Silver Shadows (Song & Swords Book 3) by Elaine Cunningham

Author:Elaine Cunningham [Cunningham, Elaine]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786959723
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2011-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

Twelve

It was difficult to surprise an elf at any time, and almost impossible to creep up on a green elf in his own forest stronghold. Yet the lythari were called “silver shadows” for good reason. In his lupine form, Ganamede moved more swiftly and silently than the wind—not even the leaves rustled when he passed. And Arilyn, who rode upon his back with her arms flung tightly around his massive silver neck, thought she knew why this was so. The lythari walked between worlds, even when their feet trod upon the solid face of Toril.

They reached the outer boundaries of the Talltrees settlement late that day, slipping easily past the layers of secrecy that enfolded the elven village. The forest had strange magical properties, Ganamede had told her, that distorted the senses of outsiders. Arilyn could hold her direction as well as most rangers, but even she felt oddly disoriented as they neared the hidden village.

Nor were these the only magical barriers. Twin dryads—beautiful sylvan creatures who were not quite either human or elven—peeked out at them from behind a stand of beech trees. Any male who wandered near this lair would have the image of wondrously beautiful dryads giggling behind their white hands as his last memory of this part of Tethir forest. A male who fell under a dryad’s charm usually awoke, dazed and utterly lost, under some unfamiliar tree. When at last he found his way back to settled lands, he invariably learned that as much as a year had passed without leaving a single footprint upon his memory. It was a gossamer web that the dryads wove, but a powerful one.

Beyond the dryads’ grove, not even silent Ganamede could escape detection. Sharp-eyed elven warriors walked the surrounding forest. Other sentries, the birds and squirrels that chattered and scolded in the trees, carried warnings that were heard and heeded by the elven folk. Arilyn noted the subtle changes in the song of forest birds that no doubt announced their coming.

“They know we’re here. You might as well let me down,” she said quietly. The lythari came to a stop; Arilyn slid down and rose to her full height. She smoothed down the vest of elven chain mail, adjusted her swordbelt, and then squared her shoulders for the trial ahead.

Lifting her chin to an angle that approximated that of a proud elven courtier, Arilyn placed one hand on the lythari’s pale silver shoulder. “Here we go,” she murmured. “We should be fine, but if things start getting hostile I want you out of here like a flea off a fire newt.”

Ganamede cast an exasperated look up at her, his blue eyes stating beyond doubt what he thought of her chosen figure of speech.

A wry grin brightened Arilyn’s face—and dissipated a bit of her tension. “How indelicate of me, bringing up fleas,” she said with mock gravity. “Nearly as thoughtless as mentioning heartburn to a red dragon!”

“Are you quite through?” the lythari inquired patiently. “Or would you like to

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