She managed to block a chest-high thrust and then flung the attacking blade aside. But a second mercenary got through her guard-not with a sword, but with a mailed fist. The blow struck Arilyn's jaw hard and sent her reeling to her knees. It was then she saw the wound that had at last brought Hawkwing to ground.

The elven girl lay on one side, staring forward with a single fierce black eye. From the other protruded the hilt of a dagger.

For just a moment, grief clenched Arilyn like a giant fist, squeezing the breath from her body and stealing her will to fight. It was just for a second, but even that was too much. A shadow fell over Hawkwing's body; Arilyn looked up into the point of a nocked and ready arrow. This man had seen her fight; apparently he was not going to chance facing her sword.

Before he could release the arrow, a large missile hurtled over Arilyn's head and toward the archer. The man staggered back, and the arrow soared upward in a limp and harmless arc. Arilyn stared at the horrid, sticky mess that had taken the place of the archer's head.

"I say, that was a good one," announced a satisfied male voice behind her. "Custard and cream, I should think, and a vast improvement in matters of size and aim. Though to be quite frank with you, my dear, the spell for Snilloc's Cream Pie was rather a benign missile for this blighter. Not his just desserts at all, you should pardon the expression."

The tone was familiar-a cultured and lazy-sounding tenor-but oddly enough, the words were spoken in the Elvish tongue. Arilyn whirled, staring up in horrified silence into the handsome, smiling, human face of her Harper partner.

She knew at once how he'd come to be here, though never for a moment had the possibility occurred to her that such a thing might come to pass.

Bach wielder of a moonblade added a power to the sword. Two years past, Arilyn had done the same, removing certain restrictions so she might share the moonblade and its magic with her partner. Never once had she suspected that in doing so, she had created an elfshadow entity that linked Danilo to the magic sword-and condemned him to her own fate.

"Oh, my goddess," she said in a despairing whisper. "No, Danilo. Oh, not you too."

Seventeen

After several hours, the darkness that had cocooned Arilyn's mind since the battle began to dim around the edges, and bright, blinding colors seeped in to whirl and dance madly behind her closed eyelids.

The half-elf groaned and tried to sit up. Strong and gentle hands pressed her back down. "Not yet," Foxfire told her. "You drained your moonblade's magic for Hawkwing*s sake, and for us all. Much strength was taken from you, as well."

Hawkwing. Memory returned in a vivid, horrible rush. Arilyn turned her head away, unwilling to let her elven friend witness the grief and guilt the elf maid's death brought her. Perhaps, if she had not drained her own strength to call forth the elfshadow entities, she could have made her way to Hawkwing's side in time to save her.

"You missed the best part of the fight," announced Ferret's voice, wild and exultant still from the excitement of battle. "Never have I seen such warriors!

Nine

champions on a field at once! Who could stand against such a force, and who beneath the stars would not follow them? It was a marvel I will long remember."

"The shadow warriors returned to the sword at battle's end," Foxfire added. "All but one-the tall gold-elf wizard who carried you here. He would not return unless he had your direct command, or, at least, reasonable assurance that you were safe. Although in the case of that one, I do not know what might be considered reasonable," he added in a wry tone.

Arilyn's lips twitched in an involuntary smile. She knew at once the true identity of the wizard of whom Foxfire spoke. In a few terse words, the wild elf had sketched a remarkably accurate picture of the Danilo she knew: a stubborn, exasperating soul who would have his way no matter what and who usually took center stage while doing so. On the other hand, he was also perhaps the most caring, intuitive, and gifted human she'd ever met. Of course his shadow-spirit could recognize the problems inherent in showing these elves his true face, and certainly he was skilled enough in the magical arts to cast such an illusion over himself. Despite all, Arilyn could not help but be amused by the image of Danilo as a gold-elf wizard. That was a role he would certainly play to the balcony seats! The gold elves were widely considered to be the most beautiful and regal of the People. Knowing Dan as she did, Arilyn could guess that his shadow took on this guise with typical flamboyant elan.

The warmth these thoughts brought her was rapidly chased away by the chilling memory of what Dan's shadow meant, and the realities of the battle they had fought. Danilo's spirit had been condemned to serve the moonblade. And Hawkwing was dead.

"The gold wizard left you a message," Ferret said, cutting into Arilyn's grim thoughts. "He bid you remember the legend lore spell, which you heard when first you and he sought the answers to your moonblade's magic."

The elf woman began to recite words that Arilyn only dimly remembered, words that the archmage Khelben Arunsun himself had coaxed from the moonblade more than two years before:

"Call forth through stone, Call forth from steel. Command the mirror of myself, But ware the spirit housed within The shadow of the elf

"He said to tell you that you cannot call the shadow warriors again without great risk to yourself," Ferret continued. "It is a shame. With them to lead, the Talltrees clan could face nearly any foe!"

"Never beared tell afore that elven folk feared to go into battle," taunted a gruff, vaguely familiar voice. "You couldn't be gittin' soft. Yer too ding-blasted scrawny fer that!"

After a moment's shock, Arilyn placed the deep tones with a face-that of a young dwarf with a short, dun-colored beard and an unusual zest for both rowdiness and romance. Yet how could this be? When last she'd seen him, the dwarf was reveling in the luxuries afforded by the Foaming Sands, and was washing away the memories of ten years of servitude with as much warm, bubbling water and half-clad women as his coins would buy him.

"Not Jill?" Arilyn whispered. She struggled to sit, to open her eyes, but could not yet do either.

The same," the dwarf said gruffly. "Hold still, now. Yer wrigglin' around like a worm on a hook, and with no fish to show fer yer efforts. Rest. That were some fight, though sorry to say oP Kendel and I missed the best of it."

"Kendel Leafbower," supplied a soft, melodious elven voice. "At your service, Lady of the Moonblade."

Arilyn recognized the moon-elven clan name. The Leafbowers were renowned as travelers and fighters.

Such an elf was an unlikely companion for the dwarf. "How did you come to be here, Jill?" she murmured.

"Well now, that's a story," the dwarf admitted in a conversational tone. "Leave it to say that Kendel 'n me borrowed somebody's hired sword and persuaded him to head fer home. This is where he brung us-a bit too late for the fight, like I said, but soon enough fer him to die with people he knew. More'n he had comin' to him, by my way of thinkin',

"Kendel and you," she repeated, somewhat bemused by the idea of a dwarf and a moon-elf warrior on such friendly terms.

"Yep. You might say him and me is tighter*n ticks," Jill agreed happily, "though no one what beared us talkin' on the way east mighta guessed it. Argued like brothers, we did, about which of us would git to kill the hired sword and when he'd git to do it. Never meant a word of it. But fun it were!" he concluded gleefully.

"I see the gold-elf wizard spoke truth," Ferret broke in coldly. "He said you knew this dwarf. You've strange allies, Arilyn Moonblade."