Songs & Swords 2 (4 page)

As he struggled to draw breath, he felt her fingers on his hand, twisting the ring of teleportation that would send him back to Waterdeep. He lunged for her wrist, intending to drag her along to safety, but the teleportation spell engulfed him, and his fingers closed on a whirl of white emptiness.

When Danilo arrived in the safety of Blackstaff Tower’s reception hall, his first impulse was to return to Tethyr immediately. His magic ring, however, would not grant him that power again until daybreak. Khelben could send him back, Danilo realized, and when he could muster enough breath to move, he lurched up the curving stone stairway to the archmage’s private chambers. Khelben was not at home, nor was his lady, the mage Laeral Danilo made a quick search of the tower, with the same result. He was alone, and thoroughly stuck in Waterdeep.

The Harper hurried back down to the reception hall and flung himself into the chair at the small writing table. He scratched a quick note to his uncle telling him what had occurred in Tethyr. Danilo cast a spell that made the paper float at eye level near the room’s entrance. For good measure, he placed an aureole of sparkling pink lights around the parchment, so that Khelben could not fail to see it upon his return. Meanwhile, Arilyn was alone in Tethyr, and there was not a thing Danilo could to do to help.

Helplessness gave birth to frustration, and suddenly the Harper could no longer abide the symbolic purple he wore. He stripped off his amethyst rings and thrust them into the magic bag on his belt, but the fact remained that he was still dressed like a “walking grape.” He strode out of the tower and through the second invisible door that allowed passage out of the polished black stone wall surrounding it. At a brisk pace he headed toward the townhouse he’d recently purchased. There be could discard the purple reminders of his mission in Tethyr and await his uncle’s summons. For the last two years, both Danilo and Arilyn had received their missions directly from Khelben Arunsun; surely the archmage could tell Danilo where Arilyn had been assigned to go.

As he walked, Dan mentally kicked himself for leaving his magical globe behind in Tethyr. It was a small scrying crystal that he’d adapted into an alarm, but with it he could probably discover how Arilyn fared. Just before the ring of teleportation had carried him away from Tethyr, Danilo had caught one last glimpse of her. Sword drawn, the half elf had faced the window in a battle stance, limed in the magical blue light of her sword as she stood to confront his enemies. Danilo could not dismiss that image from his mind, or stop wondering about the outcome of the battle that had surely followed.

Danilo was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he gave scant attention to others on the crowded street. He hurried past an alley and bumped heavily into a solid frame. Strong hands caught the Harper’s shoulders and held him out at arm’s length. Danilo focused his attention on the smiling face of his friend and fellow nobleman, Caladorn Cassalanter. The man was several years older that Dan’s eight-and-twenty, also taller and broader. He wore his dark red hair cropped short, and he had a warrior’s callused hands. Caladorn had long been city champion in fighting arts and horsemanship. Of late he’d taken to bouts of seafaring adventure, even dropping his family name until he had “done something do prove himself worthy of it.” With difficulty, Danilo summoned the inane grin his friend would expect and pasted it firmly in place.

‘Well met, Caladorn. Fancy bumping into you, as they say’

The nobleman chuckled and released his grip. “Steady as you go, Dan. The taverns have not been long open, and already you walk as though tacking to a changing wind.” Caladorn’s eyes narrowed. “Or are you ill? You don’t look yourself.”

“Sad to say, all I’m suffering from is a bit of a headache,” Dan lied, pressing his fingertips delicately to his temple. “You know you’re getting old when you feel this bad the day after you’ve had no fun the night before.” He paused, as if slightly dizzied by his own observation. “Or words to that effect”

Caladorn laughed and clapped Danilo on the shoulder. “That’s my lad. You know the Lady Thione, do you not? Lucia, my dear, I am remiss. Allow me to present my old friend, Danilo Thann. Despite appearance, he is harmless!”

Danilo turned his attention to the woman at Caladorn’s side. Tiny and slight, she was dressed in a gown of rich purple and crowned by gleaming chestnut hair arranged in thick coils about her shapely head. Her dark eyes observed Dan with a touch of amusement, and her delicately aquiline features held the unmistakable stamp of the Southlands. Dan stilled a sigh: he was not going to escape his memories of Tethyr tonight. Lucia Thione was a prominent member of Waterdeep society, and as a distant relative of Tethyr’s ousted royal family, she often wore the traditional purple to flaunt her exotic and royal background. Danilo disliked this sort of posturing, but he knew the rules of court behavior and could follow them as well as any. He took Lucia Thione’s hand and bowed deeply

“Caladorn is a fool, dear lady. Where a beautiful woman is concerned, no man should be considered harmless.” He smiled at his friend, taking the threat from the words and leaving behind only the compliment.

