Sunrise colors still stained the sky when a large, shadowy figure slipped from his hiding place among the trees. He watched as the unlikely pair mounted and headed westward. To his way of thinking, with the High Moor to the south and the rugged Greypeak Mountains to the north, the half-elf had only one logical path to Waterdeep. She had surprised him before, of course, in choosing to brave the dangers of Chelimber.
The dark figure doubted that Arilyn Moonblade would take on the moor's trolls, or the orc tribes and black dragons that roamed the craggy Greypeak range. He'd followed and watched her since she'd left the Vale of Darkhold, and she seemed to know this area as well as he himself did. She must know that only one route offered relative safety. So he waited, allowing the adventurer and her companion a good lead. There had been several times when she had almost seen him, and he would not take any more chances, not until he was ready to make his move.
The morning was half spent when finally he urged his mount forward. Effortlessly he picked up the trail of the two pampered polo horses, and with a sense of reluctance he followed his latest quarry.

Eight

The east wind blew in strongly from the sea, carrying with it a chill drizzle. Every now and then a capricious gust extinguished one of the lanterns that lit the Trade Way to Waterdeep.
Despite the weather, the travelers waiting outside of Waterdeep's South Gate were in a merry mood. The Feast of the Moon would begin early the next morning, and the crowd looked forward to days of revelry and commerce. For the next tenday the streets of Waterdeep would be lined with vendors and enlivened by wandering entertainers. Most of the trade would center around the Market and the adjacent Bazaar Street, but the whole city was prepared for festivity.
It was a mixed group that gathered outside the South Gate. There were the usual market caravans carrying goods from the east and from the southern land routes. Artisans brought carts and wagons laden with goods for the open air markets. Travelers from all walks of life came to Waterdeep to lay in supplies for the winter and to enjoy one last outing before the cold weather settled in and rendered them virtually housebound.
Itinerant musicians and entertainers made good use of the delay to perform, displaying their money pots prominently and taking advantage of their captive audience. A large group gathered to watch a beautiful dancer, who was garbed only in the filmy draperies of a Calimshite harem, sway sinuously to the plaintive music of a wooden horn. The crowd around her grew larger as the rain rendered her costume more and more transparent. Not far away, four male dancers from the jungle of Chult whirled and circled. Their garments were embroidered with exotic flowers, and the bells attached to their bare ankles jingled emphatically as they stamped out a counterpoint to the flowing rhythm of their tawny arms and bodies. Several paces away, a dexterous halfling juggled an assortment of small weapons. A few of the food vendors were doing a brisk, impromptu business, and the clinking of exchanged coins threatened to drown out the sound of the autumn rain.
The South Gate guard had been doubled to deal with the expected crowds, and the officials checked papers and hustled people through the gates with brisk efficiency. The rain picked up, and the chilled and weary guard began to speed up the process even further. One of them, recognizing Lord Thann's youngest son, merely touched his forehead in respect and waved the young man through, sparing hardly a glance to the slight, dark-cloaked figure that rode beside him.
"Notoriety has its advantages," Danilo cheerfully told his companion. If Arilyn heard him she made no sign. She followed his horse north onto the High Road, a broad, cobblestoned street that was the main thoroughfare of the South Ward. This area was the point of entry for most of Waterdeep's inland trade, and it was lined with tidy stables and warehouses, as well as a number of inviting inns and taverns.
Waterdeep was indeed prepared to welcome an influx of travelers. Buildings blazed with light. Stablehands and porters bustled about, taking care of goods and beasts. Innkeepers welcomed their guests with cheery alacrity.
Danilo and Arilyn passed by the first few inns without stopping, for swarms of travelers were already being turned away. As they headed north the housing situation did not improve, and the storm worsened. The once-pampered mares sloshed resignedly through the puddles, their heads lowered against the driving rain. Danilo motioned for Arilyn to follow him, and he steered his mare out of the crowd and onto the first of a series of small, winding side streets.
They passed a string of warehouses, then a small trade district where tidy shops crowded companionably together on either side of the street. Dwellings had been built over most of these shops, and they jutted out into the narrow way so far that the occupants on either side of the street could lean out of their windows and shake hands if they were so inclined. The owners were obviously poor, but hardworking; the humble buildings were without exception meticulously kept. The streets were swept clean, and even in late autumn window boxes boasted gardens of kitchen herbs. A few stubborn, fragrant plants scented the falling rain.
Danilo led the way up a small hill onto a road appropriately named the Rising Way. Before them lay a sprawling building, framed with ancient timber and finished with wattle and daub. Long windows glowed with cheery light, and at them hung purple and white curtains embroidered with some guild's mark. A huge carved sign bearing the same mark hung over the front door and proclaimed the establishment to be the House of Good Spirits.
"Let's see to the horses," Danilo shouted about the rising wind. Arilyn gave him a curt nod and followed him around a series of connected buildings set on a street shaped like a horseshoe. They first passed a large wooden structure whose yeasty smell suggested a small brewery. From the next building, a stone warehouse, wafted the vanilla-and-butter scent of white wine aging in fine oaken barrels. A larger building next door was apparently dedicated to the storage of zzar, the fortified wine for which Waterdeep was famed. Arilyn wrinkled her nose in distaste; nothing but that fiery orange liquid could have that distinctive almond scent. Like many elves, she heartily disdained the vulgar beverage, but zzar was considered the quintessential drink of Waterdhavian society. There was a statement there, Arilyn thought.
Finally they rounded the curved street and came to the last buildings, the stables. Arilyn was pleased to note that the stables appeared warm and clean; the horses had endured a long and difficult journey and they deserved a good rest.
The young stableboy who ran out to take their reins recognized Danilo. He greeted the nobleman with great deference and solemn promises of special treatment for the horses. By the gods, Arilyn thought with irritation, is there any tavern or official in this city who isn't acquainted with Danilo Thann?
After leaving the horses and a generous number of coins with the grinning stableboy, Danilo grabbed Arilyn's hand and sprinted across the small courtyard that lay between the stables and the inn's back door, dragging her behind him. They burst into a small entrance hall, and Arilyn jerked her hand from the dandy's grasp. Not seeming to notice anything unusual about her mood, Danilo removed his rain-drenched cape and hung it on a hook. With a gallant flourish, he helped Arilyn off with her cloak and hung it beside his.
"Nice and warm in here," he noted. He added his broad-brimmed hat to the pegs, then smoothed his hair and alternately chafed and blew on his hands as he waited patiently for Arilyn to ready herself.
Even without the benefit of a mirror, Arilyn knew that her face was literally blue with cold. She slicked her wet black curls behind her ears and tied a blue scarf over her hair so that she would not look quite so bedraggled. Danilo pursed his lips but judiciously avoided comment. When she was ready, he placed a hand at the small of her back and ushered her through another door into the tavern.
"It's not the Jade Jug," Danilo apologized, naming Waterdeep's plushest inn, "but it's habitable, and—most important—it's the headquarters for the Vintners, Brewers, and Distillers Guild. I've been here many times. It has no ambiance or style, but it boasts the best selection of spirits in all of Waterdeep."
Arilyn bristled at Danilo's evaluation of the inn's merits. Perhaps the House of Good Spirits was not up to the pampered nobleman's standards, but after many days of hard travel, she found it an inviting haven. The tavern room was warm and dimly lit, with a low ceiling and scattered small nooks that created a cozy feeling. The air was redolent of roasting meat, pleasantly bitter ales, and the pitchy scent of the northern pine logs that crackled in a huge open fireplace. Whatever the inn's supposed limitations, it certainly did a brisk trade. Cheery barmaids and stout young men wielded large trays of drinks and simple, well-prepared food.
"I've seen worse," Arilyn responded curtly.
Danilo recoiled in mock surprise. "Praise Lady Midnight! It's a miracle! She speaks!"
Arilyn cast Danilo a withering glance and swept past him into the tavern. She'd tried unsuccessfully to ignore the fop for almost two tendays, speaking no more than necessary. Yet Danilo did not seem the least insulted by her silences, and he continued to chat and tease as if they had been friends from the cradle.
"If you'll find a good table, I'll get us some rooms," offered Danilo, trailing along behind her.
Arilyn spun around to face him. "This is Waterdeep. We part company here, tonight. Your most pressing goal may be getting drunk, but I'm here to search for an assassin, remember?" she said in a low voice.
Unperturbed, Danilo gave her his most winning smile. "Do be reasonable, my dear. Just because we've arrived in Waterdeep, I see no cause to pretend we don't know each other. In fact, since this is a rather small inn, such pretense might prove difficult. Look at this place."
He gestured around the tavern room. It was full nearly to capacity, a mixed clientele made up of hardworking Waterdhavian craftspeople with a scattering of wealthy merchants and nobles—all dedicated drinkers who knew the inn's merits. The exotic clothing and road-weary appearance of many of the guests marked them as travelers in for the festival. Conversation was low and leisurely, and the patrons savored their food and drink with an air of contentment. Judging from their mug-littered tables and blurred smiles, many of the patrons appeared to have hunkered down for a long evening of serious imbibing. Few empty seats remained in the house.
"You see?" Danilo concluded. "You're stuck with me for one more evening. Dinner hour is nearly past, and it would be foolish for one of us to go into that storm to seek another inn, just to make a point. Truth be told, I doubt there are many rooms left in the whole of Waterdeep. Since I'm a regular and, if I may say so, a valued customer here, we'll be well taken care of."
Seeing her hesitation, he pressed on. "Come, now. We're both cold and wet and in need of a good night's sleep, and I for one would like to eat something for which we did not have to hunt."
He has a point there, Arilyn admitted silently. "All right," she conceded rather ungraciously.
"It's decided." Danilo's attention drifted off to a point past Arilyn's shoulder. "Ah! There's the innkeeper. What ho! Simon!" he called as he headed off toward a pudgy, apron-draped man.
Will I never be rid of the fool? Arilyn stalked off toward the fireplace in search of an empty seat. A number of small tables were scattered there in the shadows, drawing her with their isolation. Perhaps one of the nooks would be unoccupied.
"Amnestria! Quefirre soora kan izzt?"
The melodious voiced stopped Arilyn in midstride, and all thoughts of weariness and hunger were washed away on a flood of memories. When was the last time she had heard that language?
She turned to find herself face to face with a tall, silver-haired moon elf. Dressed in dignified black, the elf had the graceful carriage—and the well-kept weapons—that marked him as an experienced fighter. He spoke the formal language of the moon elven court, a language that Arilyn had never quite mastered. With a pang the half-elf recalled herself as a restless child squirming at her mother's side, impatient with Z'beryl's efforts to school her in anything other than swordplay.
"I'm sorry," she said with regret, "but it's been many years since I've heard that dialect."
"Of course," the handsome quessir replied, switching smoothly to Common. "An old tongue, and spoken all too seldom. Forgive me, but there are too few of our race in these parts, and I was momentarily overcome by nostalgia." The elf's smile was both wistful and charming.
