Damn the wench! Harvid sank down on a handy crate, sucking in a long, angry breath. Then his wits-such as they were-returned to him. He exhaled in a leisurely fashion and settled himself comfortably on the crate. He might as well sit back and enjoy the show. Truth be told, Harvid Beornigarth had little desire to join his men in the Realm of the Dead. Let the elf wench spend herself and her berserker rage on the destruction of his faithful army. All he cared about was seeing her killed. If his men couldn't manage the job, at least they could tire her out. Once again Harvid Beornigarth's hand rose to his eye patch, and he sat, biding his time.
Arilyn had no thought for the lout or his plans. All her will and strength was being poured into the fight with the three men. The odds usually would not trouble her, but she had slept little in the three nights since she'd come to Waterdeep. She was nearing exhaustion, and her sword arm felt as if it were moving through water.
One of the men brought his blade high overhead and sliced down at her. As she parried that attack another man made a low lunge for her unprotected body, his long knife leading. Arilyn kicked out viciously, catching the man's arm and sending the knife flying. The moonblade sliced cleanly across his throat.
The man's death cost Arilyn. One of the remaining thugs landed a blow on her right arm. The half-elf willed aside the searing flash of pain and feinted a stumble to the ground, letting the moonblade fall to her feet. Two men closed in, confident that they could easily finish off the unarmed half-elf.
Arilyn surreptitiously pulled a dagger from her boot and threw herself upright, using her momentum to drive the dagger hard under the ribs of one attacker. From the corner of her eye, she saw the other man swinging his sword toward her neck. She dove to one side, and the blade sliced harmlessly into the man she had just killed.
As she rolled aside she snatched up the moonblade, then came catlike to her feet. In three quick strokes she finished off her last attacker, and the fight was over. She could not see Danilo, so she assumed he'd escaped the square somehow. The courtyard of Jester's Square tilted crazily, and the half-elf rested her sword on the cobblestone, leaning heavily on it. Her wound was not serious, but her sleepless nights had taken a toll. She heard in the back of her mind the sweet, insistent call of oblivion…
The sound of slow, measured applause called her back.
"Quite a show," came Harvid Beornigarth's cynical observation. He hefted himself from the crate and strutted toward her, mace grasped in one beefy fist. Halting just outside the reach of her sword, he sneered, "Time to even the score."
Harvid lifted the mace high, swinging down with all his considerable strength. Arilyn rallied enough to bring the moonblade up to deflect the mace, but the impact of the blow drove her to her knees. A jolt of pain shot through her wounded arm and sent silver sparks through her field of vision. Resolutely she blinked aside the lights and the pain, in time to see Harvid, an evil grin splitting his face, raise the mace for a killing blow. She threw her remaining strength into rolling clear.
The dull clash of metal on wood echoed through the square. Arilyn looked up. Where she had stood just a moment before was a tall, dark-cloaked man. His stout staff had turned aside the descending mace. Harvid reeled back, astounded by the appearance of the tall fighter. Arilyn's rescuer advanced. He drove the end of his staff under the lout's too-short chain mail and deep into his belly. With a guttural noise Harvid bent double. The staff circled and came down hard on his neck. There was an audible cracking of bone, and Harvid Beornigarth dropped to the ground.
Arilyn struggled to her feet. Her first reaction was annoyance that someone would interfere in single combat. "I could have handled that myself," she snapped.
"You're welcome," came the cold response.
At that moment Danilo emerged from between the trees, looking dazed and clutching one hand to his head. In her surprise to see him, Arilyn turned away from the tall newcomer. "I thought you had run away."
"No. I was merely senseless. More so than usual, that is. Are you all right?" he asked, looking at her torn and bloodied sleeve with concern.
"A scratch. You?"
"Somewhat more than a scratch, but I think I'll live." The nobleman removed his hand from his forehead to display a large, bruised knot. "By the gods, Arilyn, you're more dangerous than those cutthroats! You didn't have to hurl me into the tree like that. If you wanted me to get out of your way, you just had to ask." He glanced up at Arilyn's rescuer. "Who's your friend?"
