Elfshadow

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.”

“Dan—” 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 fest.”

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.