Elfshadow

Sixteen

The half-elf’s eyes flamed with anger at Danilo’s casual revelation. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Khelben’s nephew?”

He shrugged. “It didn’t occur to me. You never told me you were related to elven royalty, either,” he pointed out. “Family trees never came up in conversation.”

With a hiss of exasperation, Arilyn lapsed into silence. They climbed the rocky incline to their camp and found their horses calmly cropping grass. Without a word the half-elf set about saddling her horse. Danilo did likewise, and once they mounted he reached toward her. “Give me your hand.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to teleport us to Blackstaff Tower. It’ll save time.”

“No!”

It was Danilo’s turn to be exasperated. “By the gods, woman, be reasonable for once.” He leaned over and snatched her hand.

Immediately they were surrounded by white, milky light. There was no sensation of movement, no sense of anything solid around or beneath them. It seemed to Arilyn that they were suspended in nothingness, a state of being that was outside of her understanding or control. Before the half-elf had time to feel the panic and sickness she expected, the light faded and the dark granite walls of Blackstaff Tower came into focus before them.

“There now, was that so bad?” Danilo asked.

“No, it wasn’t,” Arilyn said with a touch of surprise. “That’s odd. Dimensional travel has always made me very ill, ever since I first tried it with Kymil.…” Her voice drifted off.

Danilo did not seem to notice her distraction. He knocked on the gate and was promptly answered by the disembodied voice of a servant. “Arilyn Moonblade to see the Blackstaff,” Danilo announced.

Within moments the gate opened and Khelben Arunsun himself came to greet them. “Come in, Arilyn. It’s always a pleasure to see you.” The mage’s gaze fell on her companion. “Oh, it’s you, Danilo.”

“Hello, Uncle Khel,” Danilo replied. “Arilyn needed a spellcaster, so I brought her here.”

Khelben Arunsun’s brow knit as he turned to Arilyn. “And you listened to my frivolous nephew? I hope this is important.”

“It could be.” Arilyn unbuckled her swordbelt and handed the sheathed moonblade to Khelben. “I give you my permission to touch it,” she said, her voice taking on a hint of ritual. “Just make sure you don’t try to take it from the scabbard.”

The archmage accepted the ancient sword and examined it with interest. “Fascinating weapon. What’s all this about?”

“I need to learn everything I can about this sword and its history. Can you help me?”

“I’m no sage, but a legend lore spell might yield some answers,” Khelben said, tucking the moonblade under his arm. “Please follow me.”

The archmage led them into the courtyard. When they reached the tower he motioned for them to follow and disappeared into the wall. When Arilyn hesitated, Danilo unceremoniously pushed her through the hidden door. She glared over her shoulder at him. “I have done this before, you know.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Hmmph.” The half-elf squared her shoulders and stalked into the reception area of Blackstaff Tower.

“Come upstairs,” Khelben said. “We’ll have a better look at your sword up in my spellcasting chamber.”

Arilyn and Danilo followed the archmage up the steep spiral stairway that wound up the center of the tower. When they came to the third and top floor, they stepped into a large, book-lined study. Khelben ushered them through it and opened an oaken door into another, smaller room. A table stood under the chamber’s only window, and in the center of the room a scrying crystal rested on a marble pedestal. There was nothing else in the chamber that could distract the wizard from the process of casting spells.

“Wait here,” Khelben said. He put the moonblade on the table and disappeared through a door.

“Spell components,” Danilo explained to Arilyn. “He keeps his magical supplies in the next room. Very organized, our archmage.”

Khelben reappeared carrying several small items. “Stay over on the far side of the chamber,” he instructed his visitors, “and for the love of Mystra, Danilo, try to hold your tongue. This spell requires a degree of concentration.”

The archmage moved to the table where the moonblade lay and arranged the spell components. Arilyn caught a glimpse of a small white vial that bore Khelben’s sigil.

She bit her lip, suddenly chagrined by the boldness of her request. She’d heard that some spells required the sacrifice of an item of value. For the first time it seemed odd to her that an archmage of Khelben’s stature would cast such a spell for a mere acquaintance, at such cost to himself.

The wizard moved through the words and gestures of the incantation, his hands sure and his voice filled with the resonance of power. At length Khelben unstoppered a second vial, and the dark aroma of incense filled the chamber. The archmage tipped the bottle and spilled its contents over the moonblade. Instantly the spell components disappeared in a flash of light.

