Songs & Swords 1 (7 page)

The night passed, and the moon sank toward the horizon, yet no answers came to the weary half-elf. In an effort to court sleep, Arilyn edged her thoughts toward more pleasant things. Soon she would reach Evereska, and home. There she could rest. Rest she needed badly, and not just from the rigors of travel. She was truly exhausted from grief, from the knowledge that a shadowy trail of death lay behind her, from the hidden eyes that watched her every move.

Even now she felt them upon her. There was no sound, no shadow, no indication that someone was watching her camp, but Arilyn felt a presence lurking beyond the reach of the campfire’s embers. Her eyes flashed to her moonblade that lay beside her like a constant, vigilant companion. It gave her no sign of warning.

Arilyn had learned early in her career that the magic sword could alert her to danger. Working with her teacher, Kymil Nimesin, she had discovered that the moonblade could warn her in three different ways. It glowed with blue light when danger approached, and when danger was close-at-hand it hummed with a silent energy only she could sense. Even as she slept the sword kept guard. Many times she had awakened from a dream about approaching orcs or trolls to find her dream made reality. The dreamwarning was particularly handy, since she so often traveled alone.

Tonight, however, the sword was dark and silent. There was no danger on the riverbanks. Why, then, did she have such a persistent feeling of eyes upon her?

Four

The festival of Higharvestide was the social highlight of the month of Eleint. Known as The Fading, Eleint was nonetheless far from dull. As summer drew to a close and the days grew short and chill, autumn paid its dividend in the form of longer, revel-filled nights. Harvest festivals crowded the calendar; Waterdeep’s economy was based on commerce rather than agriculture, but the wealthy Waterdhavians never overlooked any opportunity to throw a party.

They came out in full force, the noble merchants of Waterdeep. The members of the older generation considered the festival serious business. It was a time to assert their position in society, to upstage business competitors, to gather useful information and start potentially beneficial rumors, and to generally move from deal to deal. The younger set merely gathered to enjoy their unearned wealth with smug high spirits.

The joint effort of several noble families, the Higharvestide Ball was always a lavish affair. It was held in the House of Purple Silks, one of the city’s largest and finest festhalls. Several hundred guests gathered in the vast main room, which was ablaze with the light of a thousand tiny lanterns that magically changed colors to match the tempo and mood of the dance music. In the center of the marble floor a large circle of dancers moved through the intricate patterns of a rondellere, and as they laughed and spun, their glittering jewels and silks reflected the colorshifting light like a vast kaleidoscope.

Other revelers enjoyed the buffet tables or helped themselves to the trays of delicacies circulated by a small horde of servants. No expense had been spared; tonight everything was of the finest quality available to the City of Splendors. Vases of rare hothouse flowers scented the air. The musicians were among the best in Faerun, and several small concerts were planned for the evening’s entertainment. At the moment a consort of viols and woodwinds played for those who wished to dance, but lutanists and harpists were also scattered in remote corners and alcoves to set the proper mood for trysts. One corner of the room—a corner very near a well-stocked bar—echoed with peal after peal of laughter. A merry group had gathered there around Danilo Thann, a favorite with the younger Waterdeep set.

The young man holding court in the center of the circle was dressed to the nines in an outfit designed to enhance his recently acquired image as a far-traveled man. He sported a broad-brimmed hat of green velvet, deliberately styled after the trademark hat of a famous Ruathym pirate, right down to the sweeping plumes. The dandy’s soft, slouchy boots were like those favored by Sembian adventurers, but they were made of rare chimera leather, also dyed green. Finely embroidered dragons and griffons cavorted on his shirt of pale green Shou silk. There, however, the world-trotting theme ended. His jade green coat and trousers were of the latest local style, and a velvet cape in a matching shade swept dramatically to the floor. Several rings decorated his gesticulating hands, and a pendant with a large, square-cut emerald gleamed from his chest. Blond hair flowed over his shoulders, framing his animated face with shining, lovingly maintained waves.

Danilo Thann was a devoted dilettante as well as a fashion plate, renowned for his amusing but half-honed talents in music and magic. At the moment, he entertained his friends with a new magic trick.

“Dan, what ho! The wanderer has returned at last,” called a voice behind Danilo, interrupting the would-be mage in mid-spell.

