Songs & Swords 1 (17 page)

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 and 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.

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 meeting,” 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.”