Too bone-weary to take part in the sparring, Arilyn nevertheless kept a keen eye on the room as she ate, alert for anything that might prove a clue in her search. There was some talk of the Harper Assassin drifting about, and even in this safe haven the patrons seemed unnerved by the macabre tales.
“Branded, she was, branded right on her haunch like a prize cow …”
“They say that assassin got past the guard in Waterdeep Castle and …”
“Now me, if I was a Harper, right about now I’d be melting that pin down and recasting the metal for a chamber pot.”
Arilyn learned nothing of value from the fragments of conversation, but she noted with dismay how the tales of the Harper Assassin had grown in the telling.
A smattering of applause began in one corner, spreading until it competed with the hum of conversation. Chairs were scraped across the floor to make way in the middle of the room. Two of the waiters brought in a large harp, setting it down in the center of the makeshift stage. A tall, slender man walked diffidently to the harp and began to correct the instrument’s tuning.
“Ah, now we shall hear from a true bard,” Elaith noted pointedly.
Danilo craned his neck around, taking in the scene in the middle of the tavern. “Really? Who is he?”
“Rhys Ravenwind,” Arilyn said. She recognized the bard from one of her trips to Suzail. Although the man was young and rather shy, he was very good indeed.
“Hmm. I wonder if he might be up for a duet or two, after the—ouch!” Danilo broke off with a reproachful look at Arilyn, then he bent down to rub the spot where she had kicked his shin.
Arilyn responded by putting her finger to her lips. The gesture was hardly necessary. After the first few notes, every person in the room fell silent, held spellbound by the power of the bard’s music. Those who had come only to worship the art of the brewers listened as intently, as delightedly, as the most devoted music lover. It was customary for a visiting musician to sing at any inn or tavern, but seldom was the House of Fine Spirits graced with the presence of such a bard. Even Elaith and Danilo forgot their baiting long enough to listen to the ancient song honoring the Feast of the Moon. The applause that greeted the bard was long and loud. With a shy smile, the young man gave in to calls for another song.
During the second song, a wistful ballad of long-ago love and adventure, a newcomer drifted into the tavern. He paused in the doorway for a moment as he sought a place, then he moved noiselessly across the room and settled at a corner table near Arilyn.
The half-elf noted the man’s entrance and studied him with carefully concealed interest. Probably one of the tallest men in the room, he nonetheless moved with the silent grace of a cat. As were most travelers, the man was wrapped against the chill autumn wind. Unlike most, the man did not remove cape or cowl when he entered the warm tavern. His table sat in the shadows just beyond the fireplace’s glow, and he kept his cape closely drawn. Considering the warmth of the room, Arilyn found this behavior peculiar indeed.
A barmaid brought the newcomer a mug of mead, and, as he tipped his head up to drink it, Arilyn caught a glimpse of his face. He was a man well past middle life, obviously robust despite his years. His features were ordinary enough, except for the unusually determined set to his square jaw. It seemed to Arilyn that there was something familiar about the man, although she would swear by the whole pantheon of gods that she had never laid eyes on him before.
She watched the stranger for some time, but he did nothing to arouse suspicion. Apparently content to sit in the shadows and listen to the bard, he attended to his dinner and nursed a single mug of mead. Still, Arilyn felt a tug of relief when the bard finished singing and the man rose to leave.
I’m seeing danger in every corner, she chided herself. Soon I’ll be checking under the bed for ogres, like some frightened child. I need rest, and badly. At that moment, a yawn escaped her, stopping the recently renewed verbal match between Danilo and Elaith Craulnobur in mid-pleasantry.
“It has been a long journey,” she apologized.
Elaith raised a hand. “Say no more. It was inconsiderate of me to keep you so long. As an apology, perhaps you would allow me to settle with the innkeeper?”
“Thank you,” Arilyn said, again kicking Danilo under the table to keep him from arguing the point.
“We will meet again, I hope?” pressed Elaith.
“Yes,” she said simply. She inclined her head and spread both hands in the formal leave-taking gesture between elves. Taking Danilo by the arm, she dragged him away before he could start up again.
