Elfshadow fr-2

by Elaine Cunningham

"Yes."

  "Yes, it's just my imagination?"

  "No."

  "Oh."

  The exchange silenced Danilo. Arilyn urged her horse forward, intending to make camp at the stream that lay just beyond the far bank of trees.

  They ate well that night, for a couple of plump rabbits inexplicably wandered into Danilo's snares. He swore roundly that skill, not magic, had been employed in the hunt. Arilyn did not believe him for a moment, but she was too tired and hungry to argue. Danilo even dressed and roasted the rabbits, seasoning them with the herbs and wine his magic sack yielded. The result was surprisingly good, and the travelers ate the greasy, savory meat in silence. Finally they slept, watched over by the vigilant magic of the moonblade. When daybreak came, Arilyn set their course for Waterdeep.

  * * * * *

  Sunrise colors still stained the sky when a large, shadowy figure slipped from his hiding place among the trees. He watched as the unlikely pair mounted and headed westward. To his way of thinking, with the High Moor to the south and the rugged Greypeak Mountains to the north, the half-elf had only one logical path to Waterdeep. She had surprised him before, of course, in choosing to brave the dangers of Chelimber.

  The dark figure doubted that Arilyn Moonblade would take on the moor's trolls, or the orc tribes and black dragons that roamed the craggy Greypeak range. He'd followed and watched her since she'd left the Vale of Darkhold, and she seemed to know this area as well as he himself did. She must know that only one route offered relative safety. So he waited, allowing the adventurer and her companion a good lead. There had been several times when she had almost seen him, and he would not take any more chances, not until he was ready to make his move.

  The morning was half spent when finally he urged his mount forward. Effortlessly he picked up the trail of the two pampered polo horses, and with a sense of reluctance he followed his latest quarry.

  Eight

  The east wind blew in strongly from the sea, carrying with it a chill drizzle. Every now and then a capricious gust extinguished one of the lanterns that lit the Trade Way to Waterdeep.

  Despite the weather, the travelers waiting outside of Waterdeep's South Gate were in a merry mood. The Feast of the Moon would begin early the next morning, and the crowd looked forward to days of revelry and commerce. For the next tenday the streets of Waterdeep would be lined with vendors and enlivened by wandering entertainers. Most of the trade would center around the Market and the adjacent Bazaar Street, but the whole city was prepared for festivity.

  It was a mixed group that gathered outside the South Gate. There were the usual market caravans carrying goods from the east and from the southern land routes. Artisans brought carts and wagons laden with goods for the open air markets. Travelers from all walks of life came to Waterdeep to lay in supplies for the winter and to enjoy one last outing before the cold weather settled in and rendered them virtually housebound.

  Itinerant musicians and entertainers made good use of the delay to perform, displaying their money pots prominently and taking advantage of their captive audience. A large group gathered to watch a beautiful dancer, who was garbed only in the filmy draperies of a Calimshite harem, sway sinuously to the plaintive music of a wooden horn. The crowd around her grew larger as the rain rendered her costume more and more transparent. Not far away, four male dancers from the jungle of Chult whirled and circled. Their garments were embroidered with exotic flowers, and the bells attached to their bare ankles jingled emphatically as they stamped out a counterpoint to the flowing rhythm of their tawny arms and bodies. Several paces away, a dexterous halfling juggled an assortment of small weapons. A few of the food vendors were doing a brisk, impromptu business, and the clinking of exchanged coins threatened to drown out the sound of the autumn rain.

  The South Gate guard had been doubled to deal with the expected crowds, and the officials checked papers and hustled people through the gates with brisk efficiency. The rain picked up, and the chilled and weary guard began to speed up the process even further. One of them, recognizing Lord Thann's youngest son, merely touched his forehead in respect and waved the young man through, sparing hardly a glance to the slight, dark-cloaked figure that rode beside him.

  "Notoriety has its advantages," Danilo cheerfully told his companion. If Arilyn heard him she made no sign. She followed his horse north onto the High Road, a broad, cobblestoned street that was the main thoroughfare of the South Ward. This area was the point of entry for most of Waterdeep's inland trade, and it was lined with tidy stables and warehouses, as well as a number of inviting inns and taverns.

