Elfshadow

Eighteen

The bright sun of mid-afternoon set the forest ablaze with color as the three riders approached the gate of the Waterdeep Academy of Arms, the prestigious training school that was set several miles to the west of the city’s walls. Arilyn, who had been strangely quiet during the ride, dismounted and strode up to the gatehouse. The two students who stood guard eyed the approaching half-elf with interest and presented their best imitation of seasoned warriors.

“State your business,” one of the lads growled in an uncertain baritone.

Seeing that Arilyn was prepared to do so at the point of a sword, Danilo came forward and took over. “We are three Harper agents. Our business is with one of your instructors.”

The students held a whispered consultation, then the future baritone made a respectful gesture and let them pass. The other lad called for someone to stable the horses, then offered to escort the visitors to the headmaster. Danilo accepted with thanks.

“Three Harpers?” Arilyn muttered to Danilo as they walked. “Three?”

He shrugged. “It got us in, didn’t it?”

Arilyn responded with a measured look and lapsed into silence. The student led the unlikely trio of avowed Harper agents through a labyrinth of halls to the office of the academy’s headmaster.

Headmaster Quentin was a burly gray-haired cleric who wore the brown robes and hammerhead symbol of Tempus, god of war. Still broad-shouldered and ham-fisted in his early old age, Quentin looked as if he would be much more at home on the battlefield than in an office. At the moment, he was seated behind several piles of parchment, sadly at odds with his sedentary task. He looked up when the trio came to the door, and his face lit up at the offered reprieve.

The student guard spoke up. “Brother Quentin, these Harpers seek audience with you.”

“Yes, yes. I’ll take over from here,” replied Quentin, rising from his desk and striding forward. He dismissed the student with an impatient gesture.

“It has been too long since the Raven flew to these parts,” Quentin said heartily, clasping Bran’s forearms. Arilyn’s head snapped up to look at Bran Skorlsun, and a peculiar expression crossed her face.

“What brings you here, Bran?” continued Quentin. He slapped the Harper on the back with the familiarity of an old comrade. “Can you stay long enough to share our evening meal and perhaps tip a few mugs?”

“Another time, I would be glad to,” Bran replied. “My companions and I seek one of your instructors. Kymil Nimesin. Is he here?”

The headmaster’s forehead creased. “No, he took a leave of absence. Why?”

“Did he say where he would be going?” Arilyn demanded.

“As a matter of fact, he did,” Quentin remembered. “Evereska, I believe.”

“Evereska …” Arilyn repeated softly, looking thoroughly puzzled. “Was there anything out of the ordinary about his request for leave?”

Quentin thought that over. “Well, Kymil did take several of our best students with him.”

“What can you tell me about them?” Arilyn asked.

The headmaster retrieved one of the piles of parchments from his desk—a large pile—and began to thumb through it.

Arilyn shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. “Ah, here it is,” Quentin exclaimed happily, brandishing a piece of parchment. “Kymil’s request for leave. He took with him Moor Canterlea, Filauria Ni’Tessine, Caer-Abett Fen, Kizzit Elmshaft, and Kermel Starsinger.”

“Some of those are elven names,” Danilo commented.

“All of them,” Quentin corrected. “All gold elves, come to think of it. Every one of them personally recruited and trained by Kymil Nimesin. An impressive lot, I must say.”

“You have personal records on these students, I imagine. May I see one of them?” Arilyn asked.

“Of course. Which student?”

“Ni’Tessine. Filauria.”

“Ah, yes,” Quentin said. “Fine student. I understand she had a brother in the academy some years back, but that was somewhat before my time.”

“It was twenty-five years ago,” Arilyn said softly as she accepted the parchment the headmaster offered her. “He and I were classmates.”

“Is that so? What did you say your name was?” Quentin asked with friendly interest. Arilyn told him, and his bushy brows lifted. “This is odd. Kymil left a note for you.” The headmaster produced a small parchment scroll and handed it to Arilyn.