A chorus of cries met the new arrival. Splendidly attired in his family colors of red, silver, and blue, Regnet Amcathra strode into the circle of nobles. He and Danilo clasped hands with the gravity of warriors, then fell laughing into a back-thumping hug.

“By Helm’s eyes, you’re a welcome sight,” swore Regnet heartily when the pair broke apart. A boyhood friend as well as Danilo’s competitor in matters of sartorial excess, Regnet scanned the dandy’s green ensemble from top to toe and drawled, “But tell me, Dan, will you turn another color as you ripen?”

The group burst into laughter. Before Danilo could respond in kind, Myrna Callahanter spoke up. “Yes, well, speaking of green, did you hear that our good friend Rhys Brossfeather was spotted entering the Smiling Siren?”

The young nobles joined in a collective smirk. A flighty and casually malicious gossip, Myrna was ever on the alert for an opening, however small, for one of her tattling tales.

“Really? I’ve heard some wonderful stories about that place,” Danilo said, grinning broadly at the thought of the shy young cleric in that notoriously bawdy tavern. “Is the entertainment there every bit as wicked as they say?”

“Well… So I’ve heard,” responded Myrna, eyes demurely downcast.

The group hooted with laughter at her evasion. “Myrna was probably on stage that night,” Regnet suggested, bringing about another chorus of mirth.

Not insulted in the least, Lady Callahanter responded with an evil grin that would have shamed a red dragon. She was always delighted to be the center of attention, and with a practiced gesture she reached up to pat her bright red hair. As she did, her outer robe fell conveniently open, revealing a translucent gown and a good deal more. Several jaws fell at the sudden display, and one guest noisily dropped his goblet.

Wearing a droll expression, Danilo leaned closer to Regnet. “Her timing rivals that of a bard, but can she sing?”

“Does it matter?” his crony responded dryly.

As were most of the guests, Myrna Callahanter was dressed to dazzle. Her blue-green gown was almost sheer, with clusters of sequins cleverly located to create an illusion of decency. The dress was cut low enough to reveal a lavish expanse of flesh. Multicolored glitter had been glued in artful patterns to the skin of her arms, throat, and impressive curves. Even her hair—the raucous scarlet hue of Calimshite henna—was elaborately woven with gems and gilded ribbons. Nothing about Myrna was subtle; she had the reputation of devouring men with the speed and appetite of trolls in a butcher shop.

Making the most of the attention, Myrna heaved a theatrical sigh. Glancing around the circle through lowered lashes, she continued her litany of gossip. “And then there’s that terrible scandal involving Jhessoba, the poor dear—”

“Myrna, love, I know rumor-mongering is your family trade, but must you talk shop at a party?”

Again the young nobles grinned in unison. The speaker was Galinda Raventree. She and Myrna were sworn foes, and their catty warfare could always be counted on to liven up things.

This evening, however, Galinda had another motive for curbing Myrna’s tongue: Jhessoba’s latest misfortune had political implications, which could lead—the gods forbid—to serious debate upon substantive issues. A devoted party-goer, Galinda had seen to catering this affair, and she was determined that it remain appropriately frivolous.

Danilo draped an arm around Myrna’s shoulders, coming valiantly to her defense. “Really, Galinda, you must let Myrna talk. After two months with that dreary merchant train, I for one am longing for a bit of local gossip.”

He gave Myrna a squeeze of encouragement. “Do go on.”

“My hero,” the gossip purred. She snuggled a bit closer, and one scarlet-tipped hand snaked up Danilo’s chest to toy with his emerald pendant.

Noting the familiar, predatory expression in the noblewoman’s eyes, Danilo wisely retreated. His arm came away faintly dusted with glitter, though, and he regarded his defiled garment with dismay. “I say, Myrna, you’ve got that damnable stuff all over me.”

Several women in the group surreptitiously checked their escorts for similar telltale sparkles. Galinda Raventree took note of their suspicious scrutiny, and with great satisfaction she smirked into her wine goblet.

Incapable of being insulted, Myrna draped herself over Danilo again. “Do another trick,” she begged him.

“Love to, but I’ve cast all the spells I’ve got for the day.”

“Oh, no,” she cooed, pouting up at him. “Not every one?”

“Well…” Danilo hesitated. “I have been working on some interesting spell modifications.”