“So, where is this room?” she demanded in a resigned tone.
Danilo led her to a small staircase in the rear of the tavern. “It’s not best chamber in the inn—actually, it’s the only one that was left—so don’t expect luxury.”
“As long as it has a bed,” she mumbled, almost numb with weariness.
“Funny you should mention that …” Danilo’s voice trailed off as the pair climbed the stairs.
Elaith watched them go. He speculated, shrugged, then rose to leave. He briefly considered tossing some coins on the table to pay for the meal, then decided against it. Why should he bother? Skipping out on a tavern bill was the sort of thing people expected of him.
For good measure, he picked up the half-full decanter of elven spirits, firmly stoppered it, and openly tucked it into his belt. The decanter alone was probably worth more than the inn would make during the entire festival week.
With a casual nod to the innkeeper, whose ruddy face paled at the imminent loss of the Elverquisst, Elaith glided out of the tavern. Many watched him go, but no one challenged his passing.
The rain had stopped, and the wind whipped the elf’s black cloak around his legs as he strode toward the stable. He claimed his horse and mounted, riding swiftly westward toward the Way of the Dragon. There was a stone townhouse there, a particularly fine building fashioned of black granite. Tall, narrow, and elegant, the house was located on the main road between the South Ward and the Dock Ward.
Blackstone House, as it was called, was one of many properties the elf owned in Waterdeep. Elaith used the house infrequently. It was too stark and angular for his taste, but it was ideally equipped for the evening’s purposes. He dismounted at the gate of the iron fence that surrounded the property and flung the reins to the young servant who ran out to greet him.
Elaith nodded to the house servants—a pair of highly trusted moon elves—as he entered, then he sprinted up a winding spiral staircase to the chamber in the topmost floor. He shut the door, sealing it magically against any possible interruption.
The room was dark and empty save for a single pedestal. Removing a silk cloth, Elaith revealed a dark crystal globe that floated in the air several inches above the pedestal. He passed a hand over the smooth surface of the crystal, murmuring a string of arcane syllables. The globe began to shine, dimly at first, and dark mists swirled in its depths. Gradually the light increased, filling the room as the image came into focus.
“Greetings, Lord Nimesin,” Elaith said to the image, voicing the title with gentle irony.
“It is late. What do you want, gray elf?” the haughty voice demanded, speaking the word “gray” with the subtle inflection that transformed it from the Common term for a color into the Elvish word meaning “dross.” Into that one word was distilled the opinion that moon elves were no more than the waste product formed from the long-ago forging of the golden high elves.
Elaith smiled, ignoring the deadly insult. He could afford to be tolerant tonight. “You always pay a good price for information. I have some to impart that you should find most interesting.”
“Well?”
“I met Arilyn Moonblade this evening. She is staying in Waterdeep, at the House of Good Spirits,” Elaith began. “She is very beautiful and strangely familiar.”
“What?” The gold elf’s face was livid. “I told you to keep away from her.”
“It was a chance m
eeting,” Elaith said smoothly. “Under the circumstances, I could hardly avoid her.”
“I won’t have her associated with such as you!” Kymil spat out. “I won’t have her reputation tainted.”
“Oh, come now,” Elaith chided him. “Tainted? Gifted she may be, beautiful she certainly is, but there is no denying that Arilyn Moonblade is thought by many to be an assassin.”
“She was an assassin.”
“Have it your way. Oh, yes. She has a companion, a particularly foolish whelp of one of the Waterdhavian noblemen. Danilo Thann. Why she travels with him is not clear. To all appearances, he’s something of a pet.”
“Yes, yes,” Kymil Nimesin said impatiently. “I know all this already.”
Elaith continued, undisturbed by the interruption. “But appearances, as we both know so well, can be deceiving. The etriel’s companion, I’m convinced, is something more than the fool he appears to be. Were you aware that Danilo Thann is related to Khelben Arunsun? A nephew, I believe.”
“Blackstaff’s nephew?” For the first time, Kymil’s face showed a flicker of interest. Just as quickly, the interest was gone. “What of it?”