She quickly scanned the note, then without comment she slipped it into the pocket of her cloak and turned her attention back to the records of Filauria Ni’Tessine. As Arilyn had anticipated, the gold elf had followed custom and listed her family history in some detail. Among Filauria’s siblings was Tintagel Ni’Tessine, alumnus of the Academy of Arms, member of the Waterdeep Watch. Her father’s name was Fenian Ni’Tessine, deceased as of 2 Ches, 1321 Dalereckoning. Interesting, Arilyn thought, that the elf died on the same day King Zaor of Evermeet was assassinated.

Abruptly Arilyn handed the paper back to the headmaster. “Thank you.”

“Always ready to aid the Harper cause,” Quentin said heartily. “I don’t suppose you could fill me in on what’s happening?”

“Gladly, but at a later time,” Bran said.

“Just tell me one thing,” Quentin pressed, “is Kymil Nimesin in any sort of danger?”

“Count on it,” Arilyn promised in a grim tone.

None too gently, she ushered Bran and Danilo out of the room. Once they reached the academy courtyard, she turned to confront the Harper. “Why did the headmaster call you Raven?”

The Harper drew back a step, a little surprised by the intensity of her question. “My given name, Bran, is the word for raven in an ancient language of the Moonshae Isles. Why do you ask?”

“Hearing it just then brought to mind something I’d almost forgotten,” Arilyn said slowly. “I trained at the academy with Filauria Ni’Tessine’s brother, Tintagel. He carried the broken shaft of an arrow with him like a talisman. A tiny brand—a raven—was burned into the wood of the arrow shaft. Tintagel said it was to remind him of his purpose in life. I learned from one of Tintagel’s friends that his father, Fenian Ni’Tessine, was killed by that arrow.” Arilyn glanced up at the Harper, her face wary. “Was that arrow yours?”

“I cannot say. The name Fenian Ni’Tessine is not known to me,” Bran said quietly. He reached back into his quiver for an arrow and handed it to Arilyn. “Is this the mark?”

She examined the brand and nodded. “Does it help to know that Fenian Ni’Tessine was killed on the second day of Ches, in the year 1321? The year before I was born.” She spoke the last statement in a barely audible voice.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps this will help you remember: King Zaor was assassinated that day by a gold elf, who was in turn shot by my mother’s human lover.” She lifted her guarded eyes to the Harper’s. “Moonstones are not commonly worn by humans, and the gem you carried fit my mother’s sword. Am I wrong in thinking that you are the one who killed Fenian Ni’Tessine?”

“I did not know his name, but it would seem that you are right,” Bran admitted. The lines of pain and regret that creased the Harper’s face answered Arilyn’s unspoken question, as well. Their gazes clung for a moment in silent acknowledgement. She handed Bran back his arrow, then turned away, deeply shaken.

Danilo, who had followed this exchange in silence, let out a long, slow whistle. “That means Bran Skorlsun is—”

“Arilyn’s father.” Bran said quietly. He turned to the half-elf. “I would have told you in time.”

“You waited a bit too long,” Arilyn observed in a faint voice. Her face hardened and she said, “But you can tell me why you had the moonstone.”

“In truth, I cannot,” Bran admitted.

“More Harper secrets?” Danilo said with a touch of sarcasm.

“Not on my part, at least,” the Harper said. “A tribunal of elves from Evermeet and Master Harpers decreed that I must carry the moonstone until the day of my death, but I was never told why.”

“Then let’s get back to Blackstaff Tower and find out,” Arilyn said flatly. She turned on her heel and headed for the academy’s stables.

“A woman of action, your daughter,” Danilo observed to Bran as the men fell in behind her. The Harper nodded absently.

A chatty family, Danilo thought wryly. A hint of a smile lit the young man’s face as he contemplated the murderous expression he’d seen in the half-elf’s eyes. To his way of thinking, Uncle Khelben had it coming.

