“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 myself 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 gentle elf?—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 soci
ety?”
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.
“I make no secret of my identity,” the elf said, speaking only to Arilyn. “We were merely interrupted before I could complete the introduction. I am Elaith Craulnobur, at your service.”
“Well, damn my eyes!” Danilo interjected in a jovial tone. “I’ve heard of you! Aren’t you known as ‘the Serpent?’ ”
“In certain objectionable circles, yes,” the elf admitted coolly.
Elaith “the Serpent” Craulnobur. With an effort, Arilyn kept her face expressionless. She had also heard of the elven adventurer. His reputation for cruelty and treachery was legendary, and Kymil had issued strict and repeated orders for her to stay far away from the moon elf. Her mentor emphasized that Arilyn’s reputation, damaged by the unfortunate label of assassin, would be further tainted by association with such as Elaith Craulnobur.
Arilyn, however, refused to be prejudiced by the dark rumors or by Kymil’s old-lady fussing. After all, tales of some of her own exploits had come back to her, twisted beyond all recognition. It could be so with this elf. Arilyn turned to face her host, keeping her voice and face carefully neutral. She would judge for herself.
“Well met, Elaith Craulnobur. Please accept my apologies for my companion’s unfortunate remark.”
“Your companion?” Elaith regarded Danilo with the first sign of interest.
“Thank you very much, Arilyn, but I can speak for myself,” Danilo protested cheerfully.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered. “Really, Danilo, I know that seats are scarce, but would you please excuse us? I have accepted Elaith Craulnobur’s invitation for a drink. I will join you later, if you like.”
“What? You want me to leave? And miss the opportunity to meet such a legend? Not likely. What kind of amateur bard do you think me?” Danilo folded both arms on the table and leaned toward Elaith Craulnobur, smiling confidingly. “Did you know that songs are sung about your exploits?”
“I did not.” The quessir’s tone did not invite more discussion on the matter.
Danilo missed the unspoken message entirely. “You mean that you’ve never heard ‘Silent Strikes the Serpent?’ It’s quite a catchy tune. Shall I sing it for you?”
“Another time.”
“Danilo …” Arilyn warned through gritted teeth.
The dandy smiled apologetically at her. “Arilyn, my dear, I’m forgetting myself again, aren’t I? Mark of an amateur, that’s what it is: going on and on like this, when a true bard would merely listen and observe. I’ll do that, really I shall. Please, do go on with your conversation. Pretend I’m not here at all. I’ll be as silent as a snail, really.”
Stubborn fool, Arilyn thought, stifling a sigh. She knew that arguing with the dandy usually made matters worse, so she smiled ruefully at Elaith and said, “With your permission then, it would seem that we are three this evening.”
“If it pleases you,” the elf agreed mildly. He regarded Danilo as one would an overgrown and badly trained puppy. “I don’t believe we have met.”
“This is Danilo Thann,” Arilyn supplied quickly, before the young man could say something more to risk the elf’s ire.
“Ah, yes.” Elaith smiled with gentle amusement. “Young Master Thann. Your reputation precedes you, as well.”
The elf left that remark for Danilo to take as he would, turning his attention to the ceremony of the Elverquisst. With a flick of his long-fingered hands, he tossed a tiny magical fireball toward the candle at the table’s center. Arilyn winced as the candle caught flame. At that moment she caught Danilo’s curious gaze upon her, and she gravely shook her head to warn him not to interrupt. The nobleman subsided and watched the ceremony in growing fascination.
Elaith Craulnobur cupped his hands first over the candle, then over the decanter of elven spirits on the table before him. The bottle was a marvel, made of transparent crystal that sparkled from thousands of tiny facets. The elf took the decanter in both hands, turning it slowly before the candle, and the bottle grew ever brighter as it absorbed the light. Finally the quessir spoke a phrase in Elvish, and the stored light coalesced into thirteen distinct points that glowed like stars against the sudden darkness of the crystal decanter
Arilyn’s throat tightened, as it always did, before the sight of the autumn constellation Correlian. To the moon elves, the appearance of this star formation marked the final demise of summer. Elaith and Arilyn joined softly in a chant of farewell, and the light faded from the decanter with the final words of the ritual.
Gently Elaith poured some of the liquid into a goblet, swirling it in a complex pattern that set in motion a play of fairy lights and color. His graceful hands moved through the steps of the ritual with practiced ease. The ceremony’s resonant magic had been forged through centuries of repetition, as untold generations of elves celebrated the spiral dance of the seasons.
