Songs & Swords 1 (22 page)

Eleven

Morning had broken over Waterdeep Way. On the roof of a tall building overlooking the home of the adventurer Loene, smoke from the breakfast fire began to spiral into the sky. In the shadow of that chimney crouched a lone figure.

From his rooftop perch, Bran Skorlsun had a clear view of every angle of the tiny white castle sprawled below. He drew his cape closely about him, shifting his weight to bring some circulation to a numb foot. The morning was chilly, and he was weary to his very core. The road from the Vale of Darkhold had been a long one, and his assignment—to follow Arilyn Moonblade and determine whether she was responsible for the deaths of his fellow Harpers—was turning out to be far more difficult than he had anticipated.

As the Harper watched, the front door of Loene’s home was flung open. The half-elf’s human companion stormed out, swearing softly and furiously. Bran rose, intent upon following the young man from the rooftops of the closely set houses.

“Why, if it isn’t the Raven. How are you, Bran?”

Startled, the Harper whirled to find himself face to face with a beautiful, familiar woman. Leaning casually against the chimney, arms folded over a robe of pale gold silk, stood Loene. Pleasure at seeing his old friend warred with Bran’s chagrin at the ease with which she had surprised him.

Loene’s hazel eyes glinted with laughter, and she held up her left hand to display a simple silver band. “In answer to your question, I flew. A ring of spell storing is a handy thing to have,” she commented lightly. “A gift from the Blackstaff, of course. I trust you’ve seen our old friend already?”

“No.”

“Well, you must stop by Blackstaff Tower. He’ll be delighted to visit with you.”

“That is unlikely.”

Loene chuckled. “I would give a great deal to know what caused the trouble between you two all those years ago.”

“Another time, Loene. I must go now.”

“Stay,” she purred, coming closer and taking his arm. “If you’re worried about losing Danilo Thann’s trail, don’t. I can tell you where he went. By the gods, Bran,” she said with genuine feeling, “it’s good to see you after all these years. Almost like old times. I’ve heard about some of your adventures, but I’d given up hope you’d ever return to Waterdeep. I suppose your sudden reappearance is due to this Harper Assassin?”

Bran looked down at her sharply. “I have been charged with finding the assassin, yes. What do you know about the matter?”

The woman preened and smiled coyly. “Plenty. Care to swap tales?” Under the man’s steady gaze, her smile wavered and faded.

“Where did the young man go?” Bran asked sternly.

Loene sighed. “He’s headed for the Dock Ward, to a tavern on Adder Lane. Tell me one thing,” she said, grabbing his arm when he started to turn away, “how did you find out that Arilyn is the assassin’s target?”

“Target?”

Loene dropped Bran’s arm and stepped back. “What else?” Realization dawned on her face. “Don’t tell me you think Arilyn is the assassin?” She shook her head in disbelief. “You don’t know her very well.”

A flash of pain crossed the man’s face. “No, I don’t.”

“Obviously. Who set you on her trail?”

Bran hesitated. “The Harpers.”

Loene’s laughter was tinged with irony. “You people really should talk to each other more often. Did you know that Danilo Thann is Blackstaff’s nephew? His dear Uncle Khelben has charged him with helping Arilyn find the assassin.”

“That young fool?”

“He’s not really, you know. Just last month, Blackstaff confided to me that for years now he’s been secretly training a young mage. Khelben’s not entirely happy with the secrecy. I believe our dear archmage is vain enough to want to spring his protege upon the world with all due fanfare. His most promising pupil, Blackstaff said, with the potential to become a true wizard.” Loene inspected her henna-tinted nails. “From what I learned this morning, I would wager a chest of sapphires that Blackstaff was speaking of young Lord Thann.”

“I’d heard you’d given up gambling, Loene.”

The woman’s hazel eyes were serious. “I don’t consider it a gamble. Arilyn is usually a decent judge of character, and I believe she cares about the young man.”

“Why do you say ‘usually’ in that manner, if Thann is all you believe him to be?”

“I wasn’t talking about Danilo,” Loene said ruefully. “You might as well know. Arilyn is on her way to talk to Elaith Craulnobur.”

When Arilyn rounded the corner onto Adder Lane she found the street a virtual beehive of activity. The Dock Ward was the busiest and most crowded section of Waterdeep, with commerce both legal and illegal taking place at all hours. She walked the length of the street twice, but there was no sign of the establishment Loene had mentioned.

