress."

The archer considered this. "How are you going to arrange that?"

"We wait," Bunlap said simply. The elves will come to us, of that I am confident."

"Don't suppose you'd care to tell me why."

The mercenary captain fixed an icy glare on his longtime associate. 'Tou do remember the Harpers, do you not?" ^

Vhenlar groaned. The secret society known as the Harpers was devoted to thwarting the plans of the Zhentarim, curbing the ambitions of ruthless and powerful men, and just generally being a boil on the backside of any man out for a bit more than what the meddlers considered to be his fair share. "They're snooping into this mess?"

"Indeed. It is well that I returned to Zazesspur. Word is that a Harper agent bungled his cover and managed to slip out of the city just ahead of the local assassins. I asked around and learned there was yet another Harper in the city, at least until just recently. The elf woman who slipped right past our fortress with that clever little smoke screen is one of their more troublesome agents. You might even recall the name: Arilyn Moonblade?"

"Not the one they say snuck into Darkhold and killed old Cherbil Nimmtr

The same. She knows who I am and, if she meets up with the forest elves in time, they'll figure out between them that the source of their troubles lies behind these fortress walls."

"Oh, she's met up with them," Vhenlar retorted. "She's a gray elf, right? With a magic sword? Well, she was right there with the wild elves, telling 'em what to do. And they were listening, though never would I have believed it. But for her, they would have killed us all!"

"All the better. You can be certain that elven scouts followed you here. I expect they'll come calling in force anytime now. And that is where your skills with the bow come into play. Kill me a certain moon elЈ and you're free to go where you want," Bunlap concluded grimly.

The archer nodded, but in truth he had little faith in the other man's assurances. Nor could he muster a shred of enthusiasm for the coming battle. Having faced those elves and that Harper wench, he had no desire to do so again anytime soon. Not one night passed by but he didn't relive the elf woman's blue-fire charge, or awake sitting bolt upright and drenched in sweat,dreaming of enemies he could never see or touch, but who constantly surrounded him.

Yet what choice did he have? Vhenlar would be forced to fight the wild elves until he was either slain or went mad. Bunlap would not let him go until his desire for vengeance was slaked. And from all that Vhenlar had seen of his captain, that was not likely to happen easily… or soon.

Several days after the midsummer celebration, Arilyn walked off alone into the forest. The key to the lythari's den, the wooden pipe that approximated the call of a lythari, was gripped in one fist. What she intended to do was not easy, but she saw little choice.

The half-elf went as far out into the forest as she dared. Even now, she easily got turned around in the magic-laden area surrounding Talltrees. She raised the wooden summoner to her lips and sent a long, mournful call wavering through the trees. Choosing a fallen log as a likely seat, she sat down to wait.

Arilyn was not certain Ganamede would even answer the summons. The young lythari had been puzzled, perhaps even hurt, by her apparent inability to understand the gift he had given her in taking her to the lythari den. Nor could she explain to him that she'd had no real intention of asking him to recruit his peace-loving people to join the green elves' battles. In suggesting this to Rhothomir, she had been buying time, purchasing Ganamede's safety. But how could she explain this when it was precisely what she now intended to do?

"Arilyn."

The half-elf spun toward the soft voice and found herself nearly nose to muzzle with the silver-furred lythari.

"I heard a strange story in Talltrees," she began without preamble. The green elves tell of warrior who saved their tribe a few centuries back. It turns out tha^this warrior was one of my ancestors, Zoastria. Soora Thea, they called her. Word has it that she commanded the silver shadows. Is it true your people once allied in battle with the forest folk?"

"Once, long ago," Ganamede agreed reluctantly. "But the evil that came to the forest in those long-ago times was great, one that threatened its very fabric. Undead abominations, creatures from the dark plane, and an orcish tribe that fought for them, battled for no purpose other than the pleasure to be found in the death of elves. These creatures were an ulcerous growth upon the land, and so the lythari fought until the enemy was no more."

The humans we're dealing with now are none too pleasant either," Arilyn pointed out.

"Even so, humans are intelligent folk, and there is much good among them. From time to time the lythari strike against an evil individual-a rogue human, if you will, and sometimes even against an elf. But to do battle with many humans? How can we be certain the good are not slain along with the evil?"

"Sometimes you can't," she admitted. "At times Fve resented my sword for judging those who fece me, but its a comfort to know that because of its magic, I can't accidentally kill an innocent. Most warriors don't have that advantage.

"If you will not fight," she added with a sudden surge of inspiration, "perhaps you'd consent to scout? Surely there are many 'doors to the gate' in the forest. You could slip in and out and give us a better idea of what we face."

The lythari considered her suggestion. "It is as you say. Yes, I will do this, and bring word to you of threats against the green folk. It is not much, but it may help."

Arilyn smiled and placed a hand on her Mend's furred shoulder. "It's quite a bit, and more than I like to ask of you."

"I know this," Ganamede replied softly. "For a time I doubted your purpose. But like us, you also walk between two worlds. It is not an easy thing to do, and sometimes others, who see through only one pair of eyes, do not understand."