They rode back into the city in virtual silence. “You wait here,” Danilo instructed Arilyn and Bran when they reached the wall around Blackstaff Tower. “It’s well past sunset, and Uncle Khelben expected us hours ago. It’s probably been quite some time since someone kept the archmage waiting, and he’s sure to be frantic. Give me a moment to calm him down.” So saying, the young nobleman walked through the courtyard and disappeared into the solid granite wall of the tower.

After a few moments Arilyn moved to follow him, but Bran put a restraining hand on her arm. “Wait. It is difficult to use invisible doors without the guidance of a mage.”

Arilyn shook off his hand. “I can see faint outlines. Secret doors are difficult to hide from an elf.”

“A half-elf,” he corrected quietly and pointedly.

His words were meant to bring about confrontation. Arilyn tensed. She was not yet ready to acknowledge the relationship that bound them, and she struggled against the strength of her anger.

“All of my life, my mother grieved for you,” she said finally. “I never had a father and I feel no need of one now, but how could you—how could anyone!—turn away from Z’beryl?”

“He had no choice.”

Startled, Arilyn and Bran looked up. Standing before them was Khelben Arunsun, with Danilo close behind.

“Well, it would seem that the wandering Harper has returned,” the archmage observed coldly. “Bringing trouble, as usual.”

Bran returned Khelben’s glare with a calm, steady look. “Many years have passed. We cannot go back and relive our youth, but must we discard the friends who shared it? Laeral and I have come to an understanding. Cannot we do the same?”

The wizard’s face darkened at the mention of his lover. “What has Laeral to do with this?”

“Not enough, it would seem,” Bran said sadly. “Our paths crossed shortly before I left the Moonshaes. She was on her way to Evermeet.” Bran’s brow furrowed suddenly, and he glanced at Arilyn. “Laeral is my friend, but it seems not right that she should be accepted by the elves when their half-elven kin are not.”

“Your concern is belated, but touching,” Arilyn observed with cold scorn.

“Enough of that, Arilyn Moonblade,” Khelben said irritably. “You have every right to dislike the man—Mystra knows I do—but not to misjudge him. As I said, he had no choice but to leave your mother. She took that choice out of his hands. At the time, he didn’t even know about you.”

“It is true,” Bran said sadly.

“You see?” Khelben asked Arilyn, who listened, unmoved by the explanation.

“No.”

The wizard raised his eyes skyward in exasperation over her stubbornness, then beckoned them toward the tower. “Come in, come in.”

Once they were inside the reception area, Arilyn faced down the archmage. “You knew about this all along.”

“I had suspicions,” he admitted, “but I was not free to discuss them with you. Dan says you know who the assassin is. Who?”

“In time,” Arilyn said grimly. “First, tell me why my … why Bran Skorlsun carried the moonstone.”

“It was decreed by the elves of Evermeet,” Khelben said.

“To what purpose?”

The archmage glanced from Arilyn to the aging Harper. “Have you two talked?”

“She knows,” Bran said.

“She also knows that her mother was the Princess Amnestria,” added Danilo.

Khelben nodded to Arilyn. “Good, because there’s no way for me to explain this otherwise. Amnestria married a human and carried his child. The elves don’t look kindly on that sort of behavior in their princesses.” He let out his breath in a deep sigh. “In an unconscious attempt to span her two worlds, Amnestria added a potentially dangerous power to the moonblade. The moonstone was removed before the power could be fully absorbed into the stone.”

“That would be the elfgate,” Arilyn broke in. When Khelben leveled a glare at Danilo, she raised her eyebrows and added, “Your nephew did not give away the game. The elfgate is a dimensional door between Evermeet and Waterdeep. How else could the elf who killed King Zaor on Evermeet be found dead in Waterdeep that same day? Not an easy feat.”

“Impressive. You’ve put all the pieces together,” noted the archmage.

“No,” Arilyn said. “I still don’t understand why the moonstone was given to Bran.”