Arilyn accepted his explanation with a nod. "What did you call me just then?"
The elf responded with a short bow. "Again, I must apologize. For a moment, you reminded me of someone I once knew."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you."
"Oh, I am certain you could never do that," he swore. "Even as we speak, I've grown to realize how fortunate an error I made."
Arilyn's rarely seen dimples flashed briefly. "Are you always this gallant with chance-met strangers?"
"Always," he responded in kind. "Seldom, however, does chance deliver me such lovely strangers. Would you do me the honor of joining me? This is one of the few places in Waterdeep were one can find Elverquisst, and I've just ordered a bottle. Not many can appreciate the nuances or the tradition."
Arilyn's face relaxed in a genuine smile. The surprise of meeting a moon elf in this place—and of hearing him speak the language Arilyn associated with her mother—had lowered her natural reserve. The elf's avowed homesickness reminded her that it had indeed been too long since she'd been to Evereska.
"A gracious offer, most gratefully accepted," she replied, using the formal polite response. She extended her left hand, palm up. "I am Arilyn Moonblade of Evereska."
The quessir placed his palm over hers and bowed low over their joined hands. "Your name is known to me. I am indeed honored," he murmured in a respectful tone.
The tread of approaching footsteps interrupted the elves.
"I've got good news and bad news, Arilyn," Danilo announced gaily as he sauntered up. "Hello! Who's your fr—" The young man stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the moon elf.
Danilo's face darkened, and, to Arilyn's horror, his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword in unmistakable challenge. What was the fool doing? she thought with dismay.
The patrons of the House of Good Spirits were, for the most part, hard-drinking folk, many of them veterans of countless tavern battles. They could sense a fight in the making as surely as a sea captain could smell a coming storm. Conversations trailed off, and glasses clinked busily as the patrons drained their spirits while conditions permitted.
As quickly as it came, the threat passed. Looking faintly surprised at himself, Danilo released his sword and fished an embroidered handkerchief from his breast pocket. He wiped his fingers as if they had somehow been sullied by the touch of a weapon, and his vaguely apologetic smile took in both Arilyn and the elf. "Someone you know, I take it?" he said into the inn's sudden silence, gazing down at the elves' joined hands.
Self-consciously, Arilyn snatched her hand away and stuffed both balled fists into her trouser pockets. Before she could issue a scathing rejoinder, her new acquaintance spoke up.
"For a moment, I mistook the etriel for an old friend."
Danilo's eyebrows flew up. "By the gods, an original ploy!" he said with great admiration. "I shall have to try that myself next time I see a lady whose acquaintance I should like to make."
The quessir's eyes narrowed at the implication, but Danilo's bland, smiling face betrayed not a hint of sarcasm. For a moment the three stood, unmoving. The moon elf made a curt bow of dismissal to Danilo, then, turning his back on the dandy as if he were of no further consequence or concern, the elf took Arilyn's arm and escorted her toward a table near the fireplace. The inn's patrons sensed that the crisis was past, and the clink and murmur of resumed drinking and conversation filled the inn.
Still aghast at Danilo's rude behavior, Arilyn felt a flood of relief that a fight had been avoided. In the Marsh of Chelimber Danilo had proven himself a remarkably good fighter, but Arilyn did not want to see him take his chances against this elf. As the quessir led her to his table, she shot an angry look over her shoulder mouthed Go away! at Danilo. She glared at him and silently willed him to leave well enough alone.
If Danilo understood her warning, he stupidly refused to take it. Casually the dandy followed the elves to their table. It was a corner table, big enough only for two to share a bottle and conversation, but Danilo dragged a third chair up and dropped comfortably into it. His smile was arrogantly complacent, as if his presence there had been commissioned by royalty.
"Danilo, what has come over you?" Arilyn snapped.
"What has come over you?" he countered languidly, gesturing across the table at the quessir. "Really, my dear, accepting an invitation from this, er, gentleman—or would the term be gentleelf?—without benefit of a proper introduction." The dandy shook his head and tsk-tsked. "At this rate, how shall I ever induct you into Waterdhavian society?"
Enraged by Danilo's presumption, Arilyn drew in a long, slow breath. Before she could expel it in a barrage of much-deserved abuse, something in Danilo's meanderings struck home. Come to think of it, she realized, the elf had not given her his name. She turned her eyes toward the quessir. He was observing the exchange with an alert expression in his amber eyes.
"I make no secret of my identity," the elf said, speaking only to Arilyn. "We were merely interrupted before I could complete the introduction. I am Elaith Craulnobur, at your service."
"Well, damn my eyes!" Danilo interjected in a jovial tone. "I've heard of you! Aren't you known as 'the Serpent?' "
"In certain objectionable circles, yes," the elf admitted coolly.
Elaith "the Serpent" Craulnobur. With an effort, Arilyn kept her face expressionless. She had also heard of the elven adventurer. His reputation for cruelty and treachery was legendary, and Kymil had issued strict and repeated orders for her to stay far away from the moon elf. Her mentor emphasized that Arilyn's reputation, damaged by the unfortunate label of assassin, would be further tainted by association with such as Elaith Craulnobur.
Arilyn, however, refused to be prejudiced by the dark rumors or by Kymil's old-lady fussing. After all, tales of some of her own exploits had come back to her, twisted beyond all recognition. It could be so with this elf. Arilyn turned to face her host, keeping her voice and face carefully neutral. She would judge for herself.
"Well met, Elaith Craulnobur. Please accept my apologies for my companion's unfortunate remark."
"Your companion?" Elaith regarded Danilo with the first sign of interest.
"Thank you very much, Arilyn, but I can speak for myself," Danilo protested cheerfully.
"That's what I'm afraid of," she muttered. "Really, Danilo, I know that seats are scarce, but would you please excuse us? I have accepted Elaith Craulnobur's invitation for a drink. I will join you later, if you like."
"What? You want me to leave? And miss the opportunity to meet such a legend? Not likely. What kind of amateur bard do you think me?" Danilo folded both arms on the table and leaned toward Elaith Craulnobur, smiling confidingly. "Did you know that songs are sung about your exploits?"
"I did not." The quessir's tone did not invite more discussion on the matter.
Danilo missed the unspoken message entirely. "You mean that you've never heard 'Silent Strikes the Serpent?' It's quite a catchy tune. Shall I sing it for you?"
"Another time."
"Danilo . . ." Arilyn warned through gritted teeth.
The dandy smiled apologetically at her. "Arilyn, my dear, I'm forgetting myself again, aren't I? Mark of an amateur, that's what it is: going on and on like this, when a true bard would merely listen and observe. I'll do that, really I shall. Please, do go on with your conversation. Pretend I'm not here at all. I'll be as silent as a snail, really."
Stubborn fool, Arilyn thought, stifling a sigh. She knew that arguing with the dandy usually made matters worse, so she smiled ruefully at Elaith and said, "With your permission then, it would seem that we are three this evening."
"If it pleases you," the elf agreed mildly. He regarded Danilo as one would an overgrown and badly trained puppy. "I don't believe we have met."
"This is Danilo Thann," Arilyn supplied quickly, before the young man could say something more to risk the elf's ire.
"Ah, yes." Elaith smiled with gentle amusement. "Young Master Thann. Your reputation precedes you, as well."
The elf left that remark for Danilo to take as he would, turning his attention to the ceremony of the Elverquisst. With a flick of his long-fingered hands, he tossed a tiny magical fireball toward the candle at the table's center. Arilyn winced as the candle caught flame. At that moment she caught Danilo's curious gaze upon her, and she gravely shook her head to warn him not to interrupt. The nobleman subsided and watched the ceremony in growing fascination.
Elaith Craulnobur cupped his hands first over the candle, then over the decanter of elven spirits on the table before him. The bottle was a marvel, made of transparent crystal that sparkled from thousands of tiny facets. The elf took the decanter in both hands, turning it slowly before the candle, and the bottle grew ever brighter as it absorbed the light. Finally the quessir spoke a phrase in Elvish, and the stored light coalesced into thirteen distinct points that glowed like stars against the sudden darkness of the crystal decanter
Arilyn's throat tightened, as it always did, before the sight of the autumn constellation Correlian. To the moon elves, the appearance of this star formation marked the final demise of summer. Elaith and Arilyn joined softly in a chant of farewell, and the light faded from the decanter with the final words of the ritual.
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 new-comer 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."
"Blackstaff's nephew?" For the first time, Kymil's face showed a flicker of interest. Just as quickly, the interest was gone. "What of it?"
"Perhaps nothing," Elaith allowed. "But Arilyn Moonblade is reputed to be skilled at concealing her identity and purpose. Is it inconceivable that her companion is similarly gifted?"
The face in the globe twisted in annoyance. "Your effrontery is inconceivable. You forget, gray elf, that I can observe Arilyn Moonblade myself. The conversation at your table tonight was noted. The Thann twit challenged you to a battle of words—notice that I did not say wits—and the match was a draw."
"But he is Blackstaff's nephew."
"So you've said. I see no significance."
"He is well placed and more clever than he pretends to be," Elaith said. "Given her background, surely the Harpers suspect Arilyn of the recent spate of murders. Perhaps this Thann boy is a spy, sent to ascertain her guilt or innocence."
"Ha!" Kymil broke in scornfully. "Danilo Thann is no more a Harper than you or I."
"Perhaps not, but if he were, wouldn't it be amusing if he were to fall victim to the Harper Assassin?"
"You have a peculiar sense of humor."
"Yes, so I've been told," Elaith agreed. "Now, what about Danilo Thann?"
"If you want the fool dead, see to it. One human more or less is of no consequence to me."
The face in the globe began to fade into mist. "I also saw Bran Skorlsun," said Elaith casually.
Instantly the image snapped into sharp focus. "Yes, I thought that might get your attention," Elaith murmured, a malicious glint lighting his amber eyes. "Imagine my surprise to see our mutual friend again after all these years. Of course, I did not recognize him at first. Humans can age appallingly in—what has it been? Almost forty years?"
Kymil brushed aside the question. "Bran Skorlsun was there? At the House of Good Spirits?"
"Fascinating coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Elaith said casually.
Lost in thought, Kymil again failed to comment. After a pause, he said, "You did well to contact me. I will send you your usual fee."
Elaith had contacted Kymil Nimesin merely to annoy him, but now the moon elf's curiosity was piqued. Any plot involving Bran Skorlsun smelled of adventure, and where there was adventure there was potential profit. He decided to ignore the gold elf's patronizing attitude for now and press for details. Retribution for tonight's insults would come later.
"Is there something further with which I can help you?" Elaith offered.
"Nothing," Kymil said curtly. "Wait. Yes, there is."
"At your service," Elaith replied.
"You can stay away from Arilyn Moonblade."
"Of course. Is that all?"
"Yes."
Kymil's tone held the ring of finality. Elaith was not impressed. He was accustomed to having the last word himself, in his own time and in his own fashion. "As you wish. There is, however, the little matter of my fee," the moon elf pointed out. "The terms have changed. I prefer payment in, shall we say, a less direct form of currency."
"Yes? Well?"
"Danilo Thann," Elaith said flatly.
"Done," snapped Kymil Nimesin. "As I said, it matters not to me whether he lives or dies. Considering the gold you're giving up, your pride has a high price."
As you will learn, Elaith Craulnobur thought, my pride has a very high price indeed.

