Elfshadow

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 Faerûn.”

“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.