“Punishment,” Khelben said. “Amnestria was sent into exile and pledged to protect the elfgate. She knew that as long as Bran carried the stone, they could never be reunited.”

“Why was I not told any of this?” Bran demanded.

“That knowledge would put the key to the elfgate in your hands,” Khelben said. “The elves of Evermeet did not have that much faith in you. Since they did not think that a half-elf could inherit the moonblade, they did not foresee the possibility of a father and daughter reunion.”

“Kymil made sure we met,” Arilyn stated bitterly. All three men looked puzzled, so the half-elf turned to Bran. “Who hired you to follow me?”

“Some Harpers from Cormyr contacted me,” he said.

“Lycon of Sune? Nadasha?” Arilyn asked tersely. Bran nodded. “It figures. Kymil often worked with them, but they never fully trusted me. I imagine it was easy for Kymil to convince them that I was the Harper Assassin and that they should put you on my trail.”

“So Kymil Nimesin arranged the death of Harpers to lure Bran to you, hoping to reunite the stone with the moonblade. Appalling,” Khelben muttered. “But what would he want with the elfgate?”

Arilyn’s smile was chilling. “I’ll be sure to find out before I kill him.”

“You can’t go after Kymil,” Khelben protested. “Now that the moonstone is back in the sword, the moonblade’s very presence could help anyone—particularly an elf—find and use the hidden portal.”

“She could meet Kymil before he finds the portal,” Danilo suggested.

“Too late. He’s already there,” Arilyn said. “He left a message for me telling me where to meet him.”

“Where—Oh, yes. Evereska,” recalled Danilo. “He left word that he was going to Evereska. Well, let’s go get him.”

“Don’t be a fool, Dan,” Khelben snapped. “The moonblade must stay far away from Evereska. I take it you’ve already guessed that the elfgate was moved there,” he said to Arilyn.

“Yes. Perhaps the moonblade can’t go to Evereska, but I can.” She unbuckled her sword belt and offered the magic sword to Khelben. “Here. The thing will be safe enough in your vault.”

Khelben shook his head. “You can’t go to Evereska without the sword, either. With the moonstone set in the hilt once more, the link between you and the weapon has been finalized. A wielder can’t be separated from an active, intact moonblade for any length of time and live.”

Arilyn regarded the sword in her hands for a moment, then hurled it across the room. It landed with a clatter. “So be it. If I can live long enough to meet and overcome Kymil Nimesin, I’ll be content.”

“Why?” Danilo demanded. He took her shoulders and shook her. “Why would you throw your life away?”

She met his eyes, defiant and resolute. “My life has never been completely my own, so it’s not mine to keep or throw away. I must make amends for my misused sword.” Her voice was firm and wholly devoid of self-pity. “I’ll do so, but on my own terms. I may be a half-elf and a half-Harper, but I refuse to be half a person. I will not be the moonblade’s shadow any longer.”

“That has never been the case. You command the moonblade, not the other way around,” Bran told her.

“If that were true, then I could choose to leave it behind,” she said stubbornly.

“I don’t suppose it would do any good to try to dissuade you,” Khelben said.

“None.”

“Then I’ll keep the moonblade for you. You’re right, the sword should stay here,” the archmage conceded. “So should you, for that matter.”

“Thank you, Khelben. I would ask one more thing from you. Can you lend me transport to Evereska? A griffon, perhaps, with a speed enchantment?” she asked.

“Very well,” Khelben agreed. “If you insist upon going to Evereska, I’ll get you there. But with one condition. Danilo goes with you.”

“No.” Her tone was implacable. “I go alone.”

Khelben glared at Bran as if this were somehow his fault. “She is your daughter, beyond a doubt.” He turned back to Arilyn. “All right, you’ve got transport. An enspelled griffon should suit as well as anything.”

“Good. Where do I need to go for it?” Arilyn demanded.

“The stables are on the top of Mount Waterdeep.” The wizard went to his desk and scrawled something on a bit of parchment. He pressed his signature ring to the note, and his rune magically burned onto the paper. Khelben handed the note to the half-elf. “Give this to the griffon master. He’ll give you everything you’ll need.”

