Songs & Swords 1 (28 page)

“The same as the others,” replied the mage cryptically. “There were several differences, however. The attack took place during daylight, and the man was awake. He must have known the assassin, for there was no sign of struggle.”

Shalar ran both hands through his hair. “It is as we feared. The assassin must be a Harper, one whose affiliation is widely known.”

“I agree,” said Coril. “Otherwise, how could he approach so many of the Harpers unopposed?”

Shalar nodded, then he reluctantly ventured, “Was there anyone else?”

“Possibly. Do you know an adventurer by the name of Arilyn Moonblade?”

“Yes. At least, I know of her. Is she dead, as well?” the bard asked in a resigned tone.

“I don’t know for sure,” Coril admitted, “but I think I saw her sword earlier this evening. An ancient sword, set with a large golden stone? It was in the possession of a young man who claimed he’d won it in a game of chance.”

Relief flooded Shalar Simgulphin’s face. “I would lay odds that the lad you saw was actually Arilyn Moonblade. She is known for her skill in disguises.”

“Really.” Coril thought that over. “Well, that is good. She is wise to travel in disguise, especially if she plans to stay here at the Drunken Dragon.”

“Oh?”

“I believe there is to be a secret meeting tomorrow concerning this assassin, in this inn’s council room?”

“That is so.”

“Several Harpers have taken rooms here for the evening,” Coril explained. “If the assassin were to strike tonight, this would be a likely place.”

Shalar nodded in agreement. “It is late to notify the watch of this possibility, but I shall try. At the very least, the Harpers must be warned and alert.” He looked around the room.

“I see the druid Suzonia, Finola of Callidyrr, some ranger from the Dales—I think his name is Partrin—and his partner Cal, who is not a Harper, I believe. There are others?”

Arilyn listened with growing horror as Coril added to the list. There were at least six members of the Harpers at the inn. It was rare to find so many in one place. Goldfish in a mug of ale would present a more challenging target.

What a fool she had been! Laying hints for the assassin when he was probably as close as her own shadow, laughing at her pitiful efforts. Arilyn had believed that she’d taken enough precautions to protect Loene and her household, yet Elliot Graves was dead. If the assassin could follow her while she was invisible, he could surely see through her simple disguises. Would he also taunt her with the deaths of all the Harpers in the Drunken Dragon?

With a quick, jerky movement Arilyn rose from the table. If she could not yet confront the assassin, at least she could lead him away. As she neared the door, Danilo seized the hem of her tabard.

“Excuse me, Lady of Mielikki. Is your business here completed?”

Arilyn focused with difficulty upon the dandy. He was working on his second cup of zzar, and the overripe barmaid was seated on his lap.

“I’m leaving,” Arilyn announced abruptly. “You might as well stay here and enjoy yourself.”

Danilo gently eased the girl off his lap and rose. “I don’t want to enjoy myself. I’m coming with you.” He made a face. “Oh dear. That did sound dreadful, didn’t it? What I meant to say was—”

“Never mind,” she said distractedly. “I’m leaving Waterdeep. Tonight. Now. If you plan to come with me, you’d better hurry.”

Danilo observed her keenly. “You’re not talking to me alone, are you?” he asked in a soft voice.

She shot him a warning look and pushed open the door of the Drunken Dragon, dimly aware that Danilo was close behind her. On the street outside the tavern lamplighters were tending to the street lanterns. In a circle of light stood two men in the black-and-gray uniforms of the Waterdeep Watch. One of the men, whose unicorn pendent proclaimed him a worshiper of Mielikki, respectfully greeted Arilyn. She nodded an acknowledgement, then stopped, her hand frozen mid-way through the gestures of a clerical blessing.

She recognized both men: Clion was a charming red-headed rogue, as light of finger as he was of tongue, and the other man was his constant shadow, Raymid of Voonlar. Almost fifteen years ago, when the men were lads just starting out, she had traveled with them in a company of adventurers. Impressed by their talents, after a time Arilyn had introduced them to Kymil Nimesin. Both men had trained with the elf at the Waterdeep Academy of Arms.

Their presence brought a measure of relief to the troubled half-elf. “It is well that the watch is here,” she said to Clion. “Several members of the Harpers have taken lodgings at this inn, and I fear that they might be endangered.”

The watchmen exchanged worried glances. “You speak of the Harper Assassin?” asked Raymid. The “cleric” nodded.