The tall man turned to face Arilyn, pushing back the deep cowl of his cloak as he did. He was older than his fighting prowess and his raven hair led one to believe, with a face that was deeply creased and weathered by the passing of years. Arilyn recognized him to be the stranger she had noticed in the House of Fine Spirits, the night that the Harper bard had been slain.
"Merciful Mystra," Danilo said softly. "It's Bran Skorlsun."
Before Arilyn could reply, a blinding flash of blue light engulfed her, and she was flung to the ground. Instinctively she threw up her arms to protect her eyes.
The sound of renewed battle rang along the street, but Arilyn had been temporarily blinded by the flash. She dug her fists into her eyes, trying to free them of the dancing spots that obscured her vision. Her elven infravision cleared first, and she saw the multicolored heat image of the tall Harper, thrusting and parrying with his wooden staff. The night rang furiously with the clanging of wood upon metal.
Yet she could see nothing else. Bran Skorlsun was fighting something, but nothing of flesh and warmth. As her vision returned more fully, the shape of the second fighter began to grow clear.
Slender, dark, somehow insubstantial, the assailant was definitely an elf in form and agility. Arilyn's heart thudded loudly in her ears as she held her breath and waited for a look at the fighter's face.
The battle shifted, and the elven fighter spun toward her. Arilyn released a long, shuddering breath. Oh yes, the fighter was familiar indeed.
"She looks exactly like you," Danilo said, coming up behind Arilyn. "By the gods! That's the elfshadow from the legend lore poem, isn't it?"
"Shadow and substance," Arilyn murmured. "But which of us is which?" Rage and bitterness lent new strength to the half-elf. Raising the moonblade high, she charged at the elfshadow. Her first stroke should have cleaved the creature in two. The moonblade passed right through it, but Arilyn continued to flail at her shadowy double. Again and again the moonblade swished harmlessly through the elfshadow and its flashing sword.
"Arilyn, stop," Danilo shouted, circling around the wild fight and trying without success to get the half-elf's attention. Since he couldn't stop her without getting himself killed by one of the three fighters, the young mage turned and sped to a wooden bench. A rusty nail protruded from the wood, and Danilo wretched it free. He pointed it at Arilyn and rapidly moved through the chant and gestures of a spell.
The nail disappeared from his hand, and Arilyn froze in mid-strike, moonblade held high. Danilo leaped forward and grabbed her around the middle, dragging her away from the battle. Her body remained as rigid as a statue as the nobleman propped the magically paralyzed half-elf against one of the elms.
"Listen," he said earnestly. "I'm sorry about this, but I had to stop you before you accidentally killed the Harper. Trust me, you wouldn't want to do that. This is not your fight, Arilyn. You can't hurt that thing with the moonblade. It is the moonblade, don't you see? Now, if I let you go, will you promise to behave?"
Arilyn's eyes were murderous in her immobile face. "I didn't think you would," Danilo said with a sigh. Since there was nothing else he could do, he stood next to the immobile half-elf and awaited the outcome of the fight between the strange warriors. As he did, he wondered if Arilyn would see the strong resemblance between the elfshadow-her mirror image-and the aging Harper, who was also her father. The young nobleman prayed that she would not.
Indeed, her elven eyes held not recognition but the fear of a trapped animal. Danilo felt a surge of remor
se.
"Willow," he muttered, and Arilyn was released from the spell. The half-elf's uplifted sword arm fell heavily to her side, and the moonblade clattered to the cobblestone. Arilyn took no notice, for her gaze remained fixed on the tableau before her.
The strange pair fought fiercely, sword and staff twirling and clashing. The elfshadow brought its blade around in a broad arc, aiming for the Harper's knees. Surprisingly agile, the man leaped up. His cape opened and floated upward as he fell, revealing a large, glowing blue stone hanging from a chain.
The elfshadow's eyes widened at the sight of the stone, and its features, so uncannily like Arilyn's, contorted with triumph. The moonblade-as if it were a living thing-skittered across the cobblestones toward the elfshadow. In the span of an eyeblink the elfshadow snatched up the sword with one hand, then it lunged forward with its own ghostly blade to tear the moonstone pendant from Bran Skorlsun's neck.