Nine

"We could share it," ventured Danilo.
"Hardly," Arilyn returned, looking pointedly at the narrow cot that was the chamber's only bed. "A pair of newlywed halflings would find it too crowded. I'll take the floor."
Danilo watched as she settled down on a pallet by the fireside and jerked a blanket over her head. "I should be a gentleman and insist that you take the bed, but I'm too tired to argue," he said.
"Good," came the muffled response.
With a sigh, Danilo sank down on the bed. So what if this was the humblest chamber in a second-rate inn? They were lucky to find a place to sleep. And after the rigors of travel, anyplace would do. Yet it was some time before sleep came to Danilo. Long after Arilyn's faint, measured breathing assured him that his companion had fallen asleep, he lay wakeful on his lumpy mattress.
The encounter with the rogue moon elf troubled Danilo. Back in Evereska, the nobleman had recognized Perendra's sigil on the gold snuffbox. The one-eared thug had acquired the box from an elf in Waterdeep. It was not unreasonable to assume that this elf might be a key to the mystery of the Harper Assassin. In Danilo's mind, the Craulnobur rogue was certainly an elf to consider in their search.
Danilo had discovered long ago that when people were put on edge, they tended to reveal more than they'd intended. He had done his best to disconcert Elaith Craulnobur. The elf's dark reputation lent risk to Danilo's strategy, but a fool such as he could usually get away with many things.
Danilo smiled ruefully into the darkness. It had been one of his better performances, yet Elaith Craulnobur had been remarkably unaffected by it. The only thing that Danilo had accomplished that evening was further alienating Arilyn. That bothered him more than he liked to admit. The young nobleman cast a quick glance at the sleeping half-elf.
Half-elf. That was something else to think about. Danilo laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. Since he'd first seen Arilyn's portrait, he'd thought of her as a human woman. That perception had lingered long after he'd learned her true heritage, and he'd come to consider her one of the most intriguing women he'd ever met, although certainly a stubborn and somewhat mysterious member of that group. Tonight for the first time he'd been forced to see another side of Arilyn Moonblade. He realized with a jolt of surprise that she considered herself more elf than human; no one could watch her face during the Elverquisst ritual and doubt that. Arilyn's character had been shaped by the elven culture that had raised her and, Danilo suspected, rejected her.
The nobleman trusted his instincts about people; they had rarely led him astray. Many times on the ride to Waterdeep he had seen in Arilyn flashes of a bitterness too deep for him to fathom. He remembered the night they'd spent in the traveler's hut and how Arilyn's face had looked as she spoke of the gold elf who had taunted her about her heritage. For the first time Danilo wondered what it meant to be a half-elf, never truly a part of either world.
Oh, he could see it in her, the longing for things elven. Arilyn had been drawn to Elaith Craulnobur, charmed by his courtesy and his ready acceptance of her as an equal. An etriel, Elaith had called her, which Danilo knew was a respectful term for a female elf who was noble in bloodline, character, or both. Danilo got the impression that Arilyn was not accustomed to such treatment, for she had turned toward the rogue moon elf like a morning glory seeking a sunrise. From what he had learned of Arilyn during the past two tendays, he perceived that this reaction was out of character for her. She took a fierce pride in her ability to stand alone without help from or need for anyone else.
Well, he would keep a close eye on their new acquaintance. If Arilyn's judgment concerning the moon elf was impaired, Danilo would take upon himself the responsibility of maintaining a proper perspective. He was in a better position to consider the matter objectively.
Sure I am, Danilo thought, and a quiet chuckle escaped him. Uncle Khelben had often told him that too little self knowledge made a person dangerous. The good archmage had neglected to mention that too much self knowledge was not always a blessing.
Danilo sighed. Perhaps it was the strange weather that made him so introspective. Now that the rain had stopped, it was a fairly warm night for autumn. The wind had shifted, coming strongly from the south, and it whistled around the old building, causing many a creak and groan. Tonight was the sort of night in which one waited for the other boot to drop, and Danilo could not shake an almost palpable sense of impending . . . something. Anything could happen on such a night. With so many ale-soaked, money-laden guests from which to choose, the inn was an ideal target for a thief or worse. Throw Arilyn's shadow into the pot, and there was more than trouble enough to keep a man awake.
He cast another glance at his slumbering companion. How could Arilyn sleep on such a night? She must put a lot of faith in the moonblade's ability to warn of danger, which it could apparently do in any number of ways. Danilo had seen the thing glow in the Marsh of Chelimber. One night during their journey Arilyn had awakened him and insisted they lay giant snares about their camp. Sure enough, they caught a pair of owlbears. Arilyn had answered his questions only by saying that the moonblade had sent her a dreamwarning. Danilo thought it a fortunate quirk for a magic sword to have. Owlbears were notorious for ferocity, and without the sword's warning he and Arilyn would have had little chance against eight-foot-tall creatures who sported the most lethal features of both bears and owls. Comparatively, why shouldn't Arilyn feel fairly secure within the four walls of the inn?
Danilo rolled onto his side and gazed through the open window into the starless sky. The night matched his mood—eerie, brooding, uncertain. Although the autumn moon was full and round and silver, the night was dark. The brisk wind tossed clouds across the sky, and only occasionally did the moon glimpse though an opening. For lack of anything better to do, Danilo watched the scurrying clouds, idly observing the play of moonlight against the walls of the inn's most humble chamber.
So he lay, counting the hourly chiming of the bells from the nearby temple of Torm, until finally, lulled by the restless moonlight, he drifted into an uneasy slumber.

* * * * *

A shadowy figure glided silently down the hall of the inn. It moved inexorably toward the chamber at the far end. A heavy door bore the proud legend, "King Rhigaerd's Chamber," commemorating some long-ago chance visit by that past king of Cormyr. The occupant of this chamber was usually the inn's most honored guest. Tonight proved no exception.
The door swung open without its customary creak, and the intruder slipped into the room. Rhys Ravenwind curled under the thick coverlet, one hand flung lovingly against the soundboard of the harp at his bedside. The dark figure crept to the side of the bed, and, taking up one of Rhys's clever, long-fingered hands, pressed a grim object into the bard's palm.
There was a faint hiss of burning flesh. When the sound faded, the assassin opened the window and flitted silently into the night. A gust of wind caught the strings of the harp, and an almost mournful chord was the instrument's farewell to its owner.

* * * * *

Down the hall, in a small chamber never graced by royalty, Arilyn Moonblade tossed and twisted on her pallet in the grip of a nightmare.
Whenever the moonblade sent her a dreamwarning, Arilyn immediately woke up and prepared to face whatever danger approached. It was practical, efficient. This dream had all the intensity and immediacy of a dreamwarning, yet no matter how hard she struggled to awaken, she could not free herself of sleep. Something was holding her back, something dark and ancient and full of a despair that was partly her own.
Breathing hard, Arilyn found herself sitting upright on the floor of the House of Fine Spirits' most humble chamber. Still groggy, she dug her fists into her eyes, rubbing away the last vestiges of sleep. She stretched noiselessly, then tugged on her boots. Since she could never sleep after such a dream, she decided to take a walk.
Arilyn froze, suddenly not certain that she truly was awake. The clouds had parted, and the moon cast its light into the room, revealing a slender, shadowy figure bent over the sleeping form of Arilyn's troublesome companion.
Danilo! Without another thought she snatched her dagger from her boot and leaped to her feet, ready to carve the heart from the intruder. She flung herself across the room at the assailant, dagger leading. To her complete bafflement, the slash that should have killed the intruder merely sliced open Danilo's lumpy pillow. She hit the cot hard, and a cloud of feathers puffed into the air.
Danilo awoke with a startled "oof," and his arms closed reflexively around his attacker.
"Let me go!" Arilyn demanded, pushing herself up on her elbows and away from the bed.
The dandy's eyes widened in shock as they focused on the dagger still in Arilyn's hand, but he merely tightened his grip on her waist. "Good gods, woman, haven't I told you that you don't need that thing? You're welcome enough without it."
Arilyn met his jest with a sharp curse and another attempt to wriggle away. With speed and strength she would not have thought possible, Danilo flipped them both out of the cot onto the floor, pinning her body beneath his. As they struggled amid the lazily drifting feathers, he grasped her wrist and squeezed until her hand went numb and the dagger dropped to the floor.
Arilyn hurled curses at him in Elvish and strained to break free. "Let me up," she growled.
"Not until you explain what's going on."
The steel in his tone startled Arilyn. For whatever reason, Danilo meant what he said. She couldn't stop to talk now, for every instinct told her that the intruder had been the Harper Assassin. Never had she been so close.
Arilyn let her body go limp. Danilo, sensing her surrender, relaxed his grip just a bit.
That was all she needed. Every finely honed muscle in her slender body tensed, and she twisted, violently throwing her captor off. He rolled, but to Arilyn's surprise he did not loose his hold on her wrist. She leaped to her feet and kicked the nobleman on the inside curve of his elbow. For just a moment his reflexes overcame his grip, and Arilyn wrenched her hand free. She headed for the door, snatching up her sword as she went.
Danilo recovered from the blow quickly. He threw himself forward, grabbing an ankle. Arilyn fell flat, and her moonblade clattered to the floor just out of reach. Furious, she lashed out at him with her free foot. She connected hard, catching his jaw with an audible crack. He let go of her ankle, and he swore with a fluency astounding for one of his station.
Arilyn rolled onto her back and leaped to her feet. Behind her, a dazed Danilo was on his knees, holding one hand to his face and wiggling his jaw experimentally. Satisfied that his resistance was ended, the half-elf bent to pick up her sword.
The persistent nobleman hauled himself upright and lunged at her. They fell to the floor together, rolling and kicking as each tried to gain the advantage. Arilyn struggled for freedom, frustrated by the unexpected strength and persistence of Danilo's attack. He would never best her with a sword, but he was fully her equal in unarmed combat. She simply would not get away from him in time.
"Stop this. He's getting away," she said wildly.
His hold on her only tightened. "Him? Him who?"
"The assassin."
Danilo's expression hardened into skepticism. Arilyn's frantic words rushed out in an effort to convince him, to make him see before it was too late.
"The assassin. He was here. I saw him by your bed, standing over you. He attacked, and .. ." Her words drifted off into horror.
"And?" Danilo prompted.
Arilyn could not answer. What had become of the assailant? One moment the shadowy figure had been in the room, the next she'd been fighting Danilo. Could she have dreamed it? She sat up and pressed both hands to her forehead, dimly aware that the nobleman had released her.
"Arilyn." Danilo's voice was gentle, pulling her back. "Arilyn, my dear, tell me what's happening."
"I wish I knew." In her bafflement, she allowed Danilo to gather her close, as if she were a frightened child.
"Tell me," he urged.
"I had a dream. When I woke—I think I was awake, at least—there was someone standing over you. It was the assassin."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. I can't explain why, but I'm sure. So I drew a weapon and attacked," she concluded. Before Danilo could respond, a sharp knock sounded at their door.
"Lord Thann? Everything all right in there?"
"Damn it to the ninth hell, it's the innkeeper," Danilo muttered. "Yes, Simon, everything's just fine," he called out. "Sorry about the racket. A bad dream, that's all."
"A little noisy for a dream, sir," retorted Simon.
"Yes, well," Danilo improvised, "after my companion awoke from this dream, she required a little, er, comforting. One thing led to another, and so on. My apologies if we disturbed anyone."
"You're sure everything's all right?"
"Never better."
There was a silence and then a brief chuckle. "Seeing that my less fortunate guests have to sleep, Lord Thann, would you mind keeping it down?"
"I assure you we won't awaken another soul."
"Thank you, sir. Have a good night." The proprietor's footsteps thudded off into silence.
Danilo looked down at the half-elf, a little wary of her response. At the moment Arilyn was too preoccupied to be offended by his outrageous explanation. Reassured of his safety, Danilo raised a hand to brush a damp curl of raven hair away from her face.
"It was just a dream," he said gently.
"No," Arilyn insisted, pulling away from him. She rose to her feet, hugging her arms across her chest and cupping her elbows in her hands as she attacked the puzzle with fierce concentration. "It was more than a dream. It was more than a dreamwarning."
"Look, you're just a tad overwrought," Danilo said, spreading his hands before him in a gesture of reassurance. "Which is understandable, really! Taking into account everything you've been through recently, nightmares are almost to be expected. Just the thought of those owlbears is enough to make me want to . . ."
His assurances faded, for Arilyn was obviously no longer listening. She stared, relief and horror fighting for mastery of her countenance.
"I knew it wasn't a dream," she whispered.
Danilo followed her gaze. Glowing faintly blue in the palm of his left hand was a small harp and a crescent moon.
The Harper symbol.

