Elfshadow

Four

The festival of Higharvestide was the social highlight of the month of Eleint. Known as The Fading, Eleint was nonetheless far from dull. As summer drew to a close and the days grew short and chill, autumn paid its dividend in the form of longer, revel-filled nights. Harvest festivals crowded the calendar; Waterdeep’s economy was based on commerce rather than agriculture, but the wealthy Waterdhavians never overlooked any opportunity to throw a party.

They came out in full force, the noble merchants of Waterdeep. The members of the older generation considered the festival serious business. It was a time to assert their position in society, to upstage business competitors, to gather useful information and start potentially beneficial rumors, and to generally move from deal to deal. The younger set merely gathered to enjoy their unearned wealth with smug high spirits.

The joint effort of several noble families, the Higharvestide Ball was always a lavish affair. It was held in the House of Purple Silks, one of the city’s largest and finest festhalls. Several hundred guests gathered in the vast main room, which was ablaze with the light of a thousand tiny lanterns that magically changed colors to match the tempo and mood of the dance music. In the center of the marble floor a large circle of dancers moved through the intricate patterns of a rondellere, and as they laughed and spun, their glittering jewels and silks reflected the colorshifting light like a vast kaleidoscope.

Other revelers enjoyed the buffet tables or helped themselves to the trays of delicacies circulated by a small horde of servants. No expense had been spared; tonight everything was of the finest quality available to the City of Splendors. Vases of rare hothouse flowers scented the air. The musicians were among the best in Faerûn, and several small concerts were planned for the evening’s entertainment. At the moment a consort of viols and woodwinds played for those who wished to dance, but lutanists and harpists were also scattered in remote corners and alcoves to set the proper mood for trysts.

One corner of the room—a corner very near a well-stocked bar—echoed with peal after peal of laughter. A merry group had gathered there around Danilo Thann, a favorite with the younger Waterdeep set.

The young man holding court in the center of the circle was dressed to the nines in an outfit designed to enhance his recently acquired image as a far-traveled man. He sported a broad-brimmed hat of green velvet, deliberately styled after the trademark hat of a famous Ruathym pirate, right down to the sweeping plumes. The dandy’s soft, slouchy boots were like those favored by Sembian adventurers, but they were made of rare chimera leather, also dyed green. Finely embroidered dragons and griffons cavorted on his shirt of pale green Shou silk. There, however, the world-trotting theme ended. His jade green coat and trousers were of the latest local style, and a velvet cape in a matching shade swept dramatically to the floor. Several rings decorated his gesticulating hands, and a pendant with a large, square-cut emerald gleamed from his chest. Blond hair flowed over his shoulders, framing his animated face with shining, lovingly maintained waves.

Danilo Thann was a devoted dilettante as well as a fashion plate, renowned for his amusing but half-honed talents in music and magic. At the moment, he entertained his friends with a new magic trick.

“Dan, what ho! The wanderer has returned at last,” called a voice behind Danilo, interrupting the would-be mage in mid-spell.

A chorus of cries met the new arrival. Splendidly attired in his family colors of red, silver, and blue, Regnet Amcathra strode into the circle of nobles. He and Danilo clasped hands with the gravity of warriors, then fell laughing into a back-thumping hug.

“By Helm’s eyes, you’re a welcome sight,” swore Regnet heartily when the pair broke apart. A boyhood friend as well as Danilo’s competitor in matters of sartorial excess, Regnet scanned the dandy’s green ensemble from top to toe and drawled, “But tell me, Dan, will you turn another color as you ripen?”

The group burst into laughter. Before Danilo could respond in kind, Myrna Callahanter spoke up. “Yes, well, speaking of green, did you hear that our good friend Rhys Brossfeather was spotted entering the Smiling Siren?”

The young nobles joined in a collective smirk. A flighty and casually malicious gossip, Myrna was ever on the alert for an opening, however small, for one of her tattling tales.

“Really? I’ve heard some wonderful stories about that place,” Danilo said, grinning broadly at the thought of the shy young cleric in that notoriously bawdy tavern. “Is the entertainment there every bit as wicked as they say?”

“Well … So I’ve heard,” responded Myrna, eyes demurely downcast.

The group hooted with laughter at her evasion. “Myrna was probably on stage that night,” Regnet suggested, bringing about another chorus of mirth.

Not insulted in the least, Lady Callahanter responded with an evil grin that would have shamed a red dragon. She was always delighted to be the center of attention, and with a practiced gesture she reached up to pat her bright red hair. As she did, her outer robe fell conveniently open, revealing a translucent gown and a good deal more. Several jaws fell at the sudden