“My thanks.” She started toward the tower’s exit.

“Arilyn.”

She froze at the sound of Danilo’s voice but did not turn around. “You’ll need a new sword.” He faltered. “Permit me to lend you mine.”

Arilyn nodded and accepted the blade Danilo offered her, then she stepped through the magic door.

Danilo watched her go, swearing under his breath. “Did either of you see that coming?”

“I should have,” the Harper replied. “It’s too much like something I would have done at her age.”

Before the archmage could respond, a sharp rap that seemed to come from the center of the room drew his attention.

“Piergeiron’s timing is about as good as usual,” the wizard grumbled, stalking to the door that led to the basement and the secret tunnel to the palace of Waterdeep’s lord. “Wait here,” Khelben instructed his visitors.

Danilo paced back and forth before the door, muttering imprecations against the Lords of Waterdeep and their preoccupation with protocol. Danilo had little patience for the processes of law and order. He worked independently and under cover so he could keep free of the sacred cords of propriety that bound all aspects of Waterdeep life. Never mind that Kymil Nimesin ran free, that the elven kingdom’s safety had been compromised, that Arilyn was walking willingly into what was surely a trap. The Lords of Waterdeep were probably consulting Khelben about a new monument or some such foolishness.

To the impatient young noble, Khelben’s whispered consultation with the messenger seemed to take an eternity. Finally the Blackstaff returned with an official-looking parchment in his hand. His face was deeply troubled.

Khelben was not given to preambles. “This is from the Lords of Waterdeep. Arilyn Moonblade has been identified as the Harper Assassin, a rogue adventurer in the employ of the Zhentarim.”

“What?” exploded Bran. “By whom? I was the one assigned to make that judgment.”

Khelben held up a hand for silence and continued. “Piergeiron says that the evidence is overwhelming. An anonymous source sent papers to Waterdeep Castle, precisely balancing each assassination with documentation on Arilyn’s whereabouts. There was also a letter billing the Zhentarim for an assassin’s services. The dates coincide with each Harper Assassination.”

Danilo’s eyes turned cold. “Elaith Craulnobur sold her out. He’ll die for that.”

Khelben looked worried. “She was working with the rogue elf, wasn’t she? By Mystra, that won’t look good when she comes to trial.”

“A trial.” Danilo slumped into a chair. “It will come to that? Can’t you do anything?”

“I can speak in her behalf.”

“There’s no truth in this accusation,” Danilo protested. He winced and amended, “At least, not much truth.”

“One thing I learned long ago,” Bran responded, “is that truth often has little power to sway opinion. It seems that the Harpers have never completely trusted Arilyn. Any hint of involvement with the Zhentarim will color opinion further. You must admit that with her background as an assassin, she is a credible suspect.”

Even Danilo had to concede the logic in that. “Surely, when the full story is known …”

“The full story can never be told,” Khelben stated in an uncompromising tone. “Evermeet would be endangered if news of the elfgate became widespread. The secret must be protected.”

Filled with fury, Danilo flew to his feet and faced down the archmage. “Even at the cost of Arilyn’s life?”

“Even so.”

Their eyes locked like horns, Danilo’s blazing with condemnation, Khelben’s fixed on his commitment to duty. The younger man broke away first.

“I’m going after Arilyn,” he said abruptly.

“Be reasonable, Dan,” growled Khelben. “How will you find her? Did she tell you where the elfgate is?”

“In Evereska, that’s all I know.” Danilo’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Don’t you know?”

“Evereska’s a big city,” Khelben snapped. “And I wasn’t the one who moved the gate.”

Danilo shook his head in disgust. “All right, who does know? Or can you relinquish your vows of secrecy long enough to part with that information?”