* * * * *

The restless clouds parted, and in the fitful moonlight two figures edged along the side of the building. One moved confidently down the narrow ledge, the other clutched at the building and inched painfully behind.
"I take it you've done a lot of second-story work," Danilo murmured, clinging to the wall as he tried to keep up with the more agile half-elf.
"Some," Arilyn replied absently, intent on her goal.
"I just hope that this bard of yours left his window open," Danilo complained. "By the way, you can pick locks? Of course you can. Forget I asked. It's just that, well, if you have to pick open the window, you might just as well have done the door, which would have saved us the trouble of crawling across this wall like a couple of damned spiders—"
"Be still," Arilyn hissed, stifling a rising wave of anger. Once again she berated herself for being drawn to Danilo Thann. The man was endlessly frustrating. One moment he was a canny fighter, the next an understanding friend, the very next a worthless twit. The latter condition currently prevailed. If possible, Danilo was acting more scattered than usual, doubtlessly cowed by the attack upon his precious person. She should have left him behind to cower in that dismal room.
Arilyn edged around a gabled window, secure on her tiny foothold, but Danilo stumbled, arms windmilling as he teetered dangerously forward. The half-elf seized his cloak and pulled him back to safety.
"Careful," she snapped. "Are you sure Rhys Ravenwind will be in the end chamber?"
"Very," Danilo huffed, both hands clutching the wall as he peered down into the courtyard below. Although he strove for nonchalance, his voice was decidedly unsteady. "I asked the innkeeper for the King's Chamber—I usually stay there after partaking too freely, you see—and he informed me that the bard already had dibs. Imagine!"
They were nearing the end of the building. Arilyn gestured for silence and crept to the last window. It was open, and the half-elf dropped noiselessly into the room, sliding behind the heavy brocade drapes that flanked the window. There was no sound in the room, no sign of an intruder.
Holding her breath, Arilyn glided over to the bed and lay her fingers on the singer's neck. "Too late," she groaned softly. Danilo climbed unsteadily into the room and joined her.
"Dead?" he whispered. His face was unusually pale.
"Yes." She pointed to the brand on the bard's upturned palm. Rage poured through her veins like liquid fire. "I'm going to kill this monster," she vowed quietly.
"I don't doubt it, but not tonight," Danilo replied, taking her elbow. "We're getting out of here. Now."
Arilyn jerked away. "No! I'm too close."
"Exactly," Danilo said, his voice strained. "Too close for comfort, in my opinion. Look, maybe you're not afraid of this Harper Assassin, but I for one don't look good in blue." He held up his left palm so she could see the glowing blue brand. "Remember this?"
"You can leave any time," she replied.
Danilo ran his branded hand over his hair to pat the wind-tossed locks into place. The movement seemed to throw him off balance, for he grasped the bedpost to steady himself. "Leave? Nothing would make me happier than scampering off to safety," he retorted. "Did you ever pause to think that I might not be able to?"
Arilyn recoiled and looked him over sharply. "What are you talking about?"
"Me. I feel terrible."
"So do I. I knew Rhys Ravenwind from Suzail."
"No, that's not what I meant, although there's also that element. I feel terrible. Think," Danilo said, pointing to the dead bard. "What killed Rhys Ravenwind? Do you see blood? Signs of struggle?"
"Nothing," she admitted. "That's part of the problem. All die in sleep, unmarked but for—" Her eyes widened in realization. "Poison," she concluded in a grim whisper. "The brand is poisoned. The Harpers are not branded after their death, as we assumed. They're killed by a magic, poisoned brand."
"That would be my guess," Danilo agreed. "Neither you nor I are equipped to deal with a magic-wielding assassin, even if we should find him. Which I doubt we could."
Arilyn's eyes widened in comprehension. She grabbed Danilo's hand, staring down at it as if she could remove the brand by the sheer force of her will. "Oh gods, then you've been poisoned, too. Why are we standing here? Are you all right?"
He shrugged away her concern. "I think I'll live. You interrupted the assassin before I got much of the poison, but I'm starting to feel a little shaky."
"The roof," she said, remembering Danilo's near fall.
"That's when I figured it out," he admitted with a weak grin. "I've been in and out of windows often enough to have developed excellent balance. I might be a tad rusty, but not that bad. My little stumble made the pieces fit." His voice suddenly hardened. "But that's neither here nor there. You got me into this, you nearly got me killed—again, I might add—and you're going to take me somewhere safe. Now."
Arilyn nodded curtly, frustrated by the assassin's nearness but equally worried about Danilo. Despite his protestations, the young noble did look rather pale. At the rate he was going, he'd never get out of the inn on his own.
"Come on," she said, then added dryly, "Under the circumstances, perhaps we should take the door."
"Oh," he said, turning back from the window. "Good thinking."
Arilyn glanced at the magic sack that hung from Danilo's belt and remembered the spellbook he carried. She didn't like using magic, but she saw no other recourse. "By any chance, do you know the spell for invisibility?"
"No, but if you'll hum a few bars I'll try to fake it," Danilo responded in a slightly dazed tone.
Startled, Arilyn stared at him with open concern. "You must have gotten more poison than we thought. That jest was ancient in the days of Myth Drannor."
The dandy responded with a weak grin. He held up the spell components and motioned Arilyn to his side. "At the moment, I don't feel so young myself. Let's get out of here."