“Perhaps nothing,” Elaith allowed. “But Arilyn Moonblade is reputed to be skilled at concealing her identity and purpose. Is it inconceivable that her companion is similarly gifted?”
The face in the globe twisted in annoyance. “Your effrontery is inconceivable. You forget, gray elf, that I can observe Arilyn Moonblade myself. The conversation at your table tonight was noted. The Thann twit challenged you to a battle of words—notice that I did not say wits—and the match was a draw.”
“But he is Blackstaff’s nephew.”
“So you’ve said. I see no significance.”
“He is well placed and more clever than he pretends to be,” Elaith said. “Given her background, surely the Harpers suspect Arilyn of the recent spate of murders. Perhaps this Thann boy is a spy, sent to ascertain her guilt or innocence.”
“Ha!” Kymil broke in scornfully. “Danilo Thann is no more a Harper than you or I.”
“Perhaps not, but if he were, wouldn’t it be amusing if he were to fall victim to the Harper Assassin?”
“You have a peculiar sense of humor.”
“Yes, so I’ve been told,” Elaith agreed. “Now, what about Danilo Thann?”
“If you want the fool dead, see to it. One human more or less is of no consequence to me.”
The face in the globe began to fade into mist. “I also saw Bran Skorlsun,” said Elaith casually.
Instantly the image snapped into sharp focus. “Yes, I thought that might get your attention,” Elaith murmured, a malicious glint lighting his amber eyes. “Imagine my surprise to see our mutual friend again after all these years. Of course, I did not recognize him at first. Humans can age appallingly in—what has it been? Almost forty years?”
Kymil brushed aside the question. “Bran Skorlsun was there? At the House of Good Spirits?”
“Fascinating coincidence, wouldn’t you say?” Elaith said casually.
Lost in thought, Kymil again failed to comment. After a pause, he said, “You did well to contact me. I will send you your usual fee.”
Elaith had contacted Kymil Nimesin merely to annoy him, but now the moon elf’s curiosity was piqued. Any plot involving Bran Skorlsun smelled of adventure, and where there was adventure there was potential profit. He decided to ignore the gold elf’s patronizing attitude for now and press for details. Retribution for tonight’s insults would come later.
“Is there something further with which I can help you?” Elaith offered.
“Nothing,” Kymil said curtly. “Wait. Yes, there is.”
“At your service,” Elaith replied.
“You can stay away from Arilyn Moonblade.”
“Of course. Is that all?”
“Yes.”
Kymil’s tone held the ring of finality. Elaith was not impressed. He was accustomed to having the last word himself, in his own time and in his own fashion. “As you wish. There is, however, the little matter of my fee,” the moon elf pointed out. “The terms have changed. I prefer payment in, shall we say, a less direct form of currency.”
“Yes? Well?”
“Danilo Thann,” Elaith said flatly.
“Done,” snapped Kymil Nimesin. “As I said, it matters not to me whether he lives or dies. Considering the gold you’re giving up, your pride has a high price.”
As you will learn, Elaith Craulnobur thought, my pride has a very high price indeed.
Nine
“We could share it,” ventured Danilo.
“Hardly,” Arilyn returned, looking pointedly at the narrow cot that was the chamber’s only bed. “A pair of newlywed halflings would find it too crowded. I’ll take the floor.”
Danilo watched as she settled down on a pallet by the fireside and jerked a blanket over her head. “I should be a gentleman and insist that you take the bed, but I’m too tired to argue,” he said.
“Good,” came the muffled response.
With a sigh, Danilo sank down on the bed. So what if this was the humblest chamber in a second-rate inn? They were lucky to find a place to sleep. And after the rigors of travel, anyplace would do. Yet it was some time before sleep came to Danilo. Long after Arilyn’s faint, measured breathing assured him that his companion had fallen asleep, he lay wakeful on his lumpy mattress.
The encounter with the rogue moon elf troubled Danilo. Back in Evereska, the nobleman had recognized Perendra’s sigil on the gold snuffbox. The one-eared thug had acquired the box from an elf in Waterdeep. It was not unreasonable to assume that this elf might be a key to the mystery of the Harper Assassin. In Danilo’s mind, the Craulnobur rogue was certainly an elf to consider in their search.
