GUENHWYVAR

R. A. Salvatore

Josidiah Starym skipped wistfully down the streets of

Cormanthor, the usually stern and somber elf a bit giddy

this day, both for the beautiful weather and the recent developments

in his most precious and enchanted city. Josidiah

was a bladesinger, a joining of sword and magic, protector of

the elvish ways and the elvish folk. And in Cormanthor, in

this year 253, many elves were in need of protecting. Goblinkin

were abundant, and even worse, the emotional turmoil

within the city, the strife among the noble familiesthe

Starym includedthreatened to tear apart all that Coronal

Eltargrim had put together, all that the elves had built in

Cormanthor, greatest city in all the world.

Those were not troubles for this day, though, not in the

spring sunshine, with a light north breeze blowing. Even

Josidiahs kin were in good spirits this day; Taleisin, his uncle,

had promised the bladesinger that he would venture to

Eltargrims court to see if some of their disputes might perhaps

be worked out.

Josidiah prayed that the elven court would come back together,

for he, perhaps above all others in the city, had the

most to lose. He was a bladesinger, the epitome of what it

meant to be elven, and yet, in this curious age, those definitions

seemed not so clear. This was an age of change, of great

magics, of monumental decisions. This was an age when the

humans, the gnomes, the halflings, even the bearded

dwarves, ventured down the winding ways of Cormanthor,

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past the needle-pointed spires of the free-flowing elvish

structures. For all of Josidiahs previous one hundred and

fifty years, the precepts of elvenkind seemed fairly defined

and rigid; but now, because of their Coronal, wise and gentle

Eltargrim, there was much dispute about what it meant to

be elvish, and, more importantly, what relationships elves

should foster with the other goodly races.

Merry morn, Josidiah, came the call of an elven female,

the young and beautiful maiden niece of Eltargrim himself.

She stood on a balcony overlooking a high garden whose

buds were not yet in bloom, with the avenue beyond that.

Josidiah stopped in midstride, leapt high into the air in a

complete spin, and landed perfectly on bended knee, his long

golden hair whipping across his face and then flying out wide

again so that his eyes, the brightest of blue, flashed. And

the merriest of morns to you, good Felicity, the bladesinger

responded. Would that I held at my sides flowers befitting

your beauty instead of these blades made for war.

Blades as beautiful as any flower ever I have seen, Felicity

replied teasingly, especially when wielded by Josidiah

Starym at dawns break, on the flat rock atop Berenguils

Peak.

The bladesinger felt the hot blood rushing to his face. He

had suspected that someone had been spying on him at his

morning ritualsa dance with his magnificent swords, performed

nudeand now he had his confirmation. Perhaps

Felicity should join me on the morrows dawn, he replied,

catching his breath and his dignity, that I might properly

reward her for her spying.

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The young female laughed heartily and spun back into

her house, and Josidiah shook his head and skipped along.

He entertained thoughts of how he might properly reward

the mischievous female, though he feared that, given Felicitys

beauty and station, any such attempts might lead to

something much more, something Josidiah could not become

involved innot now, not after Eltargrims proclamation and

the drastic changes.

The bladesinger shook away all such notions; it was too

fine a day for any dark musing, and other thoughts of Felicity

were too distracting for the meeting at hand. Josidiah

went out of Cormanthors west gate, the guards posted there

offering no more than a respectful bow as he passed, and into

the open air. Truly Josidiah loved this city, but he loved the

land outside of it even more. Out here he was truly free of all

the worries and all the petty squabbles, and out here there

was ever a sense of dangermight a goblin be watching him

even now, its crude spear ready to take him down?that

kept the formidable elf on his highest guard.

Out here, too, was a friend, a human friend, a rangerturned-

wizard by the name of Anders Beltgarden, whom

Josidiah had known for the better part of four decades. Anders

did not venture into Cormanthor, even given Eltargrims

proclamation to open the gates to nonelves. He lived

far from the normal, oft-traveled paths, in a squat tower of

excellent construction, guarded by magical wards and deceptions

of his own making. Even the forest about his home was

full of misdirections, spells of illusion and confusion. So secretive

was Beltgarden Home that few elves of nearby Cormanthor

even knew of it, and even fewer had ever seen it.

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And of those, none save Josidiah could find his way back to it

without Anderss help.

And Josidiah held no illusions about itif Anders wanted

to hide the paths to the tower even from him, the cagey old

wizard would have little trouble doing so.

This wonderful day, however, it seemed to Josidiah that

the winding paths to Beltgarden Home were easier to follow

than usual, and when he arrived at the structure, he found

the door unlocked.

