Midnight Conversion

It was midsummer in Farcorners Holt, and the day's light had grown to nearly its longest span of the year, dawdling each evening almost endlessly in purple twilight. At the practice grounds, the grunts and cries of a double handful of sparring elves and the muffled clangs of their padded weapons rose above the lazy, droning buzz of the forest insects. Battleground, the weapons-master, stood with arms folded across his chest on the slope of a small hill which afforded him a good view of everything that went on.

"Keep your guard higher, Ferret!" he called, and the small wiry elf raised his wooden practice blade higher to meet Fireblade's attacks. Battleground nodded and continued to survey the scene.

Finally, satisfied for the moment with the assorted warriors' performances, Battle knelt and began organizing an armload of weapons which Fireforge had dropped off earlier. There was a double-headed axe, some heavy brightmetal bolas, an unusually curved sword, and a lance with a sharp hooked blade. "Our weaponsmith must have been trying out some new ideas this moon," Battle mused, picking up the lance and gazing out over the practice grounds. He picked out Shadesong, sparring with her quarterstaff against Wayfarer's trident. "And I think I know just who one of these is meant for."

For a while Battle just stood, his relaxed yet ready form as straight as the shaft of the lance he held, watching the two females. The sea elf had padded the barbs of her trident, but the precaution went unneeded. The two were well matched and neither got beyond the other's defenses. The weapons-master studied Shadesong's style critically. Any flaws in her skill had been corrected or compensated for long ago, and Battleground was at a loss for any suggestions for improvement. Therefore, he was pleased that today he might be able to give her a new challenge.

The match at last broke up by mutual assent, with the two combatants thoroughly winded and laughing. Battleground caught Shadesong's eye and gestured her over.

"Yes, Battleground?" inquired the older elf, laying her staff against a tree and shaking out her tired arms.

"I'd like you to get a feel of this," he replied, handing her the lance. "Tell me what you think."

Shadesong took the lance and hefted it with a frown. "Heavy!" she exclaimed, maneuvering it a bit awkwardly. After a swing and a thrust or two, she braced the butt end against the ground and offered it back to him. "Whose is it?"

"Yours, I believe," Battleground's brown eyes twinkled mischievously. "When I saw it, I thought of you."

"Oh, you silly thing!" Shadesong exclaimed, pinching his shoulder. "Why not for Blackarrow or Silvermist, or some other young warrior who hasn't settled yet on what weapon they prefer? I'm quite comfortable with my staff."

"It's similar to the staff, and it has a few advantages as well." Battle's voice glowed with enthusiasm, as it usually did during talk of arms. "A sharp cutting blade, but you can still use the blunt end if you need to. And the extra weight of the metal tip will give you some more leverage. Why, I'd wager that you could have driven Wayfarer onto her knees with the heft of this if you'd had it just now."

"Thank you, but no, Battle, the lance is far too heavy for me. Besides, it feels so awkward and unbalanced. The quarterstaff fits me like a favorite boot."

"You would develop the strength for it. It only feels heavy because you're used to the lighter staff." Battle's normally smiling face grew serious. "When I was fighting the trolls at Stormwatch's last hunt, my quarterstaff was just not enough. I had to turn to brightmetal to survive that battle."

"I remember that dark day, my friend," said Shadesong softly. "You had a wounded arm. If both your arms had been whole, you would have slain eight trolls with your staff."

Battle's face returned to its accustomed smile. "Perhaps." He paused. "But think about it, Shadesong. And if you get bored with your quarterstaff, you know where to come."

"I will consider it, I promise. Thank you, Battleground."

Battle started down the slope to tutor some young students. Shadesong stepped down to the foot of the hill and began vigorously swinging and whipping around her quarterstaff in her habitual workout.