Blue light flared from the moonblade, and an answering flash came from the stone. The two streaks of magic light met between the elfshadow's hands with the sound of a small explosion, and a fierce crackling energy filled the sky. The air churned wildly around Jester's Square, becoming a magical storm that swirled autumn leaves into dizzying eddies, overturned crates, and rattled the armor of Harvid Beornigarth's fallen men. In the midst of the maelstrom stood the elfshadow in a halo of blue light. Its eyes met Arilyn's and for the first time it spoke.
"I am whole again, and I am free," the elfshadow said triumphantly, its clear alto voice ringing above the tumult. "Listen well, my sister. We must avenge wrongful deaths. We must kill the one who misled you and enslaved me!"
The magical current built into an inaudible scream around Arilyn and Danilo, whipping their hair and capes around them. The nobleman pulled the dazed half-elf to the ground, shielding her as best he could with his cape and his own body.
There was a second flash of light, and an explosion rocked the street and sent everything into blackness.
* * * * *
"This way!" shouted Siobhan O'Callaigh, brandishing her broadsword as she gestured for her men to follow.
Drawn by the sound of the explosion and the sulfurous scent of smoke, a detachment of the city watch charged through a small alley toward Jester's Square. They skidded to a stop, stunned by the sight before them.
Captain O'Callaigh had not seen so bizarre a battlefield since the passing of the Time of Troubles. The courtyard looked as though an angry god had gathered up the contents of the square, shaken them, and cast them onto the cobblestones like a handful of dice. Huge branches had broken off a pair of stately elms, benches and flowerboxes had been tossed about, and crates and rubbish had blown in from the alley. Several twisted bodies lay nearby, some of them in pools of blood. The macabre scene was dominated by the glowing sword that lay in a blackened circle in the center of the courtyard. Wraithlike wisps of blue smoke still swirled about it, drifting lazily upward in the early morning light.
As the watch stared, one of the bodies stirred. A blond man sat up slowly, the fingers of both hands gingerly pressed to his temples. As he moved, his cape came away from the crumpled form of a half-elven female. Kneeling with his back to the watch, the man bent protectively over the pale figure and thrust one hand into the sack hanging from his belt. From it he drew a silver flask. As he held it to the lips of his companion, the unmistakable almond scent of zzar drifted into the air. The half-elf sputtered, coughed, and sat up.
"What happened here?" Siobhan O'Callaigh demanded in gruff, official tones. The blond man turned to face her, and the watch captain groaned in dismay and thrust her broadsword back into her belt. "Danilo Thann. By Beshaba's bosom! I should have known you'd be a part of this mess."
"Captain O'Callaigh." Danilo rose unsteadily to his feet. "You're looking particularly lovely this morning. Interesting oath, too. Quite visual."
She snorted, completely unmoved by the young man's flattery. "What have you been up to this time?"
"Is the Harper alive?" interrupted the half-elf in a dull, dazed voice.
"I am." At the far side of the courtyard, a tall, dark-cloaked man rose to his feet and walked slowly toward the watch.
Siobhan O'Callaigh threw up both hands. "Tell me, is anyone on this battlefield going to stay dead?"
"I certainly hope so," responded Arilyn in a grim voice. She accepted the hand Danilo Thann offered her and rose to her feet. "I'd hate to have to kill them all over again."
"All right, since you admit to killing these men, perhaps you'd better tell me what happened," Captain O'Callaigh demanded.
The tall man intervened. "I am Bran Skorlsun, a traveler to your city. I was passing and saw ruffians ambush these two. The young pair fought only to defend themselves. I gave them what aid I could."
"Looks like you did all right, old man," one of the watchmen said, crouching down beside a large, chain mail-covered form. He heaved the body over onto its back, then gave a grunt of recognition. "Well, I'll be an orc-sired cyclops. I know this one. Harvid Beornigarth, a half-barbarian sell-sword. Nasty piece of work, but not a common cutpurse. Likes all kinds of political intrigue, he does. Or did." The man cocked an eyebrow at Danilo. "What business would he have with the nobility, I'm wondering."
"None," Arilyn said firmly. "His business was with me."
"And who might you be?" O'Callaigh growled. She crouched down to get a better look at the fallen man, swatting one of her own red braids out of her way.
"Arilyn Moonblade."