Anders, he called, peering into the darkened hallway

beyond the portal, which always smelled as if a dozen candles

had just been extinguished within it. Old fool, are you

about?

A feral growl put the bladesinger on his guard; his swords

were in his hands in a movement too swift for an observer to

follow.

Anders? he called again, quietly, as he picked his way

along the corridor, his feet moving in perfect balance, soft

boots gently touching the stone, quiet as a hunting cat.

The growl came again, and that is exactly when Josidiah

knew what he was up against: a hunting cat. A big one, the

bladesinger recognized, for the deep growl resonated along

the stone of the hallway.

He passed by the first doors, opposite each other in the

hall, and then passed the second on his left.

The thirdhe knewthe sound came from within the

third. That knowledge gave the bladesinger some hope that

this situation was under control, for that particular door led

to Anderss alchemy shop, a place well guarded by the old

wizard.

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Josidiah cursed himself for not being better prepared

magically. He had studied few spells that day, thinking it too

fine and not wanting to waste a moment of it with his face

buried in spellbooks.

If only he had some spell that might get him into the room

more quickly, through a magical gate, or even a spell that

would send his probing vision through the stone wall, into

the room before him.

He had his swords, at least, and with them, Josidiah

Starym was far from helpless. He put his back against the

wall near to the door and took a deep steadying breath.

Then, without delayold Anders might be in serious trouble

the bladesinger spun about and crashed into the room.

He felt the arcs of electricity surging into him as he

crossed the warded portal, and then he was flying, hurled

through the air, to land crashing at the base of a huge oaken

table. Anders Beltgarden stood calmly at the side of the table,

working with something atop it, hardly bothering to look

down at the stunned bladesinger.

You might have knocked, the old mage said dryly.

Josidiah pulled himself up unceremoniously from the

floor, his muscles not quite working correctly just yet. Convinced

that there was no danger near, Josidiah let his gaze

linger on the human, as he often did. The bladesinger hadnt

seen many humans in his lifehumans were a recent addition

on the north side of the Sea of Fallen Stars, and were

not present in great numbers in or about Cormanthor.

This one was the most curious human of all, with his

leathery, wrinkled face and his wild gray beard. One of Anderss

eyes had been ruined in a fight, and it appeared quite

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dead now, a gray film over the lustrous green it had once

held. Yes, Josidiah could stare at old Anders for hours on

end, seeing the tales of a lifetime in his scars and wrinkles.

Most of the elves, Josidiahs own kinfolk included, would

have thought the old man an ugly thing; elves did not wrinkle

and weather so, but aged beautifully, appearing at the

end of several centuries as they had when they had seen but

twenty or fifty winters.

Josidiah did not think Anders an ugly sight, not at all.

Even those few crooked teeth remaining in the mans mouth

complemented this creature he had become, this aged and

wise creature, this sculptured monument to years under the

sun and in the face of storms, to seasons battling goblinkin

and giantkind. Truly it seemed ridiculous to Josidiah that he

was twice this mans age; he wished he might carry a few

wrinkles as testament to his experiences.

You had to know it would be warded, Anders laughed.

Of course you did! Ha ha, just putting on a show, then.

Giving an old man one good laugh before he dies!

You will outlive me, I fear, old man, said the bladesinger.

Indeed, that is a distinct possibility if you keep crossing

my doors unannounced.

I feared for you, Josidiah explained, looking around the

huge roomtoo huge, it seemed, to fit inside the tower, even

if it had consumed an entire level. The bladesinger suspected

some extradimensional magic to be at work here, but he had

never been able to detect it, and the frustrating Anders certainly

wasnt letting on.

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As large as it was, Anderss alchemy shop was still a cluttered

place, with boxes piled high and tables and cabinets

strewn about in a hodgepodge.

I heard a growl, the elf continued. A hunting cat.

Without looking up from some vials he was handling, Anders

nodded his head in the direction of a large, blanketcovered

container. See that you do not get too close, the old

mage said with a wicked cackle. Old Whiskers will grab you

by the arm and tug you in, dont you doubt!

And then youll need more than your shiny swords, Anders

cackled on.

Josidiah wasnt even listening, pacing quietly toward the

blanket, moving silently so as not to disturb the cat within.

He grabbed the edge of the blanket and, moving safely back,

tugged it away. And then the bladesingers jaw surely

drooped.

It was a cat, as he had suspected, a great black panther,

twiceno thricethe size of the largest cat Josidiah had

ever seen or heard of. And the cat was female, and females

were usually much smaller than males. She paced the cage

slowly, methodically, as if searching for some weakness,

some escape, her rippling muscles guiding her along with

unmatched grace.