Halfmoon, the chief's brother, was seated nearby, sharpening his sword. He was not close enough to have heard the conversation, but he had watched the two black-tressed heads bent together. From the way the lance had been passed back and forth, and Shadesong's shaking her head, he guessed what had been said. Strange, he thought, that one considered so wise should act such a fool! Aloud, he said, "You know, Shadesong, when my sword is so sharp that sharpening it any further is pointless, I stop and sharpen my axe instead."

Shadesong's eyes did not stray from her swift-flying staff. "You have no axe, Halfmoon."

"Ah, but now I do." He abruptly rose and stalked up the slope to the pile of arms, pulling out the long-shafted, heavy axe. He swung it in his two hands a few times to get the feel of it as he descended again.

"You're speaking nonsense!"

"I'm speaking a riddle."

Shadesong stopped her exercise, and turned to look Halfmoon in the face. Her dark eyes met his single blue one. "Speaking in riddles is Aspen's business. Speak plainly to me."

A dry chuckle escaped his throat. "Yes. I must remember not to usurp the prerogatives of my elders. My thought was that you do yourself no good by continuing to practice the quarterstaff. You have grown no better with it during my lifetime that I have seen. Since we have Fireforge to supply us metal, you need not be limited in your choice of weapons as perhaps you once were. Why you do not try something new for a change escapes me."

"The quarterstaff suits me very well, Halfmoon." She leaned upon the staff and regarded him calmly. "And I may not grow any better with practice, but without it I can only grow worse."

"And with that, I must be satisfied." Halfmoon slung the axe over his shoulder and nodded. "Good day, then."

Shadesong recalled this incident a few days later, reconsidering the offer as she had promised Battleground she would. The lance had its advantages, as he had noted, but it felt so strange in her hands. How long would it take her to get proficient with it - two turns? Five? Eight? And in the meanwhile her quarterstaff skill would suffer - she was sure of it. The two arms were similar enough that training on one would throw her off on the other.

No, better to continue as she was. And the nerve of Halfmoon, to stick his snout in where it didn't belong! Perhaps she should have scolded him. That was one cub who still had to learn his manners. He'd shown his true colors when he'd tried to challenge Icebane's right to be chief. Everyone knew that Stormwatch had wanted Icebane to succeed him. Shadesong herself cleaved to the Way and felt that it was necessary to the well-being of the tribe. She prided herself on having an open mind - she hadn't said a word when her son Whiteflash and his Recognized mate had decided not to become lifemates - but Halfmoon went too far. The way his words had twisted things after Stormwatch's death! He'd almost rent the tribe in two. Shadesong shuddered. No, she knew which weapon was right for her - and if Halfmoon disagreed, so much the more right she must be.

With that little matter resolved, Shadesong's thoughts returned to the present. She walked alongside her wolf, Silverclaw, down a woodland path just beyond the perimeter of the Holt. On Silverclaw's back were Gossamer and Hunter, whom Shadesong was babysitting. The brown-eyed woman smiled to see the awe on the twins' faces as they looked, wide-eyed, at the unknown territory. The adults of Farcorners would not even spare a glance as they rode along this familiar path on their way out to hunt. But soon these two would bond with wolf-friends of their own, and not too much later the world would open up to them as they explored everywhere on wolfback. At least, Gossamer would - it seemed Hunter's interests would remain focussed on the Holt.

Gossamer fairly bounced on the elderly she-wolf's bony back as she turned her head from side to side, threatening to dislodge the golden headpiece from her silvery golden curls. Hunter, sitting quietly behind her, got a faceful of hair.

"Watch it!" he cried. Gossamer giggled and settled down - for a moment, anyway.

"Shadesong, why don't you ride with us?" inquired Hunter.

"Poor Silverclaw's too old to carry so much."

"She feels strong!" exclaimed Gossamer in her sweet voice.

"She loves to carry children. It makes her feel young again."

"Can we go over there?" asked Gossamer, pointing to a copse of trees beyond a meadow.