* * * * *

Within minutes, an invisible Arilyn and Danilo were quietly headed northwest toward the Castle Ward, to the home of the adventurer Loene. It was the safest place Arilyn could think of. Loene's townhome on Waterdeep Way was a veritable fortress, within sight's distance of the guards stationed at Waterdeep Castle. Still, remembering the trail of death that lay behind her, Arilyn hated involving the woman. She did not wish to lead the assassin to Loene's door.
The half-elf felt she had little choice. Danilo's energy had been sorely tasked by casting the spell of invisibility over them and again over their horses, and he seemed to be growing weaker by the moment. She feared that if he lost consciousness, she would never be able to rouse him. Perhaps if she kept him talking? How difficult could that be?
"Are you sure that the innkeeper will not suspect us of the bard's death?" she asked in a whisper.
Danilo nodded his head, an effort that almost tipped him from his horse.
"Why's that?" Arilyn prompted, reaching out and pushing the noble upright in his saddle.
"I left a magical illusion in our room," he muttered. "Before we left to check on the bard. Just in case, you know."
"Oh?"
The shadow of a smirk crossed the dandy's face. "The maid will see a large empty zzar bottle on the table, and two sleeping figures entwined on the cot," he said in a faint voice. "Sated and snoring."
Arilyn's head slumped in resignation. "Bearing a remarkable resemblance to you and me, I suppose."
"Naturally. The illusion will hold until mid-morning. The bard's body will be found before then."
Arilyn had to admire his solution, however twisted. "No wonder you stumbled on the ledge. Casting such a spell must have taken a great deal of energy."
"Yes, but it was fun," he muttered, again slumping dangerously to one side. Arilyn's arm shot out to steady him.
"Hang on just a little longer," she urged. "Loene's house is around the corner. See that huge elm up ahead? It's in the courtyard behind her house."
"Good. I don't feel so well."
Loene's mansion resembled a miniature castle, complete with towers and turrets. It was surrounded by an ornate iron fence as decorative as it was impenetrable. We'll be safe here, Arilyn thought. She quickly dismounted at the gate, helped Danilo from his horse, and draped one of his arms over her shoulders. He leaned heavily on her as she tied the reins of their invisible mounts to the iron fence, then worked the lock free with a small knife.
"Break and enter often?" the dandy mumbled as he watched her deft movements. "What now? Do they fireball us or call the watch?"
"Neither. No problem. Loene knows me. We'll be fine," Arilyn assured him, speaking with more confidence than she felt.
She and Danilo were still invisible, and that could prove a problem. It was hard to convince someone of your integrity if he couldn't look you in the eye, and she wasn't about to let Danilo squander his waning strength to dispel the magic.
Arilyn half-dragged Danilo up the walk. Raising the knocker, she tapped it briskly, using the code taught her by Nain Keenwhistler, a member of the adventuring party known as the Company of Crazed Venturers. The code would certainly be recognized in this household: Loene had been rescued from slavery by Nain, and for many years she had run with the Crazed Venturers.
The door cracked open. "Yes?"
The raspy tones identified the speaker as Elliot Graves, Loene's servant. No other voice could sound both so pompous and so whisky-soaked. "It's me, Graves. Arilyn Moonblade."
"Where?" The door opened wider, and a thin, wary face peered past into the courtyard. Arilyn didn't doubt that Graves had his mace handy. He was as skilled a fighter as he was a chef, and he didn't look at all pleased that anyone had breached the walled court.
"I'm right here, Graves, only invisible. I've got a friend with me, and he's badly wounded. Please let us in."
The urgency in her voice convinced the servant. "One at a time," he said, opening the door just wide enough for one person to edge through.
Arilyn pushed Danilo before her. He fell face down onto the ornate Calimshite carpet. "That's one," the prone noble observed in a drunken tone.
The half-elf brushed past Graves and knelt by the fallen man. Sensing Arilyn pass, the servant slammed and bolted the door behind her.
"What's all this?" an imperious voice demanded.
Arilyn looked up. Loene was poised on the stairway, wrapped in night robes of pale gold silk and holding a jeweled dagger in each hand. The woman's dark blond hair hung free in a wild mop about her shoulders, and her large hazel eyes darted about the empty hall. Once enslaved as a "pleasure girl" for her exquisite face and form, Loene had become a skilled fighter and adventurer. In middle life, the woman was still both beautiful and deadly. She had the tawny grace of a desert cat, and at the moment she looked every bit as dangerous.
The words tumbled out. "It's Arilyn Moonblade. I've got a friend with me. He's been poisoned."
"Get my potion case," Loene instructed the servant, not taking her eyes from the hall carpet. Graves melted away, still holding his mace at the ready.
"Well, well. Arilyn Moonblade. Since when did you start resorting to invisibility spells?" Loene asked, descending the stairs with catlike grace. She lay down her jeweled weapons on a marble-topped table at the foot of the stairs.
"It wasn't my first choice."
"I'll bet." Loene agreed dryly. The woman twisted the magic ring on her hand, murmuring the command that would dispel Danilo's enchantment. As she did, two outlines appeared on the expensive carpet, gradually filling in until they took the form of a large, prone man and a half-elven adventurer. Loene's lovely, curious eyes met Arilyn's. "Ah. There you are. You look terrible, by the way."
She came forward and crouched at Arilyn's side, touching henna-tipped fingers to the fallen man's pulse. "It's strong and regular. His color is good, his breathing regular. What happened to him? Poison, you said?"
"It's a long story," Arilyn said tersely, her anxious gaze fixed on her companion.
"Hmmm. I can't wait to hear it. Oh, thank you, Graves," Loene said, accepting a box from the servant. "Just who is your friend?"
"Danilo Thann."
"Danilo—" Loene's incredulous echo broke off into derisive laughter. "Girl, you picked a strange time to start trusting magic-users. His drawing room tricks misfire more often than Shou rockets. Oof. And he's heavy. Give me a hand here."
The two adventurers managed to roll the young nobleman over. Loene gently lifted one eyelid, then the other. After a moment's speculation, she selected a small blue vial from the box of potions and handed it to Arilyn. "An antidote," Loene said. "Very rare. Works amazingly fast."
The half-elf quickly uncorked the vial, raised Danilo's head, and held the potion to his lips. His eyes flickered open.
"Pretend it's rivengut," Arilyn advised him with a touch of grim humor.
The mention of his favorite libation rallied Danilo sufficiently to sip some of the potion. Somewhat revived, he propped himself up on one elbow and looked around the hall.
"I feel better," he announced, sounding surprised.
"You're sure?" Arilyn pressed.
"Almost as good as new," he promised, surreptitiously showing her his palm. The brand had faded noticeably. Arilyn's shoulders sagged in relief.
Loene sat back on her heels, a speculative smile playing about her lips as she watched the scene before her. She'd known Arilyn for years, and never had she seen the half-elf so rattled. No potion or antidote worked so quickly—Arilyn should have known that—and her usually sharp elven senses should have caught the scent of the apricot brandy that was the vial's only ingredient.
Ah, but there's a story here, Loene thought. If she were to admit to a weakness, it would be her inordinate fondness for interesting and unusual tales. An unexpected bounty had been delivered to her door this night. "I suppose explanations must wait for morning," she said, her voice tinged with regret. "Graves, would you see our guests to their beds?"
"One bed," Arilyn corrected.
"I say. That might be expecting a bit much from the healing potion," Danilo warned her.
Arilyn shot him a look that would have frozen a wiser man, then turned away. "With your permission, Loene, I'll leave Danilo in your care. I must attend to urgent business."
Loene stood and placed her hands on her hips. "Forget it, elf. Of course I'll keep your friend until he can travel," she huffed, "but just you try to leave without telling me what's going on and I'll nail your blue hide to the wall."
Arilyn rose with a sigh of resignation. "All right. At this point, I don't suppose a short delay can hurt too much. You'd better break out the sherry and plan to sit for a while."
"I keep a full bottle on hand, just in case you decide to make one of these impromptu visits," Loene purred, smiling with satisfaction. "See to our other guest, won't you, Graves?"
"As you wish, madame."
The woman and the half-elf linked arms and headed into Loene's study to exchange tales of adventure.
Danilo sat crosslegged on the carpet, watching them go. He noted with a purely personal satisfaction that Arilyn shot a final, concerned look back at him before she left the room. A pointedly cleared throat captured his attention, and he looked up at the servant. The mace still hung at the man's belt, a jarring note amid the elegant furnishings of the entrance hall.
"If you think you can walk, sir, I'll see you to your room," the servant said. When Danilo nodded, Graves bent down and plucked the nobleman from the carpet, none too gently.
Danilo took the servant's arm, making a show of leaning on him as they walked slowly up the stairs. A pair of giant black mastiffs followed them, eyeing Danilo with wary interest. The nobleman fleetingly hoped that the dogs were well fed. He noted that the wiry servant was surprisingly strong, and that the man's raspy, whiskey-drenched voice and eyes the color of cold steel seemed more suited to the battlefield than the Castle Ward. It was a reassuring observation, and Danilo suddenly felt a little better about what he had to do. If he had to leave Arilyn for a time, at least she would be well protected.
The dandy let Graves lead him into a richly appointed guest room and lower him into a chair. "Is there anything else that sir requires?" the servant asked coolly.
"Sleep should do it," Danilo assured him. "That was a dandy potion, really."
"Very good, sir." The servant closed the door firmly behind him.
Danilo listened until the servant's footsteps died away. When all was silent, he rose, reaching into the magic bag at his waist. He took from it his spellbook and a length of rope. He quickly studied the runes on one of the pages, memorizing the complex spell he had to cast. Finally satisfied, he slipped the spellbook back into this bag.
Not a trace of his lethargy remained. The effects of the assassin's poison had faded long before they'd reached Loene's house, although Danilo had maintained a facade of weakness in order to get Arilyn out of the inn and away from an assassin who could disappear from a locked room.
He threw open a window, secured the rope to a bedpost, and lowered himself to the courtyard. After his experience on the ledge of the inn, he was not about to attempt a levitation spell from a second-story window, antidote or not. By the way, Danilo mused, I must find out what was in that concoction. It was quite tasty.
He reached into his sack for the spell components and went through the complex patterns of gestures and chants. After rising into the night and over the wall, he floated down, featherlike, to the street beyond. At last, quietly, he strode to the front of the house and dispelled the enchantment that made his horse invisible.
The edge of the night sky was just beginning to fade to silver when Danilo started west on Waterdeep Way. Just down the street, a few contented patrons were leaving Mother Tathlorn's House of Pleasure and Healing, a combination festhall and spa that was very plush and very popular. That was a sure sign that morning was near.
Danilo Thann gave his horse's reins a sharp shake, and he rode quickly toward nearby Blackstaff Tower.