“In that case, I’ll consider myself forewarned, and we’ll take our leave,” Caladorn said in a jovial tone, encircling Lucia’s shoulder with one massive arm.

Dan watched them go, noting the solicitous Manner in which Caladorn bent over the tiny noblewoman. So that’s why Caladorn was lingering in Waterdeep rather than going off to pursue adventure somewhere, Dan noted. Although Danilo was not exactly envious, he was in no mood to be confronted with other people’s happiness. Feeling very alone and in sudden need of a stiff drink, Danilo ducked into the nearest tavern.

He regretted his choice immediately. The scent of a rain-washed forest greeted him, and the taproom’s roof soared up at least five stories to accommodate the live trees that grew here and there in the room. Gentle, floating motes of blue light drifted among the clientele, who were almost exclusively elven. The reason for this was immediately apparent: a pair of well-armed gold elf sentinels guarded the door like a pair of glowering bookends. They looked him over, considering.

“I know you,” one of them finally said. “You’re that… stage that was discussed in the last innkeepers’ guild meeting.”

Dan smiled at them in his most engaging fashion.

“You’ve obviously heard about that unfortunate incident at the Fiery Flagon. Rest assured, I’ve paid for the damage in full. Except for the dwarf’s beard, of course—hard to determine a market rate on those, don’t you know—but it should grow back in, say, another decade or two. Not that the spell would affect any of your clients, of course; no one here appears to be bearded, so having ale suddenly turn to flame couldn’t set anyone’s beard afire. If cast that spell, that is, which of course I won’t.”

The elven guards seized Danilo by his elbows and spun him toward the door. From the corner of his eye, the Harper saw an ancient elf lift one long-fingered hand in a peremptory gesture. Immediately the guards halted. The elf—marked by his fine white robes and platinum torque as a personage of some importance—whispered a few words to his hostess, Yaereene Ilbaereth. Her delicate face lit in a smile of genuine pleasure, and she came to meet Dan with outstretched hands. The door guards melted away at her approach. Dan noted this development with puzzlement He had fully expected to be thrown out of the tavern, and indeed he had no wish to linger, but he could hardly ignore the regal elven woman who approached him.

Yaereene was tall and slender, with the silvery hair and eyes common to moon elves. She wore a sparkling gown that was alternately blue or green, for it changed color to match the whim and color of the tiny faerie dragon perched on her shoulder. The creature grinned and flapped its gossamer wings as the pair approached, and its jeweled scales were echoed by the fine blue topaz woven into the intricate silver mesh of the elf’s necklace.

“Welcome to Elf’stone Tavern,” Yaereene said, holding out both hands to Danilo in a Manner common to ladies of the Waterdhavian court. It was a gracious gesture, accepting the human by his own custom. Danilo took her hands and kissed the slender fingers, and then responded in kind. Holding both hands, palms up, before him, he bowed low to her in a uniquely elven gesture of respect. Yaereene’s smile widened and then turned into a delighted laugh when Dan addressed the faerie dragon with a few words in its own tongue. In response, the tiny creature graciously craned its jeweled head to one side, allowing Dan to scratch its neck as he would that of a house cat.

Yaereene claimed Danilo’s arm and led him deeper into the taproom. “Tonight you are the guest of Evindal Duirsar patriarch priest of Corellion Lathanian,” she said, indicating the aged elf who had interceded in Dan’s behalf. “May we call on you later, after you have supped and shared a drink?”

“Of course,” Danilo replied graciously, although he hadn’t the slightest notion of what he might be called upon to do.

The elven priest rose when the Harper approached, and after the rituals of greeting were accomplished the two settled down before a crystal decanter. “Do you drink elverquisst?” the priest asked.

“Only when it’s available,” Danilo replied in a droll tone.

Evindal Duirsar smiled and signaled for another goblet, which was immediately supplied by an elven servant. The priest’s mood abruptly sobered, and he leaned forward and spoke in a quiet voice. “My son is Erlan Duirsar, lord of Evereska. He has told me of your service to the elven people.”