As she watched, Arilyn almost forgot about Danilo’s foolishness and Elaith’s reputation, and for a moment or two she allowed herself to be transported back to her childhood in Evereska. The last time Arilyn had shared the Elverquisst ritual had been in her fifteenth year, just before the death of Z’beryl.
Elverquisst itself was a ruby-colored liquor magically distilled from sunshine and rare summer fruits. Utterly smooth, the liquor was nonetheless flecked with gold and had an iridescence of both color and flavor. It was highly prized at all times, but in the autumn rituals it was savored as if it were the gift of one final, perfect summer day.
Elaith completed the ceremony and handed the goblet to Arilyn. She drank it slowly, with proper respect, then inclined her head to the quessir in a ritual bow of thanks that completed the ceremony.
With an imperious gesture, Elaith summoned a waiter. “Another goblet, if you please,” he instructed the young man. As an afterthought, Elaith turned back to Danilo. “Or perhaps two more? Will you have some Elverquisst as well?”
“Thank you, I prefer zzar,” Danilo said.
“Of course you do,” Elaith said smoothly. “A goblet of that ubiquitous beverage for our young friend, then, and dinner for three,” he instructed the nervous waiter, who nodded and escaped to the safety of the kitchen.
“Now,” Elaith said to Arilyn, “what brings you to Waterdeep? The Feast of the Moon, I would suppose? You’re here to enjoy the festival?”
“Yes, the festival,” she agreed, thinking it the most harmless response.
“An interesting affair. Raucous, gaudy, but undeniably colorful enough to draw a crowd. Like this inn, the city is already full of visitors. Too full for my taste, although the influx of travelers is good for business. I trust you have found a suitable place to stay?”
Arilyn looked to Danilo for an answer. “Were you able to get rooms here?”
“Room,” Danilo corrected a bit sheepishly. “One room. The place is full up.”
One room, Arilyn thought with dismay. Another night with Danilo Thann. She leaned back in her chair with a faint groan. Her reaction was not lost on Elaith.
“That would be the bad news of which you spoke, I imagine,” the elf observed wryly.
“Strange you should find it so,” Danilo countered mildly, apparently misunderstanding the gibe. “Sharing a room with a beautiful woman doesn’t strike me as a hardship.”
“The etriel,” Elaith corrected pointedly, observing Arilyn’s silent fury over Danilo’s suggestive remark, “does not seem to share your enthusiasm.”
“Oh, but she does. It’s just that, you know, Arilyn is the very soul of discretion,” Danilo confided, man-to-man.
At that moment the waiter returned with their drinks. Arilyn snatched the goblet of zzar from his tray a
nd thunked it down in front of Danilo.
“Drink this,” she suggested sweetly, “and several others. I’m buying.”
Taking up the other goblet, Arilyn plunged into the half-remembered ceremony of pouring and offering the Elverquisst. If Elaith found anything amiss in her rendering of the ritual, he did not speak of it. The ritual brought a much-needed change of direction to the conversation, which turned to local gossip, politics and—this being Waterdeep, after all-commerce.
Despite his promise to remain a bardic observer, Danilo continued to verbally spar with the quessir. The nobleman scored a good number of hits, any one of which, coming from any other man, could have been considered grounds for a challenge. Elaith let the gibes pass without comment. He really could not do otherwise, for Danilo’s barbs, if such they were, were issued with such friendly delicacy that responding with anger would seem as ludicrous as swatting at soap bubbles.
Arilyn sipped her drink, silently taking the measure of her strange dinner companion. Elaith was charming to her, unfailingly polite even in the face of Danilo’s foolishness. For someone reputed to be a savage, ruthless killer, he showed remarkable restraint and good humor. Perhaps the rumors are exaggerated, after all, Arilyn mused.
“Ah, dinner at last,” Elaith announced. Two waiters appeared, one bearing a well-laden platter, the other a small serving table to augment the overly cozy corner table.
The waiters lay several dishes on the tables: roasted meat, several small fowl still sizzling on a spit, turnips, boiled greens, and small loaves warm from the oven.
The moon elf studied the simple fare with patrician distaste. “I’m afraid this is the best the inn has to offer. Some other time I will offer you more suitable hospitality.”
“It is fine. After the rigors of travel, simple food is the best,” Arilyn assured him.
She and Danilo tucked in. The meal seemed to improve Danilo’s mood even more. Disgustingly cheerful, he again engaged Elaith Craulnobur in conversation, relishing the verbal give and take in the same way a swordsman enjoys a good match.
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