“Watch your tongue. Laeral devised the spell that moved the elfgate. The only others who know its exact location are Queen Amlauril and the elven lord of the Greycloak Hills, Erlan Duirsar. Perhaps the elven council of Evereska knows by now, too. By Mystra, this mess will set back ties with the elves a century or two,” the Blackstaff concluded in a mutter.

“You deal with the politics, Uncle. If you can’t help me, I’m going to Evereska alone.”

“I’m going with you.” Bran Skorlsun’s quiet voice was as inflexible as tempered steel.

“You’re as bad as your daughter,” Khelben said. “What makes you think the elves will let you near Evereska, Bran? Elves have long memories, and they’re not overly fond of humans who ruin their princesses.”

Bran met the archmage’s glare. “Who else could track Arilyn to the site of the elfgate?”

“It’s out of the question!”

Danilo laughed without mirth. “Oh, come now, Uncle. Aren’t you just a little curious to know where this elfgate is? Now that the cat’s in the creamery, so to speak, I imagine you’ll have to move the thing sooner or later.” Khelben’s eyes widened.

“Another thing,” added Bran. “If we wish to help Arilyn, we must bring in Kymil Nimesin. In her current frame of mind, I fear that she will kill the elf.”

“Let her,” Danilo retorted. “Forgive me, but I cannot shed many tears over the fate of Kymil Nimesin.”

“As much as it pains me to do so,” Khelben put in, “I must agree with Bran. Arilyn is a former assassin. Kymil Nimesin is a highly respected armsmaster. Kymil must be brought in and magically questioned. Without such evidence at the trial, without Kymil’s actual presence, Arilyn looks very much like the Harper Assassin. She would stand a much slimmer chance of acquittal if she kills Kymil.”

“So you agree that we should go, Uncle Khelben?”

“Given our options, yes.” The wizard turned to Bran. “If you will excuse us, I need to have a few words with my nephew before you leave. Come up, Dan.”

Khelben and Danilo climbed the tower’s staircase to the magical supplies room. Once the wizard had shut and warded the door, he got right down to business. “You were right. The elfgate must be moved again,” Khelben said bluntly.

“Oh, marvelous. With Laeral off cavorting with the elves of Evermeet, who’s going to accomplish this miracle?”

Khelben fixed a steady gaze on his nephew. Danilo shook his head and whispered, “Surely you’re not serious.”

“I am very serious.”

The wizard stalked to his scroll library, a large shelf that covered the length of one wall and kept the vast collection in order. Its tiny, round compartments held hundreds of magic scrolls, making the shelf looked like an oversized honeycomb or at the very least an impressive wine rack.

Pressed for time, Khelben muttered a spell. Instantly one of the compartments glowed with green light. Khelben drew the scroll from the glowing niche, blew the dust from it, and removed the magic wards that sealed it.

“Here is the spell, Dan.” Khelben spread the scroll out on a table and fixed the young man with a steady stare. “I’ve pledged not to cast the spell, so you’ll have to.” Danilo paled. “You can do it. I’ve been working with you since your twelfth winter, after that last tutor quit in despair. You have the ability. Do you think I would endanger your life by insisting you cast a spell you could not control?”

“You’re willing enough to sacrifice Arilyn’s,” Danilo said.

“Tread carefully, young man,” the archmage warned. “Few things in life are as simple as you would make them. When you have carried the burdens and responsibilities I have known, then you can sit in judgment upon me. Will you cast the spell or not?”

Danilo nodded and bent over the scroll. One glance at the arcane symbols that formed the powerful spell, and Danilo knew that the task lay on the untried edges of his magical ability. Few mages would attempt such a spell. That Khelben would expect this of him was a measure of the wizard’s trust. Or perhaps his desperation.

As the young mage struggled to read the spell, pain shot through his head like shafts of lightning, making the arcane symbols cavort on the parchment. With fierce concentration, Danilo forced himself to focus on the spell, and after a time the symbols slowed their dance. As they arranged themselves into patterns, their meanings started to become clear. Danilo began to memorize the complex gestures and the strange words that formed the incantation.