“I see.” Dan settled back in his chair, uncertain of how to proceed. Two years earlier, he had helped to secure Evermeet, the island homeland and last retreat of the elves, by moving a magical gate from the elven settlement known as Evereska to a more secure, secret location. He had no idea how widespread this knowledge was, but, judging from Yaereene’s reception and the number of gracious nods the elven patrons had sent his way, it was a secret poorly kept. “I suppose that would explain my welcome here,” Danilo concluded.

“Not at all.” Evindal shook his head adamantly. “Few know what transpired in Evereska. You are welcome here for other, more obvious reasons.”

“Define ‘obvious,’ ” Dan requested.

The elven priest chuckled and gestured toward the middle of the taproom. There sat a flaxen-haired elfmaid, playing upon a gilded harp and singing. Danilo recognized the tune as The Gray-Mist Maiden, an air that he himself had written. The song likened the magical mist that surrounded and protected Evereska to an elusive lover, and although it was popular with Dan’s friends among the Waterdhavian nobility, to Dan’s ear the words were trite and overly sentimental. He had deliberately written it so. Why would such a thing be sung by the music-loving elves, even translated as it was into Elvish?

“That is a lovely song,” Evindal said admiringly.

“It must have gained something in the translation,” Dan murmured.

Evindal smiled. “Such modesty in a bard is refreshing.” He rose from the table. “I’m afraid my duties call me back to the temple, but please stay as long as you will. Call on me any time, for the People owe you a great debt”

Danilo lifted his goblet. “At the price of elverquisst, we should be even before the night is over.”

The priest chuckled as he walked out of the tavern. Danilo watched him go, a puzzled frown on his face.

“What are you doing here, besides marinating in elven spirits?”

Danilo jumped. He looked up into the stern face of Khelben Arunsun. As usual, the archmage was clad in simple, dark clothing, and wrapped in a fur-lined coat against the sea breezes that chilled Waterdeep’s nights, even now, in the midst of summer. Khelben’s silver-streaked black hair was uncharacteristically rumpled, and his bearded visage looked a shade grimmer than usual. Danilo was one of the few persons in Waterdeep not cowed by the powerful wizard, and he gestured cheerfully with his full goblet

“Sit down, Uncle. I’d ask you to join me in a glass—”

“But you doubt that we’d both fit” The archmage completed the jest in a sour tone. “Save the nonsense, Dan. We’ve more important matters to discuss.”

“Indeed.” The Harper spoke softly and met Khelben’s glare with a measured gaze of his own. “Let’s start with the most important matter. Where is Arilyn?”

The archmage was silent for a moment, then he nodded toward the decanter of elverquisst. “A mage of your potential has no business drinking anything so powerful. Magic demands keen wits and a clear mind. Or have you forgotten what happened last time you imbibed too freely? I hear that the butler at the Stalwarts’ Club still resembles something from the Abyss.”

Danilo’s eyes narrowed. “I am in full possession of my senses—such as they are—and I was that evening in Cormyr, also. I regret changing the butler’s appearance so drastically, but might I remind you that the episode occurred during the Time of Troubles? Mine was not the only spell to go awry in those days!”

“Defending your art.” Khelben leaned back in his seat and nodded approvingly. “That’s a good sign. May I infer that you’re taking your magical studies more seriously, or would that be hoping for too much?”

The young mage’s jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “While in Tethyr, I memorized the spells in the book you lent me, as well as several more from a tome of southern magic I purchased there. Beyond my Harper duties, I have acquired over twenty new spells and researched several of my own. Just because

I study in secret does not mean I lack purpose,” he concluded in a terse, quiet voice. “Likewise, although I play the fool, I am not so easily distracted as you seem to think. I left my partner alone and in danger, and I demand to know where she is and how she fares.”

“Fair enough,” Khelben conceded, a touch of apology in his voice. “Arilyn is safe, and on her way to her new task.” “Where is she? And why must she go alone?”

“The task requires someone who can pass as an elf. Where she’s going, you would be too conspicuous. I can tell you no more.”

Danilo received this news in silence. Although he was relieved to learn that Arilyn was safe, he feared that this mysterious assignment would take her far beyond his reach. Always more elven than human, Arilyn would be less likely to consider a human lover when she returned from her time among the elves.