How did you come by such a magnificent beast? the

bladesinger asked. His voice apparently startled the panther,

stopping her in her tracks. She stared at Josidiah with an intensity

that stole any further words right from the bladesingers

mouth.

Oh, I have my ways, elf, the old mage said. Ive been

looking for just the right cat for a long, long time, searching

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all the known worldand bits of it that are not yet known to

any but me!

But why? Josidiah asked, his voice no more than a

whisper. His question was aimed as much at the magnificent

panther as at the old mage, and truly, the bladesinger could

think of no reason to justify putting such a creature into a

cage.

You remember my tale of the box canyon, Anders replied,

of how my mentor and I flew owl-back out of the

clutches of a thousand goblins?

Josidiah nodded and smiled, remembering well that

amusing story. A moment later, though, when the implications

of Anderss words hit him fully, the elf turned back to

the mage, a scowl clouding his fair face. The figurine,

Josidiah muttered, for the owl had been but a statuette, enchanted

to bring forth a great bird in times of its masters

need. There were many such objects in the world, many in

Cormanthor, and Josidiah was not unacquainted with the

methods of constructing them (though his own magics were

not strong enough along the lines of enchanting). He looked

back to the great panther, saw a distinct sadness there, then

turned back sharply to Anders.

The cat must be killed at the moment of preparation,

the bladesinger protested. Thus her life energies will be

drawn into the statuette you will have created.

Working on that even now, Anders said lightly. I have

hired a most excellent dwarven craftsman to fashion a panther

statuette. The finest craftsman . . . er, craftsdwarf, in all

the area. Fear not, the statuette will do the cat justice.

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Justice? the bladesinger echoed skeptically, looking once

more into the intense, intelligent yellow-green eyes of the

huge panther. You will kill the cat?

I offer the cat immortality, Anders said indignantly.

You offer death to her will, and slavery to her body,

snapped Josidiah, more angry than he had ever been with

old Anders. The bladesinger had seen figurines and thought

them marvelous artifacts, despite the sacrifice of the animal

in question. Even Josidiah killed deer and wild pig for his

table, after all. So why should a wizard not create some useful

item from an animal?

But this time it was different, Josidiah sensed in his

heart. This animal, this great and free cat, must not be so

enslaved.

You will make the panther . . . Josidiah began.

Whiskers, explained Anders.

The panther . . . the bladesinger reiterated forcefully,

unable to come to terms with such a foolish name being

tagged on this animal. You will make the panther a tool, an

animation that will function to the will of her master.

What would one expect? the old mage argued. What

else would one want?

Josidiah shrugged and sighed helplessly. Independence,

he muttered.

Then what would be the point of my troubles?

Josidiahs expression clearly showed his thinking. An independent

magical companion might not be of much use to

an adventurer in a dangerous predicament, but it would

surely be preferable from the sacrificed animals point of

view.

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You chose wrong, bladesinger, Anders teased. You

should have studied as a ranger. Surely your sympathies lie

in that direction!

A ranger, the bladesinger asked, as Anders Beltgarden

once was?

The old mage blew a long and helpless sigh.

Have you so given up the precepts of your former trade in

exchange for the often ill-chosen allure of magical

mysteries?

Oh, and a fine ranger you would have been, Anders replied

dryly.

Josidiah shrugged. My chosen profession is not so different,

he reasoned.

Anders silently agreed. Indeed, the man did see much of

his own youthful and idealistic self in the eyes of Josidiah

Starym. That was the curious thing about elves, he noted,

that this one, who was twice Anderss present age, reminded

him so much of himself when he had but a third his present

years.

When will you begin? Josidiah asked.

Begin? scoffed Anders. Why, I have been at work over

the beast for nearly three weeks, and spent six months before

that in preparing the scrolls and powders, the oils, the

herbs. Not an easy process, this. And not inexpensive, I

might add! Do you know what price a gnome places on the

simplest of metal filings, pieces so fine that they might be

safely added to the cats food?

Josidiah found that he really did not want to continue

along this line of discussion. He did not want to know about

the poisoningand that was indeed what he considered it to

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beof the magnificent panther. He looked back to the cat,

looked deep into her intense eyes, intelligent so far beyond

what he would normally expect.

Fine day outside, the bladesinger muttered, not that he

believed that Anders would take a moment away from his

work to enjoy the weather. Even my stubborn Uncle Taleisin,

Lord Protector of House Starym, wears a face touched

by sunshine.

Anders snorted. Then he will be smiling this day when he

lays low Coronal Eltargrim with a right hook?