Arilyn felt rather than saw Khelben cross the room to stand by her side. All her attention was focused on the moonblade and on the ghostly mist that rose from it. The mist swirled in a quick spiral and then descended to the floor. It coalesced into the image of an elven bard, carrying a small harp and clothed in the robes of an ancient time. Not taking any notice of the trio, the ghostly elf spoke.

“Let those who hear attend the ballad of the elfshadow.” He struck the harp strings and began to repeat a ballad in ringing, rhythmic speech:

The elven bard struck one final chord, then the image and the music faded. “The lyrics aren’t bad,” Danilo commented, breaking the tense silence that hung in the spellcasting chamber. “The tune could use some work, though.”

Khelben turned to Arilyn, who stood pale and still. “Does any of this make sense of you?” She hesitated, then shook her head. “What about you, Dan? Any ideas?”

The nobleman looked astonished. “You’re asking me?”

His comment roused Arilyn from her trance. She managed a faint smile. “Why not? Magic is your specialty, isn’t it?”

“Dan taught me all I know,” Khelben said, echoing the half-elf’s dry humor. “Let’s go downstairs to my parlor and talk this over.” Arilyn picked up the moonblade and followed Khelben down the spiral staircase to a large sitting room, which was furnished with comfortable chairs and decorated by samples of Khelben’s handiwork as an artist. Arilyn sank into a chair and laid the moonblade across her lap, but Danilo walked about the room, idly examining the portraits that covered the walls and stood on easels that had been set up in the corners.

“Could you cast that spell again?” Arilyn asked the archmage.

He took a chair near the half-elf. “Not today. Why?”

“I have to find out all there is to know about the moonblade,” she said tersely. “If you can do no more today, where do I go?”

Khelben rubbed his cheek and considered. “Candlekeep would probably have the most information. They’ve a fine library on elven magical objects.”

The half-elf’s shoulders sagged. “You might as well have said Rashemen,” she said ruefully. “The trip to Candlekeep would take months by land. By sea it could take several tendays, more with the winter storms at hand.”

“As it happens, that won’t be a problem,” Khelben said. “I do a great deal of research there, so I had a dimensional door installed between my library and Candlekeep.” Arilyn looked dubious, so Khelben added, “Take Danilo with you. The boy could be a help to you in your studies. He’s been to Candlekeep with me and he’s familiar with their methods. What do you say, Dan?”

Arilyn and Khelben turned toward the young man, who had been engrossed in the study of one of Khelben’s portraits. He nodded avidly. “Sounds good to me. There’s a rogue elf in Waterdeep devoted to the idea of killing me. I’d just as soon head south until he changes his mind.”

Khelben’s black eyebrows shot up, but Danilo dismissed the mage’s unspoken question with an insouciant shrug. “By the way, what is an elfshadow?” the young man asked.

“I don’t know,” Khelben admitted. “The answers given in response to a legend lore spell are usually cryptic.”

Arilyn suddenly recalled that the mage Coril’s spells had interpreted two runes on the moonblade: elfgate and elfshadow. At the time, it had seemed strange that Kymil Nimesin had failed to do this. Now Arilyn also wondered why Kymil had not attempted to cast a legend lore spell.

She turned to Khelben. “The spell you just cast,” she said abruptly, “is it very difficult?”

He spread his hands. “These things are relative, but I suppose you could say it is difficult. The spell components are expensive, and the spell is not widely known. Few can manage it.”

“It’s beyond me,” Danilo said, offering his support as if the archmage’s word required bolstering.

“I see,” Arilyn murmured absently. “Is it possible that the sword is warded against elven magic?”

“I doubt it. Why?”

“Just a thought,” she said. Squaring her shoulders and firming her resolve, she looked up at Danilo. “If we must go to Candlekeep, we might as well start now.”

“You’ll need a letter of introduction,” Khelben said. He rose and walked to a small writing table. Seating himself, he scratched some runes on a piece of parchment, rolled it into a tight scroll, and sealed it with his sigil. He scrawled a note on another scrap of parchment, then handed both messages to his nephew.