Ten

As he rode, Danilo pondered all that had transpired during the night. He would have given much to have heard Arilyn's version of their story. He did not imagine that he fared well in the telling.
Danilo was accustomed to being thought a fool. Even within his own family, he bore his father's stern disapproval and the scorn of his older brothers. This he accepted as part of his role, but when he saw a foppish Waterdhavian dandy reflected back to him from the mirror of Arilyn's elven eyes, he found that he had little stomach for the charade.
Perhaps it was time to make some changes.
Riding swiftly, Danilo soon reached the home of the arch-mage. Blackstaff Tower looked impenetrable. It was, but only to the uninitiated. A series of powerful magical wards and devices, as well as a twenty-foot stone wall, protected the tower. By all appearances, the place had no doors at all and windows only on the upper floors.
Danilo dismounted at the gate and muttered a cantrip, casting an easy spell that would keep his horse tethered. Another quick spell opened the gate. Danilo strode quickly through the courtyard, and, after knocking on the tower and softly speaking his name, he walked through an invisible door into the wizard's reception hall.
Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun descended the spiral staircase to meet his nephew. "I see you've finally managed the door," he observed.
Danilo grinned and rubbed an imaginary lump on his head. "Missed it enough times, wouldn't you say?"
"Indeed. Well, come up, come up. I've been waiting for your report," Khelben said, gesturing for Danilo to follow him up to the parlor.
Steaming cups of roasted chicory rested on a small table between two comfortable chairs. Danilo cast his a longing look but insisted, "I haven't much time. Arilyn is at Loene's house on Waterdeep Way. I need to get back before I'm missed."
"Of course." Khelben settled down and took up his cup. "Have you anything concerning the assassin's identity?"
"Not yet. Back in Evereska, Arilyn was followed by a thug from Waterdeep. In his possession was a snuffbox bearing the sigil of Perendra."
Khelben choked on a mouthful of chicory, and Danilo nodded grimly. "In answer to your next question, yes, I'm sure it was Perendra's mark. She was one of the first to die, wasn't she?"
"Yes," Khelben said as soon as he could speak. "Unlike the later victims, she was not marked with the brand. It is possible that her death was not the work of our assassin. Did that man admit to killing Perendra?"
"No. He claimed he'd gotten the box from an elf. He was obviously enspelled to die before he could reveal the villain's name. Arilyn, I assume, intends to track him or her down."
"Good. Stay with her as she does. Now the sword. Tell me everything you can think of."
Danilo perched on the edge of his chair, took a deep breath, and spoke fast. "It's elvencrafted and very old, made of some dull but very strong metal I don't recognize. There are runes down its length—Espruar, I think, though a form I've never seen—and also on the sheath. There's a large gem on the hilt, and it—"
"Stop!" Khelben demanded. Alarm etched itself across the wizard's face as he leaned intently toward his nephew. "There's a moonstone in the hilt? Are you sure?"
"No, it's a topaz."
"Did she say anything about this stone?" Khelben urged.
"Actually, yes. She told me that her teacher, Kymil Nimesin, had it set in the hilt to balance the blade."
"I see." Khelben relaxed. "Good. I didn't know Arilyn was trained by Kymil Nimesin, but it figures. He's one of the best armsmasters in the Realms, and he works for the Harpers from time to time. Go on."
"The sword cuts through metal and bone as if it were slicing a summermelon. Its strike is unusually fast, although I think a good deal of that is Arilyn. According to her, the sword cannot shed innocent blood. Just how it ascertains innocence, I don't know. It warns of danger—"
"How?"
"It glows. It also glows sometimes when Arilyn draws it, but sometimes it doesn't. I can't figure out any kind of pattern to that."
"And if anyone else were to draw it?"
"They would get fried like a flounder," Danilo concluded flatly.
"Of course," Khelben muttered. "It is a hereditary blade, after all." He arched an eyebrow at Danilo. "You didn't find this out through personal experience, I trust?"
"Unfortunately, I did. Fortunately, I barely touched it."
Khelben chuckled at Danilo's droll tone, but quickly sobered. "Anything else?
"It can also warn Arilyn of danger by sending dreamwarnings."
"Interesting. All right, what else?"
Danilo told his uncle what had transpired, starting with the inn near Evereska and describing the mysterious assault at the House of Good Spirits.
"Poison," muttered Khelben, visibly annoyed with his own lack of perception. "Of course. Why do you think the assassin attacked you? Have you reason to think that your alliance to the Harpers is suspected?"
The young man looked a little chagrined. "No, but my sense of chivalry certainly is. There was but one bed, and I had it. The chamber was very dark, and I suppose the assassin presumed that a gentleman would take the floor."
"I see. You're all right now?"
"I didn't get much of the poison. If you're through, I have a few quick questions." Danilo leveled his gaze on Khelben. "Why are you so concerned with Arilyn's sword? What does it have to do with this assassin?"
"It is possible that there is no connection," Khelben admitted. "Given the sword's history, however, it was something that I could not ignore."
"I think it is time for a history lesson. In more ways than one, I have a personal interest in this." The young man spoke quietly, but he held up his branded palm for Khelben to see. "But please, make it quick."
Khelben nodded. "Yes, it's time you knew." He passed one hand over his salt-and-pepper hair and took a deep breath.
"Before you were born, Arilyn's parents inadvertently used the magic of the sword to open a portal between these mountains and the elven kingdom of Evermeet. The damnable gate stayed open, and the best any of us could do was obscure it and move it elsewhere. The elves ordered Z'beryl to dismantle the sword. Arilyn's father took the magic moonstone away with him. As it is today, the moonblade carries potent magic. Restored, it could be used to unveil the gate to Evermeet."
Khelben concluded his terse recitation with a sigh. "So there it is. If there was a chance that someone knew of this gate and was after Arilyn for her sword, we had to know about it."
"I see," Danilo said, though his mind was racing through all that Khelben had told him. Given the fabled riches of the elven kingdom of Evermeet, an open portal would be an invitation to plunder. The elves of Evermeet were fiercely reclusive, and the island was guarded by the powerful elven navy of Queen Amlauruil, by lethal coral reefs, by hosts of mysterious sea creatures allied with the elves, and by ever-shifting energy fields that could reduce an invading ship to ashes and seafoam. In comparison to these defenses, any guard that could be posted at the magic portal would seem a small obstacle. Secrecy was the best protection for the gate to Evermeet, for if knowledge of this portal spread, the last stronghold of the elves would be compromised and the very existence of the dwindling race threatened. Danilo wondered how Arilyn would react to the knowledge that she was in part the keeper of the elven kingdom.
"By the way," Danilo added, "why didn't you tell me that Arilyn was elven?"
"A half-elf. Her father was human, more or less." Khelben said. "Whenever I see her, she's usually passing as human."
"Indeed. She was a Sembian courtesan when we met. Great disguise," Danilo reminisced with a grin. "I managed to recognize her from Rafe Silverspur's ring, and, believe it or not, from your portrait."
Khelben smiled sourly at his nephew's good-natured insult. "Which reminds me: according to your mother, my esteemed brother-in-law is none too happy with his 'shiftless son' for taking off with 'some fancy pleasure girl.' You might check in with him when time permits."
"Another lecture from dear father. The gods know I've been such a disappointment to him," Danilo drawled flippantly.
Khelben eyed the young man keenly, sensing a new note in his act. "Thinking of quitting?"
"What, being a disappointment?"
"No. Playing the fool in the service of the Harpers."
Danilo shrugged. "What options do I have?"
"There are always options," Khelben asserted. "After this assignment, if you like, come out in the open. You're a good agent. The Harpers would surely welcome you."
Danilo stood to go, his face more reflective that Khelben had ever seen it. "You know, Uncle, I just might take you up on that."
Moving swiftly through the magic door, Danilo left Blackstaff Tower, mounted his horse, and sped back toward the townhouse on Waterdeep Way. To the east, the sun was peeking over the roofs of the city, casting long shadows along the still-quiet streets.
One of those shadows suddenly moved and began to follow Danilo Thann toward Waterdeep Way.

* * * * *

Loene was curled with catlike coziness amid the silken pillows of her couch, her slippered feet tucked beneath her. At the moment, she looked as content as Arilyn had ever seen her. "An interesting tale," said Loene.
"Worth the price of that sherry?" Arilyn asked dryly, glancing at the half-empty decanter on the table that sat between Loene's couch and the more spartan chair she herself had chosen. The half-elf's first glass, which was almost untasted, rested in her hands. The rest of the sherry had been consumed by her host, who was renowned for her ability to hold the stuff.
"And then some," the woman said, raising her fourth goblet for a toast. "Here's to a happy ending."
"Hear, hear," Arilyn agreed, her face turning serious at the thought of what lay before her.
Graves chose that moment to poke his head through the door of the study. "There will be two for breakfast, madame?" Loene smiled invitingly at Arilyn. "Will you stay? Graves makes the best scones in Waterdeep, you know."
Arilyn was reluctant to delay her search longer, but she needed to eat sometime. "Thank you, yes, but I must leave soon."
"I understand." Loene turned to the servant. "There will be three, then, unless our other guest prefers a tray."
The servant's eyebrows rose. "Our other guest has already departed."
"What?" Arilyn rose slowly to her feet. "Danilo's gone? Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes," Graves said. He held up a length of rope. "By the window, no less," he muttered, shaking his head in self-recrimination. "I let the peacock strut right past me."
"The fool," Arilyn blazed, slamming her fist onto the serving table as she stalked from the room. Loene lunged to save the wobbling sherry decanter, then she followed Arilyn into the hall, clutching the cherished spirits to her as she went.
"Let him go." Loene laid a restraining hand on Arilyn's arm.
The half-elf shook her off. "He's not strong enough to travel."
The woman snorted. "Don't believe it for a minute. That young man was perfectly normal—whatever that may mean in his case."
Arilyn went very still. "I don't understand."
Loene's eyes were compassionate. "My dear, he was fine last night. He did not need that potion."
"How do you know?"
"You really need to ask?" Loene asked. "Unlike you, I have no aversion to using poisons when the occasion demands. I know what's out there, I know the effects and the signs."
"You gave him an antidote," Arilyn pointed out. "Why?
"Apricot brandy. I suspected that your friend wasn't really poisoned, and his rapid recovery proved me right."
"What about that brand?"
"Well, all right," Loene conceded. "Perhaps he did get just a touch of some poison when he was branded, but the effects had certainly faded before he got here. You were too concerned to notice."
Arilyn nodded slowly. It made perfect sense. Danilo was most anxious to reach safety. Having done so, what better way to ensure his continued safety than to sneak away, leaving her and the assassin far behind? Arilyn couldn't blame him, especially after the attack on his life. Why, then, did she feel betrayed? "He is a coward," she seethed. "I'm well rid of that one.
"Granted," Loene said, understanding Arilyn's anger for what it was. "Forget him, and let's have some of Graves's incomparable scones." She brandished the decanter. "We can wash them down with the rest of this."
"I'm afraid I cannot," Arilyn replied. "I have to leave right away. Danilo Thann has a tongue that wags at both ends. He will spread this tale all over the city by sunset. If I'm ever to find this assassin, I must do it soon."
"You will return and let me know how things turn out?"
"Do I have a choice?"
Loene grinned. "It's so comforting to be understood by one's friends." She handed the sherry decanter to the ever-present Graves and stepped forward to clasp Arilyn's forearms in the traditional farewell of adventurers. "Until swords part, then."
Arilyn absently repeated the words, her mind already on her quest. As soon as Loene released her, the half-elf reached into her bag for a tiny pot and a comb. She spread a dark unguent over her face for a sun-weathered look, then combed her hair over her ears. Laying her hand on the moonblade's grip, the half-elf closed her eyes and envisioned a human lad. Loene's chuckle informed her that the transformation was complete.
It was a simple illusion. Arilyn's shirt and trousers were suddenly a little looser, and they appeared to have been made of the rough linsey-woolsey that was often used for the work clothes of growing lads. A wrinkled cap held Arilyn's hair in place over her ears and shadowed her elven eyes; work gloves concealed her slender hands. The rest was a matter of stance, movement, and voice.
"What a handsome lad you make," Loene teased. "You almost make me wish I were ten years younger."
"Only ten?" Graves asked with a rare flash of humor.
Arilyn's smile of response was quick and halfhearted. "Please be careful, Loene. A visit from me might be enough to lure this assassin. Watch yourself."
"I will," the woman promised.
"As will I," came the servant's quiet voice.
Arilyn met Graves's eyes and nodded her thanks, knowing that his words held no small assurance. With his thin, ascetic face, sparse hair, and elegant black attire, Elliot Graves was the very picture of a proper majordomo. In truth, the man was gutter bred and raised, a fearsome fighter who could carry a grudge for a dragon's lifetime. He was utterly loyal to Loene, and she would not be better protected by a score of Cormyr's best Purple Dragons.
As Arilyn walked into the courtyard she tried not to envy Loene, but she wondered what it would be like to have a friend as devoted as Elliot Graves. She'd always walked alone, and she wasn't sure that she could do otherwise. Certainly her treatment of Danilo had not been the sort that inspired loyalty.
Resolutely Arilyn put all such thoughts aside. She had long wished to be rid of Danilo Thann, and now she had got her wish. It was time to throw all her effort into ridding the world of the Harper Assassin.
Arilyn circled around to the back of the house. There she agilely climbed the fence that separated Loene's property from Gem Street, a small, lightly traveled alley. She knew better than to try to climb the fence from the other side, which was protected from intruders by magical wards.
Dropping lightly to her feet, Arilyn checked about to make sure she was alone and unobserved. Reassured, she thrust her hands into her pockets and ambled down Gem Street with long swinging strides, a human lad, set on some family errand.

