“Of course not,” she retorted. “You’ll ride.”
Danilo lay one hand on his chest, a dramatic gesture of gratitude. “Ah, the lady gifts me indeed—freedom that I could have taken for myself and one of my own steeds. They are my horses, by the way. Truly, I’m overwhelmed.”
Arilyn gritted her teeth and silently counted to ten. With sorely tested patience she spelled out her intent: “At daybreak, we head south. Both of us. Once we find a merchant train, I’ll leave you in their care. Now do you understand?”
“Ah. Thank you for the kind thought, but no.”
Exasperated, the half-elf sank onto the ground and dropped her weary head into her hands. It would seem that the fop had something of the merchant in him after all; judging from his tone, he was prepared to barter like a Calimshite peddlar.
“I take it you have something else in mind?” she observed.
He sat down on a rock facing her, grimacing as he held his richly embroidered robe clear of the lizard blood that pooled on the ground near his feet. “As it happens, I do,” he said lightly. “You.”
Startled, she sat upright and eyed him with suspicion. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your company,” he clarified. “From now on, we shall be partners and travel-mates.”
Arilyn stared at the nobleman. Remarkable though it seemed, Danilo appeared to be serious. “That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
Leveling a stern look at Danilo, she said, “I work alone. I walk alone.”
“Or so it is written in the stars,” he intoned, gently mocking the stiffness of her tone.
Arilyn flushed and looked away. “I didn’t mean to sound so pompous,” she continued quietly. “I simply do not wish to travel with another.”
“What have we been doing for the better part of two days?” he asked, then raised one hand to cut off the argument she had ready. “Yes, yes. I know. Escape, hostage, secrecy, that sort of thing. All that aside, you said you would keep me with you until you reached Waterdeep. Is the word of Arilyn Moonblade given with such fervor, but taken back so lightly?” He smiled at the angry flash that came to her eyes. “No, I thought not. Here it is, then: by your own words, you owe me. As payment for your life, I choose to stay with you, to Waterdeep and perhaps a while longer.”
Arilyn massaged her aching temples as she tried to sort this through. “Why?”
“Why not?”
Arilyn’s patience was thinning rapidly. “Why?” she demanded through clenched teeth.
“If the truth must be told, I’m a bit of an amateur bard. Well thought of in some circles, too, if I may say so.”
“Eventually, this will have a point?” she asked wearily.
“Naturally. You heard me sing the Ballad of the Zhentish Raiders?” Danilo waited, his expression obviously courting praise. Arilyn’s only response was a continued glare, so after a moment the dandy shrugged and continued.
“Yes. Well. This journey is turning out to be quite the adventure, isn’t it? I’ve decided to seize the opportunity and write an original ballad about the Harper Assassin. The first! My fame will be assured! You’ll feature largely in the tale, of course,” he noted hastily and magnanimously. “Part of it is written already. Would you like to hear what I’ve got so far?” Without waiting for encouragement, Danilo cleared his throat and began to sing in his fine tenor voice some of the most strained verse Arilyn had ever heard.
Arilyn sat through two stanzas before drawing a knife and placing the tip at Danilo’s larynx. “Sing another note,” she said calmly, “and I’D carve that song from your throat.”
Grimacing, Danilo took the blade between his thumb and forefinger and eased it away. “Merciful Milil! And I thought the critics in Waterdeep were harsh! What do you expect from someone who’s merely a gifted amateur?”
“A straight answer would be nice,” she suggested.
“All right then,” he said bluntly, “I’m concerned about survival, plain and simple. I have no desire to be on my own, and you’re as good a bodyguard as any I’ve seen. Frankly I doubt I’d be any safer traveling with a merchant caravan, so my present lot suits me just fine.”
Arilyn considered the statement for a moment. His words rang true, and he looked as serious as his foolish countenance would probably allow. If he wanted protection, Arilyn acknowledged, she owed him that much. She thrust the blade back into her boot and gave in to the inevitable.
“All right,” she conceded. “We ride hard and split the watch, the hunting, and the cooking. There’ll be no chatter, no magic, and no singing.”
“Anything,” he agreed readily. “Get me safely to Waterdeep, my dear, and I’ll even polish your weapons for you. By Tempus, they could use a good once-over.” As he spoke, Danilo reached out to stroke the moonblade’s ancient, tarnished sheath.
Immediately a spark of blue light lit the marsh. With a sharp oath, Danilo recoiled, jerking back his hand. He held up his index finger, regarding it with disbelief. The skin at the tip was blackened, blasted by the sword’s magic.
“What did I do wrong? What prompted that thing to attack me?” he demanded. “Didn’t you say it couldn’t draw innocent blood? Oh, wait a minute—no blood. Forget the last question.”
Keeping her eyes steady on Danilo and her voice level, she added, “There will be one more condition to this ‘partnership.’ You must never touch that sword again.”
Sucking on the offended digit, Danilo nodded avidly. “That goes without saying.”
The half-elf abruptly rose to her feet and swung herself up into the saddle. “Let’s go.”
“Shouldn’t we tend to our wounds first?” Danilo asked, eyeing Arilyn’s torn and bloodied shirt with concern.
She looked down at him with disbelief and disdain, assuming he referred to his finger. “You’ll live,” she said flatly. “Just be thankful you didn’t try to draw the sword.”
“Oh? What would have happened? And how do you keep it from doing that to you?” he asked as he rose to his feet.
Arilyn swore silently. No one had ever touched the moonblade without her permission. Why had she let her guard down now?
“Well?” he prompted.
“Night has fallen,” she said in a tight voice. “You may have noticed that we are still in the Marsh of Chelimber. Would you rather ride out of here, or talk?”
“Can’t we do both?”
“No.”
The dandy gave a resigned shrug and mounted his horse. “I suppose we’ll hunt for supper sometime soon?”
“Your turn to hunt.” Arilyn pressed her heels to her horse’s sides and headed westward out of Chelimber.
Danilo fell in beside her. He cocked his head and asked in a tentative voice, “Have you ever eaten lizard? I hear it tastes a little like chicken.”
Thoroughly appalled, Arilyn twisted in her saddle to level an icy glare at the dandy. “If I thought you were serious, I’d leave you in the marsh.”
“I’ll hunt!” he said hastily. “Really!”
The pair rode in silence until they’d left the marsh behind. As the foul-smelling mists faded, the ground firmed beneath the horses’ hooves. Stars began to twinkle, forming the autumn constellations that had been Arilyn’s friends since childhood: Correlian, Esetar, and the Shard of Selune. Still far in the distance, a few trees formed dim silhouettes against the night sky. Trees, Arilyn thought with a silent sigh of relief. Trees were a sure sign that Chelimber was no more than a memory. Never had she been so glad to see trees. From deep within her elven soul welled a prayer of thanks, a silent song of welcome to the stars and the forest.
“I say,” Danilo blurted out, “how far is it to Waterdeep?”
Arilyn’s private joy evaporated like dew at highsun. “Too far.”
Dark though the night was, Arilyn’s elven vision took in the dandy’s uncertain smile. “Have I been insulted, or is it just my imagination?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, it’s just my imagination?”
“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.
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