Danilo glanced at the note. He slipped it into his breast pocket and dropped the scroll into his magic sack. “Uncle Khel, might I have a few words with you in private? A family matter, I’m afraid, and of a personal nature.”

“This is hardly the time. Is it important?”

“I think so. You might not, of course.”

The archmage glowered, then relented. “All right. Come up to my study. If you’ll excuse us?” he asked Arilyn. She nodded absently, and the two men disappeared up the spiral stairs.

As soon as Khelben had shut the door to the study, Danilo stated bluntly, “A group of Harpers are having Arilyn followed. They seem to think that she’s the assassin. Did you know that?”

The archmage was clearly surprised. “No, I didn’t. How did you learn of it?”

“She’s been followed since we met in Evereska. Of that I’m fairly certain. At first I assumed that it was the Harper Assassin, then a rogue elf by the name of Elaith Craulnobur claimed a Harper ranger was on Arilyn’s trail. How he learned that, I don’t know, but the elf seemed to know a great deal about Arilyn.”

“Elaith Craulnobur, eh? You said she suspected an elf was involved, didn’t you? He’d certainly be a likely candidate.”

“No,” Danilo said firmly. Khelben looked curious, but the young man shook his head and refused to elaborate. “Can you find out anything from the Harpers?”

Khelben nodded and laid a hand on the scrying crystal. The globe began to glow, and the archmage’s face grew distant as his thoughts turned inward and traveled to places far away.

The nobleman waited impatiently. When Khelben turned to him, the archmage was more disturbed than Danilo had ever seen him. “A complication has arisen.”

“Oh, good,” Danilo said, crossing his arms. “This assignment has been altogether too easy thus far.”

Khelben ignored his nephew’s sarcasm. “Your elven informant was right. A small group of Harpers in Cormyr believes that Arilyn is the Harper Assassin. They intend to prove her guilt and bring her in for trial.”

Danilo’s face paled. “Go on.”

“They’ve sent Bran Skorlsun to follow her.” Khelben’s tone implied that this was a grave matter indeed.

“Who’s he?”

Khelben started to pace about the study, clearly agitated. “Bran Skorlsun is a Master Harper, one of the best rangers and trackers the Harpers have,” he admitted grudgingly. “The secret nature of the organization makes it possible for rogues to use the Harper name to further some scheme or another. For almost forty years now, Bran has been tracking false and renegade Harpers, mostly on the Moonshae Isles, but occasionally in other remote areas. He is devoted to keeping the Harpers’ ranks pure.”

“Forty years, eh? The man must be getting rather old by now,” Danilo observed. His casual tone masked his growing concern, for it was unlike Khelben to stray so far from the main point.

Khelben shot a glance at Danilo. “Bran Skorlsun comes from a long-lived family.”

“Indeed.”

The archmage’s jaw tightened. “He’s also Arilyn’s father.”

Danilo slumped against the wall and raked both hands through his hair. “The poor girl,” he murmured.

“Poor girl!” snapped Khelben. “Let’s not lose sight of the broad picture, Dan. Have you forgotten that Arilyn’s father carries the moonstone? The last thing we need is for stone and sword to become one again.”

“There’s that, too,” Danilo admitted. His face hardened. “How is it that such a thing could occur?”

“The Harpers are a secret organization,” Khelben repeated testily.

“So everyone keeps telling me. Must that mean the right hand doesn’t know what the left is doing?”

“Certainly not. In this particular matter, it was deemed best that no one person know all the details concerning the dimensional door, or elfgate, as it came to be called.”

“All things considered, do you still think that a wise course?” Danilo asked. “It seems to me that it’s time to compare notes. You have a good idea what the assassin wants. Arilyn might have some notions as to who and why.”

Khelben suddenly looked very interested. “Does she know the assassin’s identity?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

“Well, we’ll have to wait until we know. We must find out whether this involves the elfgate.”

“Blackstaff Tower is warded against magical observation. Why not tell Arilyn the whole story, here and now?” Khelben was silent for a time, and the young nobleman’s face tightened. “Wait a minute. You don’t trust her either, do you?”

“The issue is not whether I trust Arilyn or not. When the Harpers and the elves worked together to resolve the elfgate danger, I gave certain assurances.” The archmage paused. “I pledged not to tell this tale to anyone, with the exception of my probable successor.”