* * * * *

By the time Danilo reached Loene's house, Waterdeep Way was already awake with the bustle of morning commerce. Since he was cloaked by neither darkness nor invisibility, he slipped around the back of the house to Gem Street and quietly dismounted. He spat on his hands and prepared to climb the fence.
The instant Danilo touched the iron, a magical current sped up his arms. He jumped away from the fence with a sharp oath. There had to be another way in. Scratching his head in puzzlement, he squinted up at the guest room window.
His escape rope no longer hung there. "No rope," he said with a soft groan.
So his departure had been noted, probably by that deceptively starched and pressed servant of Loene's. Since Danilo doubted that Graves's silence could be purchased, he would have to talk fast to explain to Arilyn why he'd left by the window. Or better yet, Danilo thought, maybe he could get back into the house and make off with Arilyn before Graves had a chance to inform the women of his desertion.
A large elm shaded the rear courtyard, its branches just of out reach. Fortunately, Danilo had climbed a lot of trees in his youth. He improvised a spell, a simple cantrip meant to move stationery objects. One of the large branches of the elm, responding to the magic summons, bent over the fence and stretched leafy hands out to the young mage. Danilo jumped, and as he caught hold of the branch he released his spell. The branch sprang back to its natural position, flinging the nobleman high into the tree.
He hit hard and tumbled through layers of foliage, grabbing wildly for a hold until his hands closed on a branch. Pulling himself up onto a large limb, he straddled the branch and leaned wearily against the tree's trunk. His face stung from a dozen scratches, and when he brushed a strand of hair away from face his hand came away tinged with blood. Danilo shook his head in disbelief. "Maybe all those people who think me a fool are onto something," he muttered.
Once Danilo's sense of balance was restored, the rest of the ascent was easy. He climbed the sprawling elm and slipped in through the guest room window without further incident.
From the floor below, he heard the clatter of dishes. He'd have to hurry. After pouring some cold water from a pitcher of fine Shou porcelain into a matching washbowl, Danilo dashed the water over his scratched face and raked his hands through his hair to tame it somewhat. Taking a deep breath to steady his wits, he manufactured his most charming and inane smile and stuck it firmly in place. He followed the sounds downstairs and into the dining room.
To his surprise, Danilo found Loene sitting alone at a long table of polished wood, staring absently into a glass of sherry. "Good morning," he said cheerfully as he sauntered into the room. "I see I beat Arilyn down to breakfast. Is she still abed?"
Loene put down her glass and appraised Danilo for a silent moment. "Rough night?"
The nobleman smiled sheepishly. "Cut myself shaving."
"Really. What do you shave with? The talons of a goshawk?"
"Dull blade." Danilo selected a pear from the fruit bowl on the table and took a bite. "You were starting to tell me where I might find Arilyn? "
"Was I?"
Maintaining his facade, not to mention his temper, was getting more difficult by the moment. Danilo took another bite of the pear and chewed slowly. While he was still collecting himself, his hostess spoke again. "Sit down, won't you? I'm getting a crick in my neck staring up at you."
The nobleman obligingly took a seat. Loene stretched out her hand and picked a leaf from of his hair. "By the way," she said in an innocent voice, "would you care for some more apricot brandy?"
Danilo stared blankly for a time. "The potion?"
"Very good."
"I thought that stuff tasted familiar." With a resigned sigh, he held up his hands in surrender. "You win. Now, can we please talk about Arilyn?"
Loene's smile reminded him of a cream-sated tabby. "You can count on it."
"She didn't leave, by chance?"
"By chance, she did."
"Damn. I should have known better than to let that girl out of my sight. I am a fool," Danilo chided himself.
"Maybe, maybe not," the woman replied, eyeing him keenly.
"Do you have any idea where she went? Any at all?"
Loene smiled and stretched, catlike. "I might know where Arilyn Moonblade went. I might even be persuaded to tell you."
The true son of a Waterdeep merchant, Danilo did not miss the speculative gleam in the woman's eyes. With a sigh of resignation, he folded his arms on the table and glared at Loene. "At what price?" he asked.
Before answering, his hostess poured another glass of sherry and pushed it toward Danilo. "Arilyn told me her side of the story," she purred. "Why don't you tell me yours."

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."
"When next we encounter the Harper Assassin, we'll be sure to pass along your good wishes," Danilo drawled. "I'm sure your approval means everything to him."
Arilyn ignored her companion as she spoke to Elaith. "I have reason to believe that the assassin is someone within the Harper ranks."
"Really?" Danilo broke in, sounding surprised.
She threw a glance over her shoulder at the nobleman. "Yes. Now if you'll excuse me for a moment?" She turned back to Elaith. "This makes any investigation difficult for me. Obviously, I cannot make inquiries directly for fear of alerting the wrong person."
"Obviously," Elaith murmured with a smile. "I am delighted to be of service, but might I ask why you have come to me?"
"I need information, and I'm aware that you have many connections in this city. I will pay whatever fee you require."
"That will not be necessary," the moon elf said firmly. "The Harpers are unlikely to pass secrets on to me, at least not directly, but I have other sources, as well as information not available to the Harpers. I will certainly make inquiries." Elaith opened a drawer and pulled out parchment and a quill. "Why don't you tell me a little more about this assassin. Start with the kill list."
Kill list. Arilyn winced at the elf's choice of words, spoken with such callous ease. Perhaps she was unwise to try to do business with Elaith Craulnobur. As she hesitated, Danilo came up and seated himself in the chair beside her. The nobleman took a small snuffbox out of his magic sack and helped himself to a liberal pinch. He sneezed violently and repeatedly, then he offered the box in turn to Arilyn and to Elaith.
"Thank you, no," Elaith said coldly. Arilyn just stared at Danilo. His intention was too obvious to miss: by reminding her of Perendra's snuffbox, he was telling her not to trust the elf. She would not have thought Danilo capable of coming up with such a ruse, and for a moment she was inclined to agree with the dandy. Yet she intended to tell Elaith Craulnobur only what the elf could easily gain from other sources. What harm could there be in that?
Arilyn briefly described the assassin's method and macabre signature. Under Elaith's prompting, she listed the victims, the approximate date of each attack, and the location. Finally she could think of nothing more that she wished the elf to know.
"Very impressive." Elaith looked up from the parchment, and smiled reassuringly at Arilyn. "That should give me enough to start. I'll get right on it and let you know as soon as I learn anything." He rose and held out his palm to Arilyn.
Grateful, she laid her hand over his. "I appreciate your help."
"My dear, be assured that I shall do whatever I can."
"Why?" demanded Danilo bluntly.
Elaith withdrew his hand from Arilyn's and looked the noble over, an amused smile on his face. "The etriel and I have much in common. Now, if you will excuse me? I have a great deal to do if the tavern is to open in time for tonight's revelry."
Arilyn nodded her thanks and dragged Danilo out the back door of the office into the alley.
"How did you like that last remark? 'Much in common,' indeed," Danilo echoed derisively the moment the door had swung shut behind them. "I don't know how much more proof you need."
"What are you babbling about?"
"Proof, that's what. 'Much in common'? Think: you're an assassin, he's an assassin. To my ears, that was as good as a confession," Danilo said. Arilyn threw up her hands in disgust. "I take it you don't agree."
The half-elf paused, carefully considering her words. "Whatever else Elaith Craulnobur may be, he is a moon elf quessir," she said. "You could not possibly understand what that means."
"Enlighten me," Danilo returned in a flippant tone.
"The term quessir means more than a male elf. It is a formal word, with overtones of a certain status and code of behavior. The nearest equivalent in Common is the word 'gentleman,' but that is not very close, either."
"I would hardly consider him a gentleman," Danilo observed.
"You've made that very clear," Arilyn said. "By the way, since when did you take up snuff?"
Danilo grinned. "Ah! You understood my message."
"It wasn't very subtle," she groused. "What makes you think that the thug in Evereska got the snuffbox from Elaith? He isn't the only elf in Waterdeep, you know."
"I don't trust him," Danilo said flatly, "and I don't like the fact that you do."
"Who said I trusted him?" Arilyn retorted. "Although perhaps I should. Moon elves traditionally have a strong sense of loyalty to each other."
Danilo opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. "On another matter, whyever did you say that the Harper Assassin might be a Harper?"
"Because it's very likely," Arilyn said shortly. "Harpers are a secret organization, and few advertise their membership in the group. The assassin knows his victims too well for it to be otherwise."
"Oh."
Arilyn started off down the alley, and Danilo took off after her. "Where are we going now?"
"We're going to find the elf who had Perendra's snuffbox."