"She's a Harper agent," Danilo added significantly, as if invoking the mysterious and highly respected organization would somehow mitigate the destruction around him.
Every member of the watch froze. In unison they turned to Arilyn, and several pairs of gleaming eyes fixed on the half-elf.
"A Harper agent?" Siobhan O'Callaigh questioned eagerly. "You were the one who was attacked?
Arilyn responded with a curt nod, and the men exchanged incredulous glances with their captain. One of the watch gave words to their excited speculation. "You figure one of these pieces of buzzard bait to be that Harper Assassin?"
"Look good on our record if it turned out that way, now wouldn't it?" returned Siobhan O'Callaigh, grinning.
"No. None of these men is the assassin."
The captain and her men again looked up, surprised by the steel in the half-elf's grim voice. The captain pressed for an explanation, but Arilyn stubbornly refused to elaborate.
O'Callaigh's face turned red with rage, and she looked to Danilo to vent some of that anger. "What caused all this?" she demanded, sweeping a hand toward the general devastation.
Danilo grinned sheepishly. "My fault entirely, I'm afraid. I'm not much on the sword end of a battle, don't you know, so I tried to help things along with a spell. Something sort of, well, sort of went wrong," he concluded lamely.
"Sort of went wrong?" O'Callaigh snorted. "What else is new? Young man, you still owe the city for damages done the last time your spells misfired."
"On my honor, I'll pay for all the damages in full," swore the nobleman. "May we go now?"
The captain glared at Danilo. "Maybe you think it's that simple, being Lord Thann's son and all. From my corner of the pasture, I see things differently. There are five dead men to cart off and identify, a city square to clean up before the start of business, and a miscast spell to report."
"Oh, must you report it? I'm afraid news of this little mishap is not going to enhance my reputation as a mage," Danilo said ruefully.
"Good. The Mage's Guild is not going to be happy about this," said O'Callaigh, thrusting a finger at the young man. "They're putting pressure on the watch to curb irresponsible uses of magic. It's about time you started answering to them. When that group gets done with you, you won't even be able to scratch your backside with your magic wand."
"I don't use a wand. May we go now?" Danilo asked patiently.
Siobhan O'Callaigh smiled unpleasantly. "You sure can." She turned to her men. "Yo
u! Ainsar and Tallis. Take these three away and lock them up. The rest of you, clean up this mess."
"That was not exactly what I had in mind," Danilo protested.
"Too bad. You can have it out with the magistrar, after he's had his breakfast. I'm sure he'll be very interested to hear whatever this closed-mouth half-elf knows about the Harper Assassin."
The two men gestured for the trio to follow. Arilyn stooped to pick up the sword, staring fixedly at the blue and white moonstone that now glowed from its hilt. She started to rise to her feet and stopped abruptly, her attention drawn by another stone, blackened and still smoking. She picked the hot stone up, oblivious to the pain it caused her fingers, and turned it over. Her shoulders sagged as she slipped the stone into the pocket of her trousers.
"Take their weapons," O'Callaigh commanded. The man she'd called Ainsar reached out to take the moonblade from Arilyn. He jerked his hand back with a sharp curse.
"By the way, no one but Arilyn can touch it," Danilo explained casually.
Exasperation flooded the captain's face. "All right, let her keep the sword, but make sure you take all their other weapons. Now get them out of here."
She dismissed the trio and their guard with a curt wave of her hand, and turned her attention to the corpses littering the landscape. The sun was on the rise, and her men would have to hurry to clear the street before the start of business. Her commander took a dim view of anything that slowed the wheels of commerce. By Beshaba, O'Callaigh swore silently-seeing Danilo Thann always brought to mind the goddess of bad luck-why did these things always seem to happen on her watch?
* * * * *
Arilyn Moonblade sat alone in her small, dark cell, holding in her hand a blackened topaz. Again and again she passed her finger over the sigil engraved on the stone's underside, as if to convince herself that it was not truly Kymil Nimesin's mark. She had suspected that her old mentor was behind the assassinations ever since she had seen the lists of dead Harpers and Zhentarim, the lists that balanced each other as precisely as a clerk's account book. The elfshadow's words had removed all doubt.
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