After a moment he closed his eyes. He saw the runes emblazoned in gold upon a field of black. Once he had truly learned a magic spell, he could see the symbols in his mind.

Danilo opened his eyes and nodded. “I’ve got it.”

“Already? You’re sure?”

The nobleman grinned at his uncle. “The spell, I’m afraid, is going to be the easy part.”

“Don’t be cocky, boy.”

“It’s true! Compared to keeping Arilyn from chopping Kymil Nimesin into carrion?”

Khelben smiled reluctantly. “Perhaps you have a point. Even without the moonblade, Arilyn is a formidable force.”

To Danilo’s ears, the wizard’s words lacked conviction. “You don’t think she can win, do you?”

“I’m sorry, Dan. Without the moonblade, she’ll be lucky to live until sunset tomorrow.”

“Then Bran and I had better be on our way.”

Khelben removed a silver band from one of his fingers and handed it to Danilo. “A ring of transportation. On an enspelled griffon she could get to Evereska by late afternoon tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Danilo said, accepting the ring. He removed a large, square-cut emerald from one finger to make room for it. Khelben rolled up the spell scroll and handed it to his nephew, who slipped it into his magic bag. As Danilo did so, a daring plan suggested itself. He stared at the magic sack for a moment, considering. “I suppose I’m ready,” he said at length.

“I don’t see that you have any other choice.”

Khelben and Danilo descended the stairs to the parlor where Bran waited impatiently. “Ready to go?” he asked the young nobleman.

Danilo blinked. “I just had a bad thought. Since Arilyn is flying to Evereska on a griffon, she must land somewhere outside the city and arrange other means of transport.” He turned to the archmage. “Would it be possible for you to contact the Griffon Eyrie? Perhaps she told the keepers there what destination she had in mind.”

“Good thinking, Dan. I’ll be back in a moment.” Khelben Arunsun retraced his steps to the spellcasting chamber to make inquiries through his crystal.

Danilo removed a pair of gloves from his magic sack and listened intently for the sound of a door closing. He moved to the corner of the parlor. Arilyn’s moonblade still lay where she had hurled it. The young man hesitated for just a moment, then he willed himself to accept the pain and picked up the sheathed blade. As he expected, a current of magical energy shot up his arm, and the acrid smell of burned flesh filled the chamber. Danilo quickly dropped the moonblade into his magic sack and slipped the glove over his blackened hand. He sped through the gestures and chant of a spell that would create an illusion. When he was finished, the moonblade, to all appearances, still lay where Arilyn had abandoned it.

He turned to Bran Skorlsun and said quietly, “Arilyn needs the moonblade, and I plan to take it to her. If you speak of this, you are a dead man.”

A faint smile curved the Harper’s lips, and he laid a hand on Danilo’s shoulder. “Young man, I like the way you think.”

Khelben Arunsun wrinkled his nose in disgust when he entered the room again. “Merciful Mystra! It smells terrible in here.”

“Your cook is busily burning lentils, no doubt,” Danilo said. “Did you find out where Arilyn is headed?”

“Yes. The Halfway Inn, just outside of Evereska.”

That was precisely what Danilo had expected to hear. “Good. We’re on our way, then.” The nobleman and the Harper exited Blackstaff Tower with rather indelicate speed. Grinning like two schoolboys savoring a prank, the two men left the courtyard for the darkness of the street.

“Hello, Bran,” said a musical, faintly amused voice.

The Harper pulled up short. Standing in the shadow of a milliner’s shop was Elaith Craulnobur. The elf stepped into the light of the street lamp. “I was beginning to wonder whether the Blackstaff had invited you to take up residence in the tower. I see that his nephew is with you, so I assume Arilyn is nearby?”

Danilo’s eyes narrowed. He reached for his sword, but remembered that he’d given it to Arilyn. The moon elf laughed. “Your scabbard is as empty as your wit. Don’t worry, dear boy. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

“Is that so? I thought you were going to have me killed.”