“We’ll let our watch commander know of your fears,” Clion said. “A guard will be sent.”

“Sent? You two are not at liberty to stay?” Arilyn asked.

“We can’t. The funeral of Rhys Ravenwind is this evening. We are part of the honor guard,” said Clion.

Arilyn knew it was not a common practice to send the city watch to a funeral. If the watch was engaged in a search for the assassin, perhaps old comrades could give her some information that would aid her own search.

“A sad night,” she commented. “Waterdeep does well to honor such a bard. I trust the murderer has been brought to justice?”

“We are not at liberty to discuss this, my lady,” responded Clion in a stiff, official voice.

Arilyn stifled a sigh. She had no time to waste on such formalities. She would probably learn more if they knew who she was, still more if she caught them slightly off guard.

“I am surprised, Clion, to find that you have so soon forgotten me,” she chided him, tilting her head to one side and painting a coy smile on her lips. “You who once professed such great admiration for my charms.”

The shock on the man’s face was almost comical. “My lady?” he stammered.

“Ah, but I am presumptuous,” she said with a heavy sigh. “A man whose life is as filled with women as yours! You cannot be expected to remember every one.”

Arilyn turned to the other man, who appeared to be enjoying his companion’s chagrin. “Surely you remember me, Raymid.”

The man’s grin disappeared, and he studied her for a long moment before shaking his head. “You look familiar… .”

“We have a friend in common,” she hinted. “A master of arms?”

Realization dawned on Clion’s face. “Arilyn!”

“The same,” she said, adding teasingly, “Really, my friend, I thought you had forgotten me entirely.”

“Not likely,” responded Clion, grinning as he traced a finger along a knife scar on the back of his hand. “I have this to remember you by.” He sobered quickly, adding, “It also serves as a reminder to keep my hands out of places where they do not belong.”

“Then I do not regret giving the lesson,” Arilyn said. “Few former thieves are admitted to the watch. You have done well.”

“What brings you here and in such a guise?” asked Raymid, ever one to attend to the business at hand. “Or have you truly become a cleric?” Both men grinned broadly at the jest.

“And changed my race as well? Hardly.” Her voice took on a grim tone. “I seek the Harper Assassin, as do you. Perhaps, once again, we can work together?”

Clion shook his head. “Believe me, Arilyn, I wish we had something to tell you. All we know is that we’re to go to the funeral and stand guard. No one seems to know for whom or what we’re supposed to watch.”

A long shadow fell upon the cobblestone street, unannounced by the sound of footsteps. Raymid looked up. “Ah, good. Here comes our watch commander now.”

Arilyn’s sharp intake of breath drew a curious stare from Danilo. He had listened to the conversation with great interest, which he now focused upon the newcomer.

The watch commander was a young male elf, probably near the end of his first century of life. The elf’s skin was a golden hue, and his hair was a darker shade of gold and bound around the forehead by a band decorated with elven script. His face was narrow, with prominent cheekbones and an aquiline nose, and his long, slender form appeared as graceful and supple as a reed. Danilo noted how human, Arilyn, and even the full moon elf Elaith Craulnobur, seemed in comparison with the exotic golden elf. The elven commander held himself apart through bearing that was haughty in the extreme. His black eyes held naked contempt for the three humans.

The elf’s obsidian gaze softened somewhat as it fell upon Arilyn’s gold skin and red silk tabard. Many elves as well as humans revered the goddess of the forest, and the elf bowed deeply to the cleric.

“Greetings, Lady of Mielikki,” he said.

The red-haired man whom Arilyn had called Clion chuckled at the elf’s remark. “That’ll be the day. Captain, I’d like you to meet an old friend of ours. This is Arilyn Moonblade, one of the best adventurers Raymid and I ever traveled with. Arilyn, Tintagel Ni’Tessine.”

With a sudden start, Danilo remembered where he’d heard that name. Tintagel Ni’Tessine was the elf who had tormented Arilyn during her years in the Academy of Arms. He looked at the half-elf. Her face was composed and she met Tintagel’s furious gaze squarely, but there was a wariness about her eyes and a taut set to her mouth. “We’ve met,” she said in an even voice.

The gold elf was the picture of outrage. “This is blasphemous! How do you dare impersonate a cleric of Mielikki, not to mention trying to pass as Tel’Quessir.” His scornful gaze swept over her. “I can understand your wish to cloak your true origins, but gilding dross cannot create gold.”