  Waterdeep was indeed prepared to welcome an influx of travelers. Buildings blazed with light. Stablehands and porters bustled about, taking care of goods and beasts. Innkeepers welcomed their guests with cheery alacrity.

  Danilo and Arilyn passed by the first few inns without stopping, for swarms of travelers were already being turned away. As they headed north the housing situation did not improve, and the storm worsened. The once-pampered mares sloshed resignedly through the puddles, their heads lowered against the driving rain. Danilo motioned for Arilyn to follow him, and he steered his mare out of the crowd and onto the first of a series of small, winding side streets.

  They passed a string of warehouses, then a small trade district where tidy shops crowded companionably together on either side of the street. Dwellings had been built over most of these shops, and they jutted out into the narrow way so far that the occupants on either side of the street could lean out of their windows and shake hands if they were so inclined. The owners were obviously poor, but hardworking; the humble buildings were without exception meticulously kept. The streets were swept clean, and even in late autumn window boxes boasted gardens of kitchen herbs. A few stubborn, fragrant plants scented the falling rain.

  Danilo led the way up a small hill onto a road appropriately named the Rising Way. Before them lay a sprawling building, framed with ancient timber and finished with wattle and daub. Long windows glowed with cheery light, and at them hung purple and white curtains embroidered with some guild's mark. A huge carved sign bearing the same mark hung over the front door and proclaimed the establishment to be the House of Good Spirits.

  "Let's see to the horses," Danilo shouted about the rising wind. Arilyn gave him a curt nod and followed him around a series of connected buildings set on a street shaped like a horseshoe. They first passed a large wooden structure whose yeasty smell suggested a small brewery. From the next building, a stone warehouse, wafted the vanilla-and-butter scent of white wine aging in fine oaken barrels. A larger building next door was apparently dedicated to the storage of zzar, the fortified wine for which Waterdeep was famed. Arilyn wrinkled her nose in distaste; nothing but that fiery orange liquid could have that distinctive almond scent. Like many elves, she heartily disdained the vulgar beverage, but zzar was considered the quintessential drink of Waterdhavian society. There was a statement there, Arilyn thought.

  Finally they rounded the curved street and came to the last buildings, the stables. Arilyn was pleased to note that the stables appeared warm and clean; the horses had endured a long and difficult journey and they deserved a good rest.

  The young stableboy who ran out to take their reins recognized Danilo. He greeted the nobleman with great deference and solemn promises of special treatment for the horses. By the gods, Arilyn thought with irritation, is there any tavern or official in this city who isn't acquainted with Danilo Thann?

  After leaving the horses and a generous number of coins with the grinning stableboy, Danilo grabbed Arilyn's hand and sprinted across the small courtyard that lay between the stables and the inn's back door, dragging her behind him. They burst into a small entrance hall, and Arilyn jerked her hand from the dandy's grasp. Not seeming to notice anything unusual about her mood, Danilo removed his rain-drenched cape and hung it on a hook. With a gallant flourish, he helped Arilyn off with her cloak and hung it beside his.

  "Nice and warm in here,
" he noted. He added his broad-brimmed hat to the pegs, then smoothed his hair and alternately chafed and blew on his hands as he waited patiently for Arilyn to ready herself.

  Even without the benefit of a mirror, Arilyn knew that her face was literally blue with cold. She slicked her wet black curls behind her ears and tied a blue scarf over her hair so that she would not look quite so bedraggled. Danilo pursed his lips but judiciously avoided comment. When she was ready, he placed a hand at the small of her back and ushered her through another door into the tavern.

  "It's not the Jade Jug," Danilo apologized, naming Waterdeep's plushest inn, "but it's habitable, and-most important-it's the headquarters for the Vintners, Brewers, and Distillers Guild. I've been here many times. It has no ambiance or style, but it boasts the best selection of spirits in all of Waterdeep."