"Certainly, Gossamer. Let's see how quiet we can be as we enter the woods." Shadesong guided the wolf off the path. "Now remember, children, once we leave the path, what do we do?"

**We send instead of talk!** chorused the twins.

**Very good! Why do we do that?**

**Because it's dangerous,** answered Hunter.

**So we can sneak up on game,** answered Gossamer.

**Both good answers,** replied Shadesong.

The three elves moved in silence through the woods. There had been rain earlier, and water still dripped now and then from the trees. The grass was heavy with droplets. Moonlight reflected off them like crystals, for the sky had now cleared up. The greater moon moved almost a handspan while the children explored under Shadesong's careful supervision. The cubs dismounted several times to examine things they'd found--some colorful poisonous mushrooms, glowing foxfire in a rotten log, an abandoned den. They ran across the prints of a rabbit, most likely the one that had been getting into the garden lately and which One-Berry had vowed to eat for dinner soon. They had begun to track the rabbit with great enthusiasm when Silverclaw and Shadesong suddenly lifted their noses at the same time. **What is that stench?** the elf sent, as the wolf pricked her ears and began to bristle.

**I smell it too,** added Hunter. He screwed up his face in disgust.

The vile smell seemed to be coming from downwind, so it must have been very strong indeed. Shadesong took a few careful steps into the brush towards the scent. Her heart began to pound and she froze in her tracks -- along with the wretched stink was now the unmistakable smell of troll.

**Trolls! Children, don't make a sound! Don't move! This is serious!** Shadesong sent, aghast. Trolls, so close to the Holt!

She open-sent a wordless alarm to any elf in range. A glittering constellation of sending stars flared in response, from the two nearest watch-elves and a scattering of others who were within her mind's reach. Her concentration was suddenly broken by an ugly trollish whisper that shot through the night like a crash. "Didja hear that, Cracknail? Was that an elf?" Shadesong froze - the trolls could be no further than the other side of the bush.

With the other elves alerted and on their way, Shadesong was poised to return to Silverclaw's side and sneak the children away as quickly as possible. But she was so close to the trolls - if she could get a look at them, she could tell the others exactly what to expect. It should be safe enough. Whatever that troll had thought he had heard, it hadn't been her or the cubs.

**Be brave, children, stay quiet, you're doing very well,** she sent. She silently leaned forward and peered out into the tiny clearing beyond the bush. She could see the trolls, two of them, one squatting right in front of her and one standing a short distance away. The squatting one was the source of the stench - now she could smell his fear, which had loosened his bowels. He was so close she could see every dimple on his pasty green buttocks. The standing one's scent was healthier, stronger, and without fear.

"I only hear you farting, ya coward," jeered the standing troll. "This is elf territory, sure, but if you're lucky enough to actually run in to any of those elves you're so scared of on your first scouting trip, I'll let you use my helmet for a piss-pot."

**There are two trolls in this clearing. They don't know we're here.** Shadesong briefly sized them up so she could conclude her open sending with a description of the trolls' weapons before she retreated. The squatting troll was armed with a long sword. The standing one, Cracknail, was about the same size as the other, maybe a little heavier, and was armed with a barbed mace. In contrast to his uneasy companion, he was cool as a streambed pebble, casually picking his teeth with a knife while he waited for the other to finish.

**I'm afraid!** sent Hunter, clinging more tightly to Silverclaw's back.

The squatting troll half-stood and began pulling up clumps of grass. Shadesong could see that he was gawky, perhaps not yet fully grown. "You ready yet?" demanded Cracknail with scorn. The little knife in his hand caught Shadesong's eye as the moonlight flashed steely gray on its blade.

**We're going straight back to the Holt now,** Shadesong began. **We-** There was a deep golden flash at the knife's pommel. "No!" the cry left her throat before she could contain it.

Both trolls' heads swiveled and their eyes fixed where she was. They seemed as shocked as she herself felt. Shadesong's heart dropped into the depths of her belly and everything was horrible, horrible, and her only cogent thought was that the twins must escape.