“Not a matter for concern.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” the nobleman retorted.

The elf’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “Would it comfort you to know that the attempt has already been made?”

“The House of Good Spirits,” Danilo said, suddenly understanding. His eyes narrowed. “So you knew all along who was behind the assassinations.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have had to spend an obscene amount of money on bribes to the Zhentarim. They’re quite willing to betray their own, but the price of friendship is high,” Elaith said. He held up the documents he had shown to Arilyn two days earlier. “Where is Arilyn? I must speak with her about these.”

Danilo calmed himself. “Someone sent copies of those papers to Waterdeep Castle. I thought it might be you.”

“Good gods, no. It was Kymil Nimesin. He’s the one who originally sent the bill to the Zhentarim. Working both sides of the fence, he’s been amassing a tidy sum.” The moon elf shook his head, and a grim expression replaced his usual facade of gentle amusement. “I’d like to know what Kymil plans to do with those funds. He should be quite a wealthy elf by now, and he’s ending the scam by serving up Arilyn as the Harper Assassin.”

Danilo looked up at Bran, his expression worried. “That would be a convenient way for Kymil to explain Arilyn’s death, wouldn’t it? The noble armsmaster slays the half-elf assassin?” Bran merely nodded, never once taking his eyes off Elaith’s face.

“All the more reason for Arilyn to deal with Kymil at once,” the moon elf agreed. He handed the papers to Danilo. “Please give her these.”

The nobleman glanced at the papers. “I don’t understand.”

“It is always wise to have a contingency plan,” Elaith said. “With this letter, Arilyn can turn the Zhentarim against Kymil. An amusing end for the villain, wouldn’t you say?”

“Arilyn would not work with the Black Network!” Bran thundered.

“My dear Raven, do try to be practical for once.” Elaith took the itemized bill from Danilo’s hand. “There are a number of names on this list, people for whom the Zhentarim had no further use.”

“Yes? So?”

“So, just suppose there were more names on this list, including some individuals who are important to the Zhentarim leadership.”

Bran still looked outraged, but a tiny smile of comprehension tugged at Danilo’s lips. “I see. Pad the bill a bit?” asked the young nobleman.

“If you chose the right names, it could raise some hackles,” Elaith agreed mildly. “I’ve already looked into the matter. As usual, there have been several unexplained deaths in the network’s ranks of late. If an explanation were suddenly presented …”

“Very clever,” Danilo admitted, “but I doubt Arilyn would want the Zhentarim doing her work for her. Don’t give the matter another thought. She’d prefer to handle Kymil Nimesin herself.”

“You’re probably right.” Elaith inclined his head.

Bran observed the moon elf with suspicion. “This is hardly the behavior one expects from the famous Serpent.”

Elaith let out a ripple of cynical laughter. “Do not make the mistake of thinking me noble. I am not.”

“What do you want from Arilyn?” Bran demanded.

“Taking your fatherly duties a bit seriously, aren’t you?” the elf mocked. His smile faded abruptly, and his amber eyes suddenly seemed dull and empty. “Don’t concern yourself, Harper. I realize that Amnestria’s noble daughter is beyond my reach. If Arilyn were in truth the devious assassin I once thought her, it would be another matter.”

“Then why do you help her?” Bran asked, puzzled.

“Unlike the etriel, I have no compunction against letting others do my work for me.” Suddenly Elaith’s voice hardened, and his amber eyes met Danilo’s. “Kymil Nimesin has insulted me too many times. I want him dead. Unless I miss my guess, Arilyn is going to kill him. It is that simple. Though she and I may be very different, where Kymil Nimesin is concerned we both want the same thing.”

Danilo held the deadly elf’s gaze for a moment, then he nodded. “Revenge,” he said softly.

“We understand each other at last,” said the moon elf with a strange smile. He melted into the shadows and was gone.

“Merciful Mystra,” Danilo said softly. “Keeping Kymil Nimesin alive may prove to be more difficult than I thought.”