Danilo had discovered long ago that when people were put on edge, they tended to reveal more than they’d intended. He had done his best to disconcert Elaith Craulnobur. The elf’s dark reputation lent risk to Danilo’s strategy, but a fool such as he could usually get away with many things.
Danilo smiled ruefully into the darkness. It had been one of his better performances, yet Elaith Craulnobur had been remarkably unaffected by it. The only thing that Danilo had accomplished that evening was further alienating Arilyn. That bothered him more than he liked to admit. The young nobleman cast a quick glance at the sleeping half-elf.
Half-elf. That was something else to think about. Danilo laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. Since he’d first seen Arilyn’s portrait, he’d thought of her as a human woman. That perception had lingered long after he’d learned her true heritage, and he’d come to consider her one of the most intriguing women he’d ever met, although certainly a stubborn and somewhat mysterious member of that group. Tonight for the first time he’d been forced to see another side of Arilyn Moonblade. He realized with a jolt of surprise that she considered herself more elf than human; no one could watch her face during the Elverquisst ritual and doubt that. Arilyn’s character had been shaped by the elven culture that had raised her and, Danilo suspected, rejected her.
The nobleman trusted his instincts about people; they had rarely led him astray. Many times on the ride to Waterdeep he had seen in Arilyn flashes of a bitterness too deep for him to fathom. He remembered the night they’d spent in the traveler’s hut and how Arilyn’s face had looked as she spoke of the gold elf who had taunted her about her heritage. For the first time Danilo wondered what it meant to be a half-elf, never truly a part of either world.
Oh, he could see it in her, the longing for things elven. Arilyn had been drawn to Elaith Craulnobur, charmed by his courtesy and his ready acceptance of her as an equal. An etriel, Elaith had called her, which Danilo knew was a respectful term for a female elf who was noble in bloodline, character, or both. Danilo got the impression that Arilyn was not accustomed to such treatment, for she had turned toward the rogue moon elf like a morning glory seeking a sunrise. From what he had le
arned of Arilyn during the past two tendays, he perceived that this reaction was out of character for her. She took a fierce pride in her ability to stand alone without help from or need for anyone else.
Well, he would keep a close eye on their new acquaintance. If Arilyn’s judgment concerning the moon elf was impaired, Danilo would take upon himself the responsibility of maintaining a proper perspective. He was in a better position to consider the matter objectively.
Sure I am, Danilo thought, and a quiet chuckle escaped him. Uncle Khelben had often told him that too little self knowledge made a person dangerous. The good archmage had neglected to mention that too much self knowledge was not always a blessing.
Danilo sighed. Perhaps it was the strange weather that made him so introspective. Now that the rain had stopped, it was a fairly warm night for autumn. The wind had shifted, coming strongly from the south, and it whistled around the old building, causing many a creak and groan. Tonight was the sort of night in which one waited for the other boot to drop, and Danilo could not shake an almost palpable sense of impending … something. Anything could happen on such a night. With so many ale-soaked, money-laden guests from which to choose, the inn was an ideal target for a thief or worse. Throw Arilyn’s shadow into the pot, and there was more than trouble enough to keep a man awake.
He cast another glance at his slumbering companion. How could Arilyn sleep on such a night? She must put a lot of faith in the moonblade’s ability to warn of danger, which it could apparently do in any number of ways. Danilo had seen the thing glow in the Marsh of Chelimber. One night during their journey Arilyn had awakened him and insisted they lay giant snares about their camp. Sure enough, they caught a pair of owlbears. Arilyn had answered his questions only by saying that the moonblade had sent her a dreamwarning. Danilo thought it a fortunate quirk for a magic sword to have. Owlbears were notorious for ferocity, and without the sword’s warning he and Arilyn would have had little chance against eight-foot-tall creatures who sported the most lethal features of both bears and owls. Comparatively, why shouldn’t Arilyn feel fairly secure within the four walls of the inn?
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