Regnet guffawed. “Another Snilloc’s Snowball?”

“Now, there’s gratitude for you,” Danilo huffed in mock pique. He turned to the group, and with one ringed hand he languidly gestured toward Regnet. “About three months ago our overdressed friend here managed to insult some very large, very drunk gentlemen in a tavern down in the Dock Ward. A small fight ensued, and of course I leapt to his aid. Using the Snilloc’s Snowball spell, I conjured a magic missile—”

“A snowball?” sneered Wardon Agundar. His family dealt in the forging of swords, and he had little regard for lesser weapons.

“Well, not exactly,” Danilo confessed. “I tried a variation on the spell and came up with a slightly, um, more exotic weapon.”

“Thus creating the spell for Snilloc’s Cream Pie,” put in Regnet with a broad grin. The nobles shouted with laughter over the image this conjured, and Danilo bowed in acknowledgement.

“My claim to immortality,” he replied, laying a hand over his heart and striking a heroic pose.

“What happened?” demanded Myrna breathlessly. “Did you have to fight those men or did the watch step in?”

“Nothing so dramatic as that,” admitted Danilo. “We settled our differences like gentlemen. Regnet bought a round of drinks for our erstwhile opponents. Dessert, of course, was on them.”

A universal groan greeted Danilo’s pun. “You’d better do another trick now, to redeem yourself,” Regnet advised.

His friends joined in coaxing Danilo to casting another of his illusions. After modestly disclaiming that he hadn’t quite worked all the bugs out of this one, he agreed to try.

“Hmmmm. I’ll need something truly vulgar to use as a spell component,” Danilo mused. His gaze fastened on Regnet’s pendant, a rendering of the Amcathra crest in sparkling red and blue stones. “Oh, I say, Regnet, that will do splendidly.”

Regnet pretended to wince at the good-natured insult, but he handed over the bauble. His friend began the spell, chanting the arcane words and gesturing broadly. Finally Danilo tossed the pendant into the air, and the show climaxed in a loud pop and a puff of multicolored smoke.

When the smoke cleared, the young nobles stared at Regnet in a moment of stunned disbelief. Then their laughter echoed throughout the hall. The spell had turned his colorful finery into the drab brown robes of a druid.

Danilo’s eyes widened in mock dismay. He rocked back a pace and folded his arms across his chest. “Hmm. Now, how did that happen?” he murmured, raising one hand to tap reflectively at the highly decorative cleft in his chin.

Regnet’s face was a study of astonishment as he regarded his unfashionable ensemble, and his chagrin sent his friends into new peals of mirth. Suddenly the laughter died, and a nervous silence fell over the merry group.

A tall, burly man approached their corner. Unlike most of the party-goers, this man was dressed in solemn black, his only ornaments a silver torque and a cape lined with fine gray fur. His black hair was streaked with gray, and his brow was knit in disapproval.

“Uh-oh,” murmured Myrna, her eyes brightening with glee at the thought of impending disaster. Another of their number, a young nobleman deeply into his cups, blanched at the sight of the stern newcomer and edged out of range.

Danilo, however, raised a hand in delighted greeting. “Uncle Khelben! Just the person we need. That last bit of magic went awry. Can you show me where I went wrong?”

“I wouldn’t presume,” Uncle Khelben said dryly. “It would seem, Danilo, that we need to have another little talk.” He took a firm hold of the dandy’s glitter-speckled arm and glared around the circle of nobles.

The gay assemblage took the hint and scattered like a flock of startled birds, muttering excuses as they went. This would not be the first time that Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun, archmage and reputed member of the secret circle that ruled Waterdeep, had chastised his frivolous nephew over the irresponsible use of magic, and Danilo’s friends did not care to witness the coming lecture.

“Cowards, all of them,” Danilo mused as he watched the rapid retreat of his friends.

“Forget them. We have more important matters to discuss.”

Danilo grimaced and captured two goblets of Sparkling Evermead from the tray of a passing waiter. He thrust one of the goblets into his uncle’s hand. “Here, take this. I suppose it’s safe to assume that you’ll be as dry as usual.”

Khelben’s dour response was drowned out by a delighted squeal.

“Danilo, you’re back!” A tipsy young noblewoman, dressed in an incongruous mixture of sheer lace and white furs, launched herself at the green-clad dandy.