**Go-run-home-fast** she wolf-sent to Silverclaw. The valiant old wolf would never have abandoned her bond-friend but for the cublings on her back. Shadesong gratefully heard a crashing in the underbrush as the she-wolf sped away, even as she herself sprang into the clearing. Cracknail was rushing over to the source of the disturbance. Shadesong's staff whistled through the air and clipped the other one in the face. He yelped and tripped backwards, clutching wildly for balance. Then Cracknail was upon her, deadly quick, and she was busy parrying the mace. With a swift twist she almost disarmed him but he recovered his grip and pressed on, harder.

"C'mon, gimme a hand here!" Cracknail cried. But Shadesong could see, as he could not, that his companion had staggered to his feet and was trying to run away. He hadn't yet fastened his breeches and they tangled around his ankles for a moment, nearly tripping him again. He pulled them up and, holding them with one hand and clutching his bloody nose with the other, raced from the clearing as if the whole wolfpack was on his heels.

Shadesong howled as she tried another attack. The troll parried her without effort and swung his mace again. Parrying his heavy blows was more a matter of dodging than deflecting. Baring her teeth, she tried again. The fierceness of her attacks surprised even herself. Several times she scored hits but they didn't slow the troll down much. Shadesong growled as she aimed a blow to his groin. He blocked her with the mace and swung it around, gathering momentum for a powerful strike. This time she dodged with a graceful leap to one side of him and smote him heavily on the back of his head. This blow would have shattered the skull of a deer; but now she realized that the strange hat he wore was padded and reinforced. He didn't even seem to have felt the blow as he twisted around and let the mace swing at her again. Her parry was poor. Blocked by the quarterstaff in her upraised arms, the mace bore down and Shadesong went down on one knee, then both knees.

Time to run, daughter of Wind, she thought, and she abruptly dropped the left side of the staff and rolled backwards. But Cracknail was quick stepping after her, and a wild swing of the mace caught her right arm from behind and tossed her to one side.

She scrambled up, the useless arm dangling, as fast as she could. But the troll caught hold of her head in his massive left hand and from the corner of her eye she saw his right hand raising the wicked mace up for a deathblow. Squirming for her life, she swung out blindly with the staff, still clutched in her left hand. It didn't connect, but the grip of that monstrous hand slackened, and she twisted away and fell to the ground.

... And the troll fell even as Shadesong fell. On her knees she scuttled away, but the troll lay still, an arrow of Icebane's fletching protruding from his eye.

The area was silent for a moment, and Shadesong became aware of the wheezing rattle of her own breaths as she panted heavily, the gulp of her indrawn breath even louder than the expulsion. The breaths choked into sobs.

Suddenly there were elves all around her. Silvermist and Redgyr were checking the troll's corpse, another group set out after the fear-trail of the other one, while Icebane took Shadesong into his arms. **Are you unhurt?** he sent, demanding answer.

**I feel nothing,** was all she could reply.

Checking her body, he found the arm wound from the barbed mace, the flesh in ribbons along her forearm. He winced at it, but the bones were not broken. It could be healed easily enough. She had no other mark on her. He wrapped and secured a clean cloth around her arm.

Now that urgent matters were seen to, the most puzzling remained. **But why, Shadesong?** Why had the most patient and level-headed of huntresses suddenly leapt at a dangerous quarry without provocation? The twins' frantic sendings had agreed, she had attacked before reinforcements arrived and with children still near.

Shadesong, sobbing openly, could neither speak nor send. She shook in Icebane's arms.

"Here's your answer," said Coyote pragmatically, holding up the troll's little dagger. In the hands of an elf, it was a shortsword.

"Besvrin's grief!" the chief swore, taking it. Icebane had been young, not even two eights of turns to his name, when Shadesong's sons had left the Holt, but he remembered this sword. The pommel was a large topaz clutched by a bronze hawk's claw. It had belonged to Sunhawk, her eldest.