  Arilyn bristled at Danilo's evaluation of the inn's merits. Perhaps the House of Good Spirits was not up to the pampered nobleman's standards, but after many days of hard travel, she found it an inviting haven. The tavern room was warm and dimly lit, with a low ceiling and scattered small nooks that created a cozy feeling. The air was redolent of roasting meat, pleasantly bitter ales, and the pitchy scent of the northern pine logs that crackled in a huge open fireplace. Whatever the inn's supposed limitations, it certainly did a brisk trade. Cheery barmaids and stout young men wielded large trays of drinks and simple, well-prepared food.

  "I've seen worse," Arilyn responded curtly.

  Danilo recoiled in mock surprise. "Praise Lady Midnight! It's a miracle! She speaks!"

  Arilyn cast Danilo a withering glance and swept past him into the tavern. She'd tried unsuccessfully to ignore the fop for almost two tendays, speaking no more than necessary. Yet Danilo did not seem the least insulted by her silences, and he continued to chat and tease as if they had been friends from the cradle.

  "If you'll find a good table, I'll get us some rooms," offered Danilo, trailing along behind her.

  Arilyn spun around to face him. "This is Waterdeep. We part company here, tonight. Your most pressing goal may be getting drunk, but I'm here to search for an assassin, remember?" she said in a low voice.

  Unperturbed, Danilo gave her his most winning smile. "Do be reasonable, my dear. Just because we've arrived in Waterdeep, I see no cause to pretend we don't know each other. In fact, since this is a rather small inn, such pretense might prove difficult. Look at this place."

  He gestured around the tavern room. It was full nearly to capacity, a mixed clientele made up of hardworking Waterdhavian craftspeople with a scattering of wealthy merchants and nobles-all dedicated drinkers who knew the inn's merits. The exotic clothing and road-weary appearance of many of the guests marked them as travelers in for the festival. Conversation was low and leisurely, and the patrons savored their food and drink with an air of contentment. Judging from their mug-littered tables and blurred smiles, many of the patrons appeared to have hunkered down for a long evening of serious imbibing. Few empty seats remained in the house.

  "You see?" Danilo concluded. "You're stuck with me for one more evening. Dinner hour is nearly past, and it would be foolish for one of us to go into that storm to seek another inn, just to make a point. Truth be told, I doubt there are many rooms left in the whole of Waterdeep. Since I'm a regular and, if I may say so, a valued customer here, we'll be well taken care of."

  Seeing her hesitation, he pressed on. "Come, now. We're both cold and wet and in need of a good night's sleep, and I for one would like to eat something for which we did not have to hunt."

  He has a point there, Arilyn admitted silently. "All right," she conceded rather ungraciously.

  "It's decided." Danilo's attention drifted off to a point past Arilyn's shoulder. "Ah! There's the innkeeper. What ho! Simon!" he called as he headed off toward a pudgy, apron-draped man.

  Will I never be rid of the fool? Arilyn stalked off toward the fireplace in search of an empty seat. A number of small tables were scattered there in the shadows, drawing her with their isolation. Perhaps one of the nooks would be unoccupied.

  "Amnestria! Quefirre soora kan izzt?"

  The melodious voiced stopped Arilyn in midstride, and all thoughts of weariness and hunger were washed away on a flood of memories. When was the last time she had heard that language?

  She turned to find herself face to face with a tall, silver-haired moon elf. Dressed in dignified black, the elf had the graceful carriage-and the well-kept weapons-that marked him as an experienced fighter. He spoke the formal language of the moon elven court, a language that Arilyn had never quite mastered. With a pang the half-elf recalled herself as a restless child squirming at her mother's side, impatient with Z'beryl's efforts to school her in anything other than swordplay.

  "I'm sorry," she said with regret, "but it's been many years since I've heard that dialect."

  "Of course," the handsome quessir replied, switching smoothly to Common. "An old tongue, and spoken all too seldom. Forgive me, but there are too few of our race in these parts, and I was momentarily overcome by nostalgia." The elf's smile was both wistful and charming.

  Arilyn accepted his explanation with a nod. "What did you call me just then?"

  The elf responded with a short bow. "Again, I must apologize. For a moment, you reminded me of someone I once knew."

  "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

  "Oh, I am certain you could never do that," he swore. "Even as we speak, I've grown to realize how fortunate an error I made."