That caught Josidiah off his guard, and he took up Anderss

infectious laughter. Indeed was Taleisin a stubborn

and crusty elf, and if Josidiah returned to House Starym this

day to learn that his uncle had punched the elf Coronal, he

would not be surprised.

It is a momentous decision that Eltargrim has made,

Anders said suddenly, seriously. And a brave one. By including

the other goodly races, your Coronal has begun the

turning of the great wheel of fate, a spin that will not easily

be stopped.

For good or for ill?

That is for a seer to know, Anders replied with a shrug.

But his choice was the right one, I am sure, though not

without its risks. The old mage snorted again. A pity, he

said, even were I a young man, I doubt I would see the outcome

of Eltargrims decision, given the way elves measure

the passage of time. How many centuries will pass before the

Starym even decide if they will accept Eltargrims decree?

That brought another chuckle from Josidiah, but not a

long-lived one. Anders had spoken of risks, and certainly

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there were many. Several prominent families, and not just

the Starym, were outraged by the immigration of peoples

that many haughty elves considered to be of inferior races.

There were even a few mixed marriages, elf and human,

within Cormanthor, but any offspring of such unions were

surely ostracized.

My people will come to accept Eltargrims wise council,

the elf said at length, determinedly.

I pray you are right, said Anders, for surely Cormanthor

will face greater perils than the squabbling of stubborn

elves.

Josidiah looked at him curiously.

Humans and halflings, gnomes and, most importantly,

dwarves, walking among the elves, living in Cormanthor,

Anders muttered. Why, I would guess that the goblinkin savor

the thought of such an occurrence, that all their hated

enemies be mixed together into one delicious stew!

Together we are many times more powerful, the bladesinger

argued. Human wizards oft exceed even our own.

Dwarves forge mighty weapons, and gnomes create wondrous

and useful items, and halflings, yes, even halflings, are

cunning allies, and dangerous adversaries.

I do not disagree with you, Anders said, waving his

tanned and leathery right hand, three-fingered from a goblin

bite, in the air to calm the elf. And as I have said, Eltargrim

chose correctly. But pray you that the internal disputes are

settled, else the troubles of Cormanthor will come tenfold

from without.

Josidiah calmed and nodded; he really couldnt disagree

with old Anderss reasoning, and had, in fact, harbored those

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same fears for many days. With all the goodly races coming

together under one roof, the chaotic goblinkin would have

cause to band together in numbers greater than ever before.

If the varied folk of Cormanthor stood together, gaining

strength in their diversity, those goblinkin, whatever their

numbers, would surely be pushed away. But if the folk of

Cormanthor could not s ee their w a y to such a da y of unity . . .

Josidiah let the thought hang outside consciousness, put

it aside for another day, a day of rain and fog, perhaps. He

looked back to the panther and sighed even more sadly,

feeling helpless indeed. Treat the cat well, Anders Beltgarden,

he said, and he knew that the old man, once a ranger,

would indeed do so.

Josidiah left then, making his way more slowly as he returned

to the elven city. He saw Felicity again on the balcony,

wearing a slight silken shift and a mischievous, inviting

smile, but he passed her by with a wave. The bladesinger

suddenly did not feel so much in the mood for play.

Many times in the next few weeks, Josidiah returned to

Anderss tower and sat quietly before the cage, silently communing

with the panther while the mage went about his

work.

She will be yours when I am done, Anders announced

unexpectedly, one day when spring had turned to summer.

Josidiah stared blankly at the old man.

The cat, I mean, said Anders. Whiskers will be yours

when my work is done.

Josidiahs blue eyes opened wide in horror, though Anders

interpreted the look as one of supreme elation.

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Shell do me little use, explained the mage. I rarely

venture out of doors these days, and in truth, have little faith

that I will live much more than a few winters longer. Who

better to have my most prized creation, I say, than Josidiah

Starym, my friend and he who should have been a ranger?

I shall not accept, Josidiah said abruptly, sternly.

Anderss eyes widened in surprise.

I would be forever reminded of what the cat once was,

said the elf, and what she should be. Whenever I called the

slave body to my side, whenever this magnificent creature

sat on her haunches, awaiting my command to bring life to

her limbs, I would feel that I had overstepped my bounds as

a mortal, that I had played as a god with one undeserving

my foolish intervention.

Its just an animal! Anders protested.

Josidiah was glad to see that he had gotten through to the

old mage, a man the elf knew to be too sensitive for this present

undertaking.

No, said the elf, turning to stare deeply into the panthers

knowing eyes. Not this one. He fell silent, then, and

Anders, with a huff of protest, went back to his work, leaving

the elf to sit and stare, to silently share his thoughts with

the panther.

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