"There couldn't be two like that, could there?" asked Frostbite.

"Nay, Fireforge made it," replied Coyote. "And Topaz shaped the hilt and cut the stone. See, it's her style."

"What!? What about the sword?" demanded Camino.

"It was her son's," stated Icebane. "The brothers left us some time ago, to be wandering traders. Did you think of that, Shadesong - you needn't assume the worst. Perhaps he traded it to someone else, and the troll came by it later."

Shadesong shivered, seemingly withdrawn inside herself. But she could finally speak. "It was my gift to him. He - he would never have parted with it."

Camino spoke up with a confidence that shrugged aside such considerations. "Maybe he lost it in a game. More than once I've lost things I'd be ashamed to let my mother know I'd wagered." She cast a frank look of appraisal at the bronze-handled shortsword. "Or perhaps it was stolen. There are plenty of lightfingers out there."

Icebane glanced at Camino, a bit taken aback. He knew she was realistic enough not to cling to false hope when odds were that the brothers were dead or imprisoned by trolls. As matter-of-fact as she sounded, he realized that her words were actually of compassion.

The chief stood. There were things that needed to be done before such speculation could continue. "Camino, Coyote - track the trolls back to their hole - we need to know where they came from. Redgyr, Silvermist, Frostbite - examine the body and see if you can figure out what they were up to. Then dispose of it. Shadesong..." He paused while he composed what he had to say. This was one of the things about being chief that he liked least, especially in this case. But discipline had to be meted out where it was due.

"Shadesong, you endangered the tribe with your rash action here. You were entrusted to care for those cubs, yet you abandoned them for your personal concerns. What do you have to say for yourself?"

The sobs threatened to well up again, but Shadesong suppressed them. Tears sprang uncontrollably and ran down her cheeks as she turned her head aside, revealing her full throat to Icebane. "I regret it deeply, my chief," she choked. "It will never happen again. I'll never lose control like that again."

Icebane held out his hands to her. "Now come, elder," he said gently. "I will take you back to the Holt." He helped her to her feet, and it was obvious that numbness had left her. From the way she favored her arm, the pain was blazing in it like the red blood bright against it.

Shadesong appeared at the practice grounds on the day that Raintree said she might, and not a day sooner. (Raintree gently joked that she wished Shadesong would get injured more often as she was such an obedient patient.) Moonlight winked from her silver headband as she, almost hesitantly, approached Battleground.

"Shadesong - my eyes see with joy," Battle said warmly. He reached a hand to clasp her shoulder.

"My hand touches with joy," she replied, and added, **Your touch means more to me than you can know. Your grandchildren - if any harm - **

**Send no more. They were unharmed. That's what's important.**

"Everyone has been so kind to me," Shadesong murmured. She dipped her head and sighed. "What's important now is that I not be quite so outmatched next time. You were right, Battleground, I need a cutting edge against these foes, and more heft. Will you show me that lance again?"

Battleground smiled in reply. His silky hair flipped neatly over his shoulder as he turned and led the female by the hand back to where the weapons were cached. The weapons-master gave her the lance, and spent a short time talking to her about the basics of its use. After setting aside a time later for him to tutor her further, he had to leave to attend to the regular pupils that awaited him.

Shadesong made straight for the stump that elves usually sparred against for solitary practice. Her stomach clenched when she saw that someone had decked it with the helmet of the troll she had fought. She had to look away for a moment...

To find herself looking straight into the eye of Halfmoon. He was wrestling with Moonblade, but he paused to regard her intently, impassionately taking in the new weapon she held. His eye slowly shut, then opened again.

For a heartbeat Shadesong was alarmed, and puzzled. Then she recognized the gesture, so odd-looking on the face of a one-eyed elf. A smile grew on her lips as she returned the wink.