She also felt oddly incomplete without the elven sword at her hip, for she had not been without the moonblade since her fifteenth year. Nor did she have a sword with which to replace it. Such weapons were scarce among the forest folk.

This lack did not escape Foxfire's notice. "You cannot go into battle without a sword," he insisted.

Arilyn shrugged. Tve got a dagger. That'll do long enough for me to disarm one of the humans." She attempted a smile. "I'll try out a few of their swords and keep the one I like best.",

"But even so, you must have a blade. If not for yourself for the good you might do the tribe-the People," he corrected himself. There were now three elven races uniting in preparation for battle, and the once reclusive Elmanesse were learning to expand their concept of community. "Not one among us can match your skill, not even Soora Thea!"

Foxfire nodded toward the tiny moon elf female, who was demonstrating an attack sequence to a small group of young adult elves.

But Arilyn shook her head. "No, her technique is far cleaner and more polished than mine could ever hope to become. If there is any lack, it is because the moonblade has grown in power since she last wielded it. At least four elves have carried the moonblade since Zoastria passed it on, and each added a power to the sword's store of magic. Truth be told, moonblades are becoming pretty damned hard to handle," she concluded. "I doubt there are many left that still hold their magic."

"And fewer still who can manage such magic," Foxfire reasoned. "The tales say such a sword will consume anyone unworthy who draws the blade. It must take great courage to accept a moonblade."

The half-elf merely shrugged. She was not being modest. She had first drawn the sword without knowing any of the implications.

"I have often wondered about the power you gave to your sword. They say this gift is not a deliberate choice, but rather the true reflection of the wielder's needs and talents," he observed.

"Or mission," Arilyn added. "Sometimes the magic comes in response to a sudden challenge. One of my ancestors found himself in a disagreement with a red dragon and ended up endowing the sword with fire resistance. Imagine his surprise when he woke up and found himself alive after that battle!"

The green elf chuckled. "So that was how you endured the wizard's fire bolts. I have seen the sword cast a glamour over you, and I have seen the uncanny speed with which it moves. Which of these was your gift?"

"Neither. A moonblade can be handled by only one person," Arilyn explained, "and that can cause problems if you've got a partner. My gift was to share the blade and its magic, should he have need of it."

"Ah. This explains much," Foxfire said.

Arilyn cast him a quizzical look.

"During the battle at the river, I was hard pressed by the human fighters," he began. "Yet I saw the shadow warriors come forth from your moonblade, and I noticed that one among them was not elven, though he quickly chose to appear so. I did not understand how this could be, until you told me you had joined with another in rapport.

"Do not look so startled," he said, smiling a bit at the stunned expression on the half-elf's face. "As you yourself told me, there are many kinds of sharing. The gift of your moonblade to this human was the deepest bonding of any you could have offered him. It reflected, as you have said, your deepest wish. And perhaps it was a needed thing, that the moonblade should do this. You were not able to see your need for this human or to find your own way to him."

The half-elf stared at her friend, utterly dumbfounded by his words-and by the realization that she could not dispute them. The power she had given the moon-blade was one of rapport, and her heart-and her sword-had chosen Danilo to share this most elven gift! How strange, that the well-intentioned lie she had offered as a balm to Foxfire's pride should turn out to be simple truth!

Poxfire's smile was slight and rueful. "You are not the first to bond with a human in one way or another. There is something about them that draws many of the People. There was a song sung among the elves of Trademeet about this very thing. I do not remember the words, but for the last line."

"How brief their flame, yet how bright they burn!" Arilyn recited. "Yes, I have heard it sung."

"And you know the words of this song to be true, as did your mother before you," he added softly.

Arilyn jolted as his meaning struck her. "You know. You know I am half-elven. You have known for some time!"

"Almost from the beginning," the elf agreed. "At first I did not speak for the same reason that Ferret held her silence: it seemed the best way to serve the clan. You were needed. Then I kept silent for your sake, and for my own. Very soon I realized your being half-elven was not important to me, nor should it matter to any of the People. Your soul is elven, else you could never have wielded a moonblade or sought another in rapport. That you have chosen to share that bond with a human does not change your elven nature or belittle it."

For the first time in her life, Arilyn truly understood the dichotomy of her own nature. "Thank you," she whispered.

Foxfire placed both hands on her shoulders. These were things which needed to be said. We go into battle tomorrow. You know what faces us, and you also know I myself must face Bunlap. He will die, or he will be avenged. Either way, this matter must end."

A slight rustle from the forest beyond caught the ears of both elves. They looked up into the bearded face of a centaur.

Arilyn remembered him from the elves' midsummer celebration. He carried a long spear and wore an expression of grim determination. Apparently Ganamede had been convincing when he carried her message to the other peoples of the forest!”

"We came as soon as we could," the centaur announced, speaking the Elvish language in a deep, grave voice. "I am Nesstiss, and there are ten centaur warriors with me. It may be that the fauns will come as well, but do not expect to see them until battle. To whom do we report?"

The appearance of the elusive centaurs galvanized the army of forest people. Their grim, quiet determination shifted toward fierce glee, even exhilaration. Shortly before dawn, they gathered for the attack, hiding among the trees that lay just beyond the portion of the forest devastated by loggers.

The scene before them was like something from the most desolate reaches of the Abyss. The rich undergrowth of the forest had been burned to ash, from which blackened tree stumps rose like giant mushrooms. An oppressive aura of despair hung Eke a shroud over the land. Yet even this stirred the children of Tethir. The ruined forest was a grim reminder to all of why they fought.

Arilyn took her place with those who would make the first surprise charge. Their numbers looked pitifully few to her eyes, and she imagined how their attack would appear to the mercenaries. On impulse, she reached into her pack for the vial Tinkersdam had given her more than a month before-the concoction he'd made from the shrieker mushrooms.

She shook the vial and unstoppered it, shook a few drops onto a square of linen, and hurried over to the centaur captain.

"Nesstiss, give me your hoof," she demanded. The centaur looked surprised, hut he obligingly bent one leg. Arilyn stooped and wiped a bit of the potion on the hoof. "Now put it down, as gently as possible."

Nesstiss eased down his hoof. The crunch of a pebble beneath it was magnified to a startling rattle. He looked at Arilyn with wonder.

"Five centaurs, charging the camp from either flank," she said with a grin. "It'll sound like a cavalry charge. That ought to wake up the mercenaries!"

She caught Zoastria's eyes upon her. The elf woman nodded in solemn approval. "Anoint the hoofs of the others, quickly," she said. "Centaurs, do as Arilyn suggests. Attack from both sides, startle the humans, and send them toward us. Then circle around to the back of their camp and continue to press them."