The two watchmen listened to the elf’s harangue with open mouths and dumbfounded expressions. Danilo’s palm itched for the feel of his sword, but something in Arilyn’s face stayed his hand.

“Well met, Tintagel,” she replied calmly. “I must admit that your appearance is something of a surprise, as well. Few of your race wear such a uniform.”

The elf’s eyes narrowed, and Danilo could only assume that her seemingly innocuous words housed an insult.

“My presence in the watch is a matter of honor,” he said, both his voice and expression a bit defensive.

“Really? Although I have utmost respect for the watch, I would not have thought that you would consider it an honorable position.”

“By and large, the watch is a pitiful jest,” Tintagel said spitefully, not noting the angry scowls this comment brought to the faces of his men. “Someone has to see that it provides a semblance of order to this lawless pile of clinking coins you call a city.”

“You’re that someone? How fortunate for all of us in Waterdeep,” Danilo said, an amused drawl in his voice. There was a certain unintentional humor in the elf’s remark. In truth, Waterdeep was well-ruled and orderly, a city whose laws were enforced and respected.

The elf’s dark gaze slid over Danilo and dismissed him, then he turned back to Arilyn. “My own father was shot through the heart in the mountains of Waterdeep.” His hand drifted to his side and clenched around an arrow shaft that hung at his belt. Danilo caught a glimpse of an oddly shaped black mark on the wood of the shaft. “I devote my life to avenging his death by ridding the city of such vermin as killed Fenian Ni’Tessine,” Tintagel proclaimed grimly.

“A worthy quest it is,” Danilo said, his tone clearly humoring the elf. “If it’s all the same to you, we’ll leave you to it now.” He took Arilyn’s arm and led her toward the stables. The half-elf came with him, her coldly polite expression frozen on her face.

“I’ll get the horses,” Danilo offered. Arilyn nodded absently, her attention fixed on the long wooden trough near the door of the stable. At one end of the trough stood a hand pump. Arilyn snatched up an empty feed bucket and walked to the well. She pumped water into the bucket and, dipping her cupped hands into the water again and again, viciously scrubbed and splashed the gold stain from her face and hands. There was a sound of ripping silk as she jerked off the tabard, too impatient to wait for the illusion to fade. The half-elf threw the ruined garment aside and stood, wearing her own identity like a defiant banner.

“Much better,” Danilo said and handed her the reins of her horse. “That particular shade of gold was not becoming to you, and judging from the specimen we just encountered, the Tel’Quessir—whatever the Nine Hells they might be—are damnably unpleasant folk.”

Fifteen

Against Danilo’s better judgment, he and Arilyn left Waterdeep and rode into the night. The bright autumn moon was high in the sky as they headed south along the cliffs overlooking Waterbreak, a small peninsula of rock and sand that jutted into the sea and protected the southern section of Waterdeep’s harbor. In the bright moonlight they could see the rocky shoreline below and the promise of safety given by the city walls that lay to their north. An empty promise, Danilo mused, considering the events of the past three days.

He had plenty of time to think of such things during their flight from Waterdeep. Arilyn said very little as they rode, and for once Danilo did not press her. He gave her all the distance and solitude she needed, the better to catch her off guard at the proper moment. Tonight he planned to force a confrontation.

The nobleman was not looking forward to his task, yet if he and Arilyn were to find the Harper Assassin they had to change the direction of their search. The conversation with Elaith Craulnobur had convinced Danilo that Uncle Khelben was right: the moonblade was the key to finding the assassin. Danilo wished he could simply tell Arilyn what he knew of the sword’s history, but to do so would dispel his facade.

Since Arilyn seemed so distracted, Danilo took it upon himself to keep eyes and ears alert for danger. For all its riches and splendor, Waterdeep had been carved from a wild and dangerous land. “The Savage North,” spiteful southerners called the area, and they were not far wrong. To the north and west of Waterdeep lay noble estates and rich farmland, but the southern path took Danilo and Arilyn into wilderness. As they reached the brush and pines that formed the far edges of the Ardeep Forest, Arilyn reined her horse to a stop.

“We make camp here. I’ll hunt, you tend to the horses.” Without waiting for a response, the half-elf swung herself down from her saddle, armed herself with a small bow and quiver, and disappeared into the trees.