The young man lowered his head, stunned by the implication of the archmage’s words. “You can’t be referring to me,” he murmured.

“Perhaps this is not the time to speak of such matters,” Khelben said sternly, “but I would not make such a suggestion to you if I did not mean what I said. Neither would I break the pledge I made some forty years ago.”

Danilo conceded with a nod. “I understand your position, but Arilyn is now searching openly for the moonblade’s secret. What happens when this mysterious assassin decides she’s getting too close?” His uncle did not speak, but the silence between them held the answer. “If the cause is sufficiently noble, the sacrifice is justified. Is that about right?”

Khelben’s face was grim. “In the main, yes.”

The young nobleman walked slowly to the door of the chamber. Doorknob in hand, he paused and spoke with his back still to the archmage. “With all due respect, Uncle Blackstaff, I’m not sure that I want to be your probable successor.” He slipped through the door, closing it firmly behind him.

“Let’s go,” Danilo said to Arilyn as he descended the stairs. She rose and belted on the moonblade.

“Wait a minute, young man,” Khelben called from the floor above. “You’re leaving from the library, remember? The dimensional door?”

Danilo stopped at the foot of the stair, and his foolish grin was a little uncertain. “Oh. Right.”

“Did you ride? Then you’ll need to stable your horses here. I’ll walk out with you and help you bring them around,” Khelben said firmly.

When they reached the street, the archmage said, “By the way, Dan, the dimensional door from Candlekeep will not return you directly to Blackstaff Tower. You’ll return to a place called Jester’s Court, just off the corner of Selduth Street and the Street of Silks. The door is one-way and invisible, and it stands between the two twin black oak trees on the north side of the garden.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“I want you both to report back here before sunrise tomorrow. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Danilo answered flippantly. Without further discussion he and Arilyn led their horses to the stables behind Blackstaff Tower and returned with Khelben to the second floor library. The archmage slid a bookshelf to one side, revealing a narrow black portal where the wall should have been.

“Before we leave for Candlekeep, I have one more question,” Arilyn said to the archmage. His readiness to help had raised her suspicions. Could it be that the archmage knew something about the moonblade, something that he kept from her? A test came to mind: if a minor mage like Coril could decipher some of the runes on the scabbard, surely Khelben could at least do likewise. Arilyn drew the moonblade and ran her finger along the runes. “Can you read any of these?”

Khelben leaned closer and studied the arcane marks for several moments. “No. I’m sorry.”

“You do know what they say, though,” she stated, her tone posing a question.

The archmage’s face was inscrutable. “How could I know such a thing?” He motioned toward the portal. “Good luck on your trip.”

“Thank you for your good wishes,” she said in an overly sweet voice. “Since we will be traveling in the dark, we certainly have need of them.”

Khelben glowered at the disrespectful and far too perceptive half-elf. She merely raised her eyebrows, took Danilo’s arm, and disappeared into the velvet blackness of the dimensional gate.

The archmage smiled faintly. Arilyn is sharp, he mused as he walked down the stairs to the parlor. A flash of green caught his eye. Danilo had left a scarf behind, draped over a small portrait that rested on a table easel. Even as Khelben reached for the bright silk, it faded from sight.

“An illusion,” he said softly. “That boy’s getting far too good.” Khelben instantly realized why the portrait had been covered. It was a sketch of four friends, one he had drawn from memory many years ago. The archmage picked up the portrait for a closer look. His own face looked back at him from the past, that of a young mage whose hairline had not yet begun its northward migration. The man beside him also had dark hair, curly and full, and implacable stubbornness was written in the set of his jaw and the steadiness of his eyes. Seated before the men were Laeral the mage and Princess Amnestria of Evermeet.

Khelben gripped the portrait. Laeral sat with her hand clasped in that of her friend Amnestria. The archmage could see why Danilo did not wish Arilyn to see the pencil sketch; without the vivid difference in their coloring apparent, Amnestria and Arilyn looked so much alike that the half-elf could not have failed to recognize her mother. If she had seen the picture of the four friends, she would have surely raised questions that Khelben was not prepared to answer.