Finally Arilyn stopped a dour passerby and asked for the Rearing Hippocampus Inn. He looked at her as if she’d struck him. “It was over there,” the man said, pointing to a large wooden structure. Arilyn shot a glance at the building.

“Ah, here you are,” the man said glumly, turning away from Arilyn to address two servants, who carried between them a wooden sign. On it Arilyn saw the name of the inn she sought, as well as a crudely carved picture of a hippocampus. The man sighed, cast a last wistful glance at the building, and set off down the road. His servants fell in behind him, carrying their strange banner.

Puzzled, Arilyn walked to the building and peered in through the open door. Chairs were up on the tables, and a small army of workers bustled about, scrubbing and polishing every surface of the tavern. Merchants came and went with stocks of food and drink. In the midst of the commotion, directing it all with gentle commands, stood Elaith Craulnobur.

“Adder Lane. Quite an appropriate address for the good elf’s new establishment, wouldn’t you say?”

Arilyn jumped and turned to face the source of the familiar, drawling voice. Her jaw dropped in astonishment.

“Hello there,” said Danilo Thann, as casually as if they had never parted company. He looked her over carefully, taking in her disguise with ill-concealed distaste. “I must say, as disguises go I much prefer the Sembian courtesan. You are convincing, though. For a moment, I mistook you for my stableboy. He has a cap just like that one, only I believe his is brown.”

Arilyn shut her mouth and glared at the nobleman. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting friends?”

“You have friends?”

His brows rose in lazy surprise. “Really. That’s quite a welcome, considering all the trouble I’ve gone through to find you.”

Arilyn sniffed. “Why did you bother?”

“I’m beginning to wonder about that myself,” he murmured. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”

In truth, Arilyn wished that she weren’t quite so pleased to see the dandy again. The half-elf’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find me? Your skills at tracking must far surpass your spellcasting or your bardcraft.”

“Really my dear, you should reserve judgment until you hear my latest song. It’s really quite—”

“Enough!” she burst out. “For once, give me the courtesy of a straight answer. How did you find me? Loene?”

“Well…”

“Loene,” Arilyn confirmed grimly. “I owe her one. Now, why did you come after me? The truth!”

He shrugged. “All right, but you might not like it.”

“Try me.”

“I seem to have acquired one of your shadows, my dear,” Danilo informed her. “I’ve come to give it back.”

Arilyn drew back. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh dear. I was afraid you’d say that,” Danilo said with a sigh. “Well, let me shed what light I can. As you know, I left Loene’s house last night. I’ve been away from Waterdeep for several tendays, and I simply had to attend to a personal errand of some importance.”

“Mother Tathlorn’s House of Pleasure and Healing?”

Danilo’s shrug made no commitment either way. “Ever since my little trip, something has been following me. Notice,” he said pointedly, “that I said something. I see a shadow out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn around there is never anyone there. It is,” he concluded in a prissy tone, “most disconcerting.”

The description was familiar. Many times Arilyn had experienced that very feeling, although, she realized, not since they had left the House of Good Spirits the night before. She nodded slowly.

“I take it that you recognize my description of this particular shadow?” Arilyn nodded again. “Oh good,” Danilo said wryly.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Let me assure you, I have no intention of dealing with this on my own. The way I see it, if I follow you around for a while longer, perhaps this shadow will return to its original owner, and I can be on my way, unencumbered. Fair enough?”

“I suppose,” she said grudgingly. “Come on. Just keep quiet, if that’s possible.”

“Lead on.”

Arilyn walked through the open door of the tavern and into a solid wall of muscle. She fell back a step and looked up into the threatening scowl of one of the biggest men she had ever seen. As square as a castle courtyard, the man literally filled the doorway.

“We ain’t open,” he growled down at her through a thick curly beard the color of rusted iron.

“We’re looking for Elaith Craulnobur,” Arilyn began.

“If he wanted to see you, boy, he’d look for you,” the giant observed with a nasty smile. “Now git, before I turn you over my knee.”

Arilyn drew the moonblade. “I’m afraid I must insist,” she said softly.

The man threw back his head and roared with laughter, drawing several other, equally rough-looking men to his side. “He insists,” he told one of them, jerking a thumb toward the slender “lad” in the doorway. His companions smirked.