* * * * *

In the tree-lined alley behind the busy tavern, a shadow stirred and prepared to follow Arilyn and Danilo.
"Come, come, old friend. What's your hurry?"
The melodious voice struck a chord, a memory of vile deeds that seemed incompatible with the gentle tone of the speaker. An icy chill stiffened Bran Skorlsun's spine, and for the first time in many years he turned to face the Serpent.
Elaith Craulnobur had changed little over the decades. He was an elven warrior in his prime, an elegant and beautiful living weapon. Slender and sinuous, he leaned gracefully against the alley's wooden fence. A smile of gentle amusement lit Elaith's handsome face, and his amber eyes were deceptively mild.
Bran knew the elf for what he was. "It's a cold morning for serpents to be about."
Elaith's brows arched lazily. "Hardly a gracious greeting, considering all the adventures we shared in your distant youth."
"We share nothing," Bran said flatly. "The Company of the Claw is no more. Many of its members were slain by your hand."
The elf shifted his shoulders, unmoved. "A commonly held assumption, but one that was never proven. I shall forgive your bad manners. Your years of wandering through parts unknown have obviously dimmed whatever small amount of polish you once possessed."
"Unlike you, I am what I appear to be."
The elf's gaze swept over the human. "That's hardly something to boast about," he observed wryly. "Even so, I must admit that I'm consumed with curiosity at your sudden appearance. Whatever could have brought you back to the City of Splendors?"
Elaith's tone was gently mocking, and his confident smile implied that the answer was already known to him. Bran had no patience or time for the elf's games, so he simply turned to leave.
"Going so soon? We've had no time to talk."
"I've nothing to say to you."
"Oh, but I've a few things to say that you may find of interest. And you need not hurry. The pair you follow should be easy to track . . . unless your ranger skills have become as dismally rusted as your social graces."
"Insults from such as you mean nothing."
The elf's handsome face twisted with rage. "We are not so very different," he hissed. He quickly regained his composure, but his amber eyes held a malicious gleam. "You've fallen as far as I have, but you just can't bring yourself to admit it. Look at yourself. You've been exiled, to all intents and purposes, to wandering the far and forgotten edges of the world. Now you're reduced to lurking in shadows, trying to disprove your nasty suspicions about Amnestria's daughter."
Bran's face darkened at the elf's last words. "You do not deserve to speak her name."
"Don't I?" taunted the elf. "Princess Amnestria and I were friends from our childhood in Evermeet, long before you were even a gleam in your father's eye." He sighed with deep nostalgia. "Such grace, such talent and potential. Arilyn is very like her in those respects. She's got Amnestria's spirit combined with a rather devious mind. Truly a fascinating combination. Amnestria would have been proud of her daughter, as I'm sure you are," he concluded with heavy sarcasm.
"What is your interest in Arilyn?" Bran demanded.
A reflective expression crossed the elf's face. "It is rare—even during the long lifetime of an elf—that one is afforded a second chance. By all that is just, Arilyn should have been my daughter." He paused and gave Bran a measuring look. "Not yours."
The Harper recoiled at the words. Elaith was pleased with the reaction, and an evil smile curved his lips.
"Yes, your daughter," the elf mocked, openly baiting him toward admission. "Interesting, fate's little twists: the oh-so-righteous Harper sires one of the best assassins in Faerun."
"Arilyn is not the assassin," Bran asserted.
"But she is your daughter!" Elaith crowed triumphantly, reading the truth in Bran's face and tone. In his opinion, the only good thing about dealing with Harpers was that the fools were generally too noble—or too stupid—to dissemble. The elf's face darkened suddenly. "Does Arilyn know about you? I should hate to have her learn her father's identity when he provides evidence against her in a Harper court."
"It is not your concern."
"We'll see. How is Amnestria?" Elaith asked, changing the subject. "Where has she been these many years?"
Bran was silent, and a look of deep sadness filled his eyes. "Despite everything, you are her far kinsman, and there is no reason why you should not know. Amnestria went into secret exile before Arilyn's birth. She took the name Z'beryl of Evereska. She has been dead for almost twenty-five years."
"No."
"It is true. She was ambushed and overcome by a pair of cutpurses."
The elf stared at Bran. "It does not seem possible," he murmured, dropping his stricken eyes. "No one could fight like Amnestria. Has nothing has been done to avenge her death?"
"The murderers were brought to justice."
"That remains to be seen," Elaith said in a grim tone. When he again raised his eyes to Bran's, hatred blazed in their amber depths. "Another weapon might have killed Amnestria, but it was you who destroyed her. Keep away from Arilyn. The etriel has her own life."
Elaith leaned toward the Harper, looking the very picture of a fighter taking an offensive stance. His evil smile openly taunted his foe. "By the way, know you that Arilyn has taken the name Moonblade as her own? Denied family and rank, she made her own name and forged her own code. And she is good. Arilyn has developed skills that would make her Harper sire squirm."
Elaith paused. "To answer your earlier question, my interest in her is both personal and professional."
"I've no use for riddles."
"Nor wit for them, either. In plain words, Arilyn should have been my daughter, but she is not. What a remarkable partner she would make, or—" he smiled maliciously "—what a consort. She and I could accomplish much, side by side."
Bran's massive hand shot out, grabbing Elaith's shirtfront and jerking the slender elf up to his eye level. "I'll see you dead first," the man thundered.
"Keep your threats, Harper," Elaith said scornfully. "Arilyn Moonblade has nothing to fear from me. I only wish to aid her and to guide her career."
"Then she is indeed in grave danger," Bran concluded.
Elaith misunderstood Bran's meaning, and his eyes narrowed in menace. "She is in no danger from me," he hissed. "The same, however, cannot be said for you."
With the speed of a serpent's strike, a dagger appeared in the elf's hand and flashed toward Bran's throat. The aging Harper ranger was faster still. He tossed the elf to the ground. Elaith twisted and landed crouched on his feet, wrist cocked in readiness to flick the dagger into his old friend and enemy.
But Bran Skorlsun had vanished. Elaith stood and tucked the dagger back into its hiding place.
"Not bad," Elaith admitted, brushing a bit of dust from his leg as he admired Bran's skill. "You should watch your back, old friend. Watch your back."
Elaith turned back to his new establishment. As entertaining as the encounter had been, he had a myriad of details to attend to before the tavern could open. His eye fell upon the large oak sign, just delivered that morning, that leaned against the back wall of the building. This turned out nicely, the elf mused, moving in for a better look. I must have someone hang it immediately.
He ran his fingers over the raised letters of the sign that would soon grace the front door of the Hidden Blade.

Twelve

In early afternoon Virgin's Square was teeming with activity and bright with autumn sunlight and colorful merchandise. Local legend claimed that an altar had once stood on the site, upon which virgins were sacrificed to dragon gods centuries before Waterdeep was a city. On such a day that dark past seemed distant indeed.
The time for the highsun meal had passed, and delicious scents lingered in the warm autumn air. A large crowd browsed among the stalls of an open air market that offered goods ranging from fresh produce to exotic weapons. On the other side of the square services were sold, and perhaps two hundred persons, representing many races and nationalities, milled up and down the steps of a tiered piazza.
Those who wished to find work flocked to the square. Newcomers to the city, travelers relieved of their purses by pickpockets and in need of passage home, adventurers, servants, mages, sellswords—all gathered to hire themselves out. Services of many kinds could be purchased in Virgin's Square. There was little overt pandering, but those who made inquiries were assured that discreet introductions were always possible.
Potential employers were there in large number, as well. Caravan-masters stopped in Virgin's Square to acquire the guards and scouts needed for long trips. Since slavery was illegal in Waterdeep, visiting merchants and dignitaries from the southern and far-eastern lands often went there to find hired servants to replace their slaves. Even adventurers wishing to form parties sought each other out in the square.
At the center of this activity sat Blazidon One-Eye. He was, perhaps, the best known among his profession, and he ran a brisk trade matching those who would hire with those who wished to work. The grizzled former adventurer was an unlikely businessman. His clothes were dusty and unkempt, and his body seemed to be made of little more than bone and stringy muscle. The graying beard had probably once been bright red; at present it appeared ale-soaked and in dire need of a trim. A dusty eye patch covered his left eye, and a leather vest lay open over his bare chest.
Blazidon was attended by a clerk and a bodyguard, both of whom were as unlikely as their master. The former was a tallfellow, a rare type of halfling that grew to be somewhat taller and slimmer than most of their kind. A little over four feet in height, the tallfellow maintained thick crops of very blond hair on his head, chin, and bare feet, a color echoed by the lemon shade of his tunic and leggings. His frivolous appearance was greatly at odds with his serious demeanor, for he scribbled laboriously in the book that kept Blazidon's accounts and records, and he counted each fee with the type of intensity that halflings usually reserve for their own treasure. The bodyguard was a tiny but ferocious dwarf whose knotted muscles and keen-edged axe more than made up for his lack of stature.
Arilyn nudged Danilo's attention away from a display of pastries and pointed at the strange trio. "That's Blazidon. If anyone would know our man, it's him."
Danilo nodded. "My family often outfits our caravans through him. Why don't you let me do the talking?"
Arilyn looked doubtful, then she saw the merit in the dandy's suggestion. Dressed as she was, a human lad of common class and limited means, she seemed an unlikely person to be making the type of inquiries that must be made. The well-dressed Danilo could ask questions without raising suspicions. She nodded and fell in behind Danilo, taking the role of servant to a wealthy merchant.
Blazidon looked up at their approach. "What'll it be?"
"We were rather hoping you could help us find an employer," Danilo began.
The man's one good eye swept over the nobleman and his "servant," and his lips pursed. "Got work for the boy, no problem, if he knows how to use that weapon he carries. Gem merchant needs a couple of hireswords. As for you," Blazidon said, eyeing Danilo speculatively, "I hear there's a lady from Thay what wants a local escort for the festival. Mind you, I usually don't do this sort of hiring, but I can tell you where to find the lady."
Arilyn smirked, but Danilo fell back a step, aghast. "Sir, you misunderstand. I don't seek employment for myself. Rather, we need to ascertain the identity of—"
Arilyn pushed past Danilo and held out a charcoal sketch she'd made of the man who had had Perendra's snuffbox. She was no artist, but depicting a one-eared man with a twisted nose and a lightning-bolt scar was not difficult.
"Do you know this man?" she asked, her voice low.
Blazidon squinted at the picture. "That's got to be Barth. Haven't seen him around for some time." The man's eyes shifted from the picture to Danilo and then Arilyn. "Who am I doing business with, lad? You or your master?"
"Me," Arilyn said firmly.
The man nodded. "Good."
"Can you tell me anything about him?" Arilyn asked.
"No, can't say as I know much to tell. Hamit, his partner, is a whole 'nother story. We go way back."
"Where can I find this Hamit?"
"In the City," the man said bluntly, using the Waterdhavian slang for the City of the Dead, the large cemetery on the northwestern side of Waterdeep. "He must have crossed someone. They found him with a dagger in his back." The man shrugged. "It happens."
"Do you have any idea who might have hired Barth and Hamit recently?"
"That's precisely what I was trying to say," Danilo explained plaintively. No one paid him any notice.
"I might," Blazidon said, glancing at the dwarf.
The dwarf stuck out his square hand, palm up. "Fee," he rumbled. Danilo obligingly dropped a gold coin into the upturned paw. The dwarf examined it, bit it, and gave a curt nod to the tallfellow. Blazidon's clerk turned several pages.
"That pair worked for anyone who had money," the tallfellow said, his voice that of a human boychild. "Bodyguard, strongarms, second-story, even an assassination or two, although no one of pith and moment. Barth liked to work on his own, as well. His specialty was sleight-of-hand theft. He worked with one fence in particular."
"The name'll cost you extra," added the dwarf. Danilo dumped a handful of coppers into the dwarf's hand. The bodyguard regarded Danilo so balefully that the nobleman hastily added a gold coin to the pile.
"Jannaxil Serpentil," said the tallfellow. "A merchant and scholar of Turmish descent who runs a folio shop on Book Street. Rather stuck on himself, but if you've got good merchandise, that's the place to go."
"Need anything else?" Blazidon asked.
"I don't think so," Arilyn said. She tucked the sketch of Barth into her sleeve. Unable to resist, she cocked an eyebrow at Danilo and added, "Unless you want to reconsider the offer from the Thayvian woman?"
By now Danilo had regained his equilibrium. "She couldn't afford me," he said grandly.