Laeral. The mage’s gaze returned to the pert, smiling face of the young adventurer. It had been quite some time since he’d seen his lady. She returned to Waterdeep from time to time, and Khelben still kept chambers for her in the top floor of his tower. But Laeral had developed a taste for travel and continued a life of adventuring, and Khelben found himself trapped in Waterdeep more and more often, pursuing politics and diplomacy. Both had become powerful mages, both worked with the Harpers. There was no real quarrel between them. How then, Khelben mused, could it be that they were drifting apart?

The archmage found himself pondering Danilo’s angry words. How much had he himself sacrificed on the altar of a noble cause? Even for a man who strove for self knowledge, it was a disturbing thought.

In his villa not far from Blackstaff Tower, Kymil Nimesin leaned back from his scrying crystal. His angular face showed deep concern. Perhaps he should have heeded Elaith Craulnobur’s warning concerning Danilo Thann.

Even if the young nobleman was indeed the fool he appeared to be, he had led Arilyn to Khelben Arunsun. Of all those connected to the Harpers, the Blackstaff was most likely to know the secrets of Arilyn’s moonblade. Since Kymil could not magically observe the half-elf in Blackstaff Tower, he had no idea what she had learned from the archmage. At least the mage had been foolish enough to mention the pair’s destination outside the tower: Candlekeep. Kymil cursed. He could not spy on her there either. If his plan was to succeed, he needed to move now. Kymil turned to his assistant.

“Filauria, summon the mercenary team.”

The lovely etriel at Kymil’s side went without question to do his bidding. Soon she returned, leading a contingent of human adventurers from the chambers where they had awaited Kymil’s summons, swilling ale and playing dice.

For a long moment, Kymil regarded the men whom Elaith Craulnobur had recommended for the task. They were led by Harvid Beornigarth, an uncouth one-eyed giant of a man. The unfortunate result of a barbarian rampage, Harvid owed his size to his father’s race and his eye patch to Arilyn Moonblade. The fighter’s huge arms were knotted with muscle, and he was known to wield his spike-studded mace with skill. The four men with Harvid were equally strong and unkempt, to all appearances a wild and formidable force. They were precisely what Kymil needed.

“Well, Harvid, it seems that you shall finally have the opportunity to avenge the loss of your eye,” Kymil began, steepling his fingers in a gesture of satisfaction.

The man hefted his mace in anticipation. “Where is the gray wench?” he snarled.

“Let us hope your skills match your enthusiasm,” Kymil said dryly. “Your chance will come before the sun rises again. Behold.”

Kymil waved his fingers over the scrying crystal and an image of a garden courtyard appeared. A few people wandered about, enjoying the bright autumn morning. “This is Jester’s Square. Do you know it? Good. The half-elf and her companion, Danilo Thann, will arrive here before daybreak. There are but two ways to leave the courtyard.” Kymil pointed to a large gap between two buildings. “This would be the mostly likely exit. You are to block it. Use whatever you can find. You will lie in wait for them here, in this alley.”

Kymil looked up at the mercenaries, his face grim. “And you will kill them both.” A gasp of surprise came from the elven female who stood attentively behind the armsmaster’s chair.

Harvid Beornigarth had his own doubts. He grimaced and scratched at his eye patch with a large, grimy finger.

“Is there a problem?” Kymil asked calmly.

“Well, yes,” Harvid admitted. “I know young Lord Thann.”

“Yes? So?”

“I don’t want to kill him.”

“Really,” chided Kymil. “I had thought you beyond such sentiment.”

“It’s not personal. I just don’t like messing with nobility. His family is powerful.”

“Is that all.” Kymil sniffed. “Believe me, the Thann family will recover from the loss. Danilo is a sixth son, a wastrel and a fool by most measures.” The elf’s voice hardened. “You will kill Danilo Thann. That is the price I demand for giving you Arilyn Moonblade’s life.”

The gleam returned to Harvid’s good eye. “I’ll get the gold you promised when I bring you her sword?”

“Of course,” Kymil said smoothly. “Now go.”

Filauria watched the mercenaries clomp from the room. “I have seen the half-elf in battle. Those men are as good as dead.”

Kymil patted her hand. “Of course they are, my dear, but they are nothing if not expendable.”

The etriel looked puzzled. “If Harvid Beornigarth and his men cannot kill the half-elf, why do you send them?”