  Arilyn's rarely seen dimples flashed briefly. "Are you always this gallant with chance-met strangers?"

  "Always," he responded in kind. "Seldom, however, does chance deliver me such lovely strangers. Would you do me the honor of joining me? This is one of the few places in Waterdeep were one can find Elverquisst, and I've just ordered a bottle. Not many can appreciate the nuances or the tradition."

  Arilyn's face relaxed in a genuine smile. The surprise of meeting a moon elf in this place-and of hearing him speak the language Arilyn associated with her mother-had lowered her natural reserve. The elf's avowed homesickness reminded her that it had indeed been too long since she'd been to Evereska.

  "A gracious offer, most gratefully accepted," she replied, using the formal polite response. She extended her left hand, palm up. "I am Arilyn Moonblade of Evereska."

  The quessir placed his palm over hers and bowed low over their joined hands. "Your name is known to me. I am indeed honored," he murmured in a respectful tone.

  The tread of approaching footsteps interrupted the elves.

  "I've got good news and bad news, Arilyn," Danilo announced gaily as he sauntered up. "Hello! Who's your fr-" The young man stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the moon elf.

  Danilo's face darkened, and, to Arilyn's horror, his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword in unmistakable challenge. What was the fool doing? she thought with dismay.

  The patrons of the House of Good Spirits were, for the most part, hard-drinking folk, many of them veterans of countless tavern battles. They could sense a fight in the making as surely as a sea captain could smell a coming storm. Conversations trailed off, and glasses clinked busily as the patrons drained their spirits while conditions permitted.

  As quickly as it came, the threat passed. Looking faintly surprised at himself, Danilo released his sword and fished an embroidered handkerchief from his breast pocket. He wiped his fingers as if they had somehow been sullied by the touch of a weapon, and his vaguely apologetic smile took in both Arilyn and the elf. "Someone you know, I take it?" he said into the inn's sudden silence, gazing down at the elves' joined hands.

  Self-consciously, Arilyn snatched her hand away and stuffed both balled fists into her trouser pockets. Before she could issue a scathing rejoinder, her new acquaintance spoke up.

  "For a moment, I mistook the etriel for an old friend."

  Danilo's eyebrows flew up. "By the gods, an original ploy!" he said with great admiration. "I shall have to try that m
yself next time I see a lady whose acquaintance I should like to make."

  The quessir's eyes narrowed at the implication, but Danilo's bland, smiling face betrayed not a hint of sarcasm. For a moment the three stood, unmoving. The moon elf made a curt bow of dismissal to Danilo, then, turning his back on the dandy as if he were of no further consequence or concern, the elf took Arilyn's arm and escorted her toward a table near the fireplace. The inn's patrons sensed that the crisis was past, and the clink and murmur of resumed drinking and conversation filled the inn.

  Still aghast at Danilo's rude behavior, Arilyn felt a flood of relief that a fight had been avoided. In the Marsh of Chelimber Danilo had proven himself a remarkably good fighter, but Arilyn did not want to see him take his chances against this elf. As the quessir led her to his table, she shot an angry look over her shoulder mouthed Go away! at Danilo. She glared at him and silently willed him to leave well enough alone.

  If Danilo understood her warning, he stupidly refused to take it. Casually the dandy followed the elves to their table. It was a corner table, big enough only for two to share a bottle and conversation, but Danilo dragged a third chair up and dropped comfortably into it. His smile was arrogantly complacent, as if his presence there had been commissioned by royalty.

  "Danilo, what has come over you?" Arilyn snapped.

  "What has come over you?" he countered languidly, gesturing across the table at the quessir. "Really, my dear, accepting an invitation from this, er, gentleman-or would the term be gentleelf?-without benefit of a proper introduction." The dandy shook his head and tsk-tsked. "At this rate, how shall I ever induct you into Waterdhavian society?"

  Enraged by Danilo's presumption, Arilyn drew in a long, slow breath. Before she could expel it in a barrage of much-deserved abuse, something in Danilo's meanderings struck home. Come to think of it, she realized, the elf had not given her his name. She turned her eyes toward the quessir. He was observing the exchange with an alert expression in his amber eyes.