Danilo buried his face in his hands. “She insists,” he muttered.

“Nice sword, boy. Antique shop’s down the street,” one of the men taunted Arilyn. “You might as well sell it, ‘cause you don’t look like you can use it.”

“Stand aside or draw your weapons,” she said firmly. “I do not fight unarmed men.”

“Right sportin’ o’ the lad, wouldn’t you say?” piped up another. Hoots of laughter followed.

“Well, let’s oblige the little chap,” rumbled a deep bass voice from behind the human mountain in the doorway.

“Yeah. Show him some steel, boys.” The speaker had the sun-weathered skin and rakish clothes of a Ruathym pirate. He flashed an evil grin—complete with several gold teeth—as he drew a long knife from his bright yellow sash.

With a look of pained resignation, Danilo drew his own sword and stepped to Arilyn’s side. The gathered ruffians looked the dandy over from plumed hat to polished boots and burst into renewed mirth.

The elven proprietor, alerted by the commotion, looked up. As he glided toward the door, Arilyn sheathed the moonblade and removed the cap that covered her hair and ears. Elaith Craulnobur’s eyes lit up in recognition.

“It’s all right, Durwoon,” the quessir said to the doorkeeper. “Your diligence is commendable, but we must not scare away the customers.”

It was a gentle reprimand, but the huge man blanched and melted into the shadows, followed by his chastened cronies.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Elaith murmured, pointedly speaking only to Arilyn. “Welcome to my new establishment.” Elaith gestured around at the bustle of activity. “I acquired it just two nights past. The previous owner imbibed too freely, I’m afraid, and challenged me to a game of darts. So it goes. We plan to reopen this evening in time for the first night of the festival.” He broke off suddenly and took Arilyn’s gloved hand, bowing low over it. “Forgive me. I doubt you’ve come here to discuss my latest business venture. Can I be of some service?”

“I hope so. You know that Rhys Ravenwind was killed the night we met at the House of Fine Spirits,” Arilyn began.

“A tragedy,” Elaith said smoothly. “What has this to do with you or me?”

“You were there,” Danilo pointed out ingenuously.

The quessir raised his eyebrows in gentle reproach. “As were you. I assure you, the watch has already made the same dreary assumption, and they are now completely satisfied with my innocence.”

Arilyn shot Danilo a quelling glance and turned back to the elf. “May we talk alone?”

“By all means,” Elaith agreed, eyeing Danilo with distaste. The elf took Arilyn’s arm and drew her into the tavern. Refusing to be insulted or excluded, Danilo resolutely trailed behind.

“I do not presume to tell you your business, my dear etriel, but you would be well rid of that one,” the elf murmured, too low for the human to hear.

“Don’t think I haven’t tried,” Arilyn returned.

“Really. How very interesting,” he mused.

To Arilyn’s surprise, Elaith contemplated her offhand remark as if it were a particularly important piece in a puzzle. She would have pressed him for an explanation, but they had traversed the length of the tavern and reached a back room that apparently served as his office. The elf had wasted no time in settling in to what had probably been a storeroom. The room had been swept and newly whitewashed, and the window that overlooked the back alley sparkled in the morning sun. Another window, which appeared to be newly installed, looked out over the tavern. Arilyn remembered that from the other side the window appeared to be a mirror.

Elaith politely seated her in one of the leather chairs that flanked a desk of exotic Chultan teak. Danilo refused a chair. Carefully arranging the folds of his cape, he leaned indolently against the wall just behind Arilyn.

“What do you know about the bard’s death?” Arilyn asked, getting right down to business.

Elaith sat down behind his desk and spread his hands before him. “Very little. I left the inn shortly after you retired. Why do you ask?”

“Never overlook the obvious, I always say,” Danilo observed brightly.

The quessir threw a contemptuous glance in Danilo’s direction. The troublesome human hovered behind Arilyn Moonblade as if he intended to protect her, at the cost of his worthless life if need be. It was a humorous notion, but Elaith was not in the mood to be amused. “Young man, don’t try my patience. I am not the Harper Assassin, as you so clumsily imply.” The elf’s scowl faded, and he smiled evilly. “If truth be told, I almost wish I were. He—or she—is very good indeed.”