“I do not want Arilyn dead. I merely wish to restore her sword to its full potential,” Kymil said mildly. “Harvid Beornigarth is the means to that end. At first glance, he looks dangerous, and he and his men should give Arilyn a good fight. Bran Skorlsun will certainly come out of the shadows if his daughter’s life appears to be endangered. With him comes the moonstone.”

The first thing Arilyn noticed about Candlekeep was that the air was considerably warmer than that in Waterdeep. No wonder, she thought dazedly. She and Danilo had materialized several hundred miles to the south of the City of Splendors.

Before them towered the library, a massive citadel of pale gray stone that was ringed by walls and perched on a rocky seacoast. Although the setting was austere, the air, even in late autumn, was balmy, tempered by the strong breeze that blew in from the Sea of Swords.

“State your business,” boomed a powerful voice. For the first time Arilyn noticed the small gatehouse that stood at the entrance to the wall ringing Candlekeep. From it came a tiny, wizened apparition of a man.

The Keeper of the Gate was stooped and thin, and his skin was as dry and yellowed as ancient parchment. The aura of power about the man, however, was such that Arilyn doubted he was ever challenged.

“We request entrance to the libraries. The archmage Khelben Arunsun of Waterdeep sent us to seek information about a magic elven weapon.” Danilo handed the scroll to the keeper. The old man glanced at the sigil and nodded.

“Who might you be?”

Danilo drew himself up. “I’m the Blackstaff’s apprentice,” he said with a mixture of pride and becoming modesty. “Danilo Thann, accompanied by an agent of the Harpers.”

Arilyn leaned close to Danilo. “Nice cover,” she murmured. “Remind me never to play cards with you.” The nobleman smirked.

Not noticing the exchange, the keeper broke the seal and scanned Khelben’s letter of introduction. “You may enter,” he said. Immediately the gate opened and a robed man came out and bowed to the keeper. “Moonblades,” the old man said tersely, and the newcomer bowed again.

“I am Schoonlar,” the man said, turning to Arilyn and Danilo. He was of medium height and slender build, with unremarkable features and hair, and garments the color of dust. “I will aid you with your studies. If you will follow me?”

He led them into the tower and up a narrow spiral staircase. They passed floor after floor filled with scrolls and tomes, illuminators and scribes laboriously copying rare books, and scholars delving into the accumulated lore of centuries. Located about halfway between the two largest cities on the coast, Waterdeep and Calimport, and lying directly east of the lower Moonshae Isles, Candlekeep was a repository of knowledge for all three regions: the North, the desert lands of the south, and the ancient island cultures.

Finally they reached a floor near the top of the tower. Schoonlar brought out a large tome and laid it on a reading table. “This book may be a good place to begin your search. It is a collection of tales about elven owners of moonblades. Since few bearers of these blades chose to broadcast their swords’ abilities, we rely in the main upon the writings of observers.”

Schoonlar turned to an index that comprised several pages in the front of the book. “To your knowledge, who was the earliest wielder of the blade in question?”

“Amnestria,” Arilyn said.

Obligingly Schoonlar ran a finger down the list of names. “I’m sorry. She is not listed.”

“What about Zoastria?” Danilo suggested.

The scholar’s face lit up. “That name is familiar.” He quickly found the passage and then scurried off in search of more information. Danilo began to read aloud.

“ ‘In the year 867 by Dalereckoning, I, Ventish of Somlar, met the elven adventurer Zoastria. She sought information concerning the whereabouts of her twin sister Somalee, who disappeared during a sea voyage between Kadish and the Green Island.’ ”

Danilo looked up. “Kadish was an elven city on one of the Moonshae Islands, I believe. Long since vanished. Evermeet was once known as the Green Island.”

“Go on,” Arilyn urged him.

“ ‘Upon occasion, Zoastria was seen in the company of a female elf who was as like to her as a reflection in a pool. She once confided that she could summon the elf to do her bidding, something she did with less frequency during the time I knew her.’ “ Danilo paused and pointed to the small writing under the passage. “This note was added by the scribes who compiled this volume:

“ ‘Zoastria died without issue, and the moonblade passed to the oldest child of her younger brother. The heir’s name was Xenophor.’ ”

Danilo flipped back to the index, found an entry bearing that name, and turned to it. He scanned the brief passage and grinned.

“Well?” Arilyn asked impatiently.

“It seems that Xenophor had a difference of opinion with a red dragon, and the beast tried to incinerate him. The chronicler notes that Xenophor was unharmed by the blast and was thereafter impervious to fire.” The nobleman gleefully nudged Arilyn’s ribs with his elbow. “I told you so.”

“Keep reading.”

“Here is something you might find interesting,” broke in Schoonlar. He handed Danilo a cracked, ancient parchment. “It gives the lineage of the sword of Zoastria.”

Danilo accepted the scroll and carefully unrolled it. With a feeling of deep awe, Arilyn looked down at the fine writing. Before her were the names of her ancestors, elves who had carried the sword that was now strapped to her side. The half-elf had grown up without knowledge of her family, and the scroll represented the elven heritage that had been denied her. With a sense of reverence she touched a finger to the runes, gently tracing the thin lines that connected the elves. Danilo allowed her a moment before he resumed.

“Here’s something. This says that Dar-Hadan, Zoastria’s father, was a mage rather than a fighter, so he imbued the sword with blue fire to warn of physical danger.”

“We know that already. Keep going.”

They worked all day and long into the night, aided by the attentive Schoonlar. A fascinating picture emerged, a saga of elven heroes and the response the magic sword made to each. Finally they traced the line to Thasitalia, a solitary adventurer. The dreamwarning evolved so that she could sleep alone on the road without fear. From the date of Thasitalia’s death, they gathered that she had been the great-aunt who had passed the sword to Amnestria. There was nothing about Amnestria in any of the records.

“The night’s drawing to a close,” Arilyn grumbled, “and we’re no closer to finding the Harper Assassin. A waste.”

Danilo stretched languidly. “Not entirely. We know what power each wielder granted your sword, with the exception of you and your mother.”

“I will never add to the moonblade’s magic,” the half-elf said. “The moonstone is missing, and all magic originates in the stone and is gradually absorbed by the sword. I’m not sure whether my mother added a power—” She broke off.

“What’s wrong?” asked Danilo, suddenly alert.

“Elfgate,” Arilyn said softly. “That has to be it.”

Danilo looked thoroughly bewildered. “I beg your pardon?”

The half-elf drew the moonblade and pointed to the bottommost rune. “When we were in the Drunken Dragon, the mage Coril deciphered this mark to read ‘elfgate.’ ” Her face grew more animated as she tapped the ancient scroll laid out before them. “This traces the moonblade’s history from its creation until it passed to my mother. There were seven wielders, and we know seven of the sword’s magic powers: rapid strike, glowing to warn of coming danger, silent warning of danger present, dreamwarning, fire resistance, casting illusions over the wielder, and elfshadow.” As she spoke, she counted off the powers on her hand.

“Go on,” urged Danilo, catching some of her excitement.

“Look at the sword,” she said triumphantly. “There are eight runes. The final one, elfgate, must refer to the power my mother gave the sword. That has to be it!” The half-elf turned to Schoonlar. “Can you check and see whether you have any information concerning something called elfgate?”

Their assistant bowed and withdrew. He returned almost immediately, looking deeply troubled. “The files are sealed,” he said without preamble.

Arilyn and Danilo exchanged worried looks. “Well, who can unseal them?” Danilo asked. Schoonlar hesitated. “Surely telling us the names can do no harm,” Danilo said persuasively.

“I suppose not,” the man conceded. “The only persons who can open the files are Queen Amlauril of Evermeet, Lord Erlan Duirsar of Evereska, Laeral the mage, and Khelben Arunsun of Waterdeep.”

Arilyn’s face darkened. “I knew it. Khelben already has the answers, doesn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got most of them,” Danilo admitted.

“Why send us here?”

“Like everyone else allied to the Harpers, Khelben likes to keep secrets,” the nobleman said. “He also likes to collect them. If there’s one puzzle piece he lacks, he’s probably hoping we’ll find it.”

“Such as?”

“Well, such as who’s behind the assassinations, I imagine.”

“That I know,” Arilyn said sadly.

Danilo sat up straight. “You do?”

“I’m pretty sure. What I don’t know is what the elfgate is or how it could possibly be connected to the assassinations.”

Danilo suddenly became very still. “Bran Skorlsun,” he said quietly. “By every god, that has to be the connection.” He rose abruptly from the table. “Come on. We’ve got to get back to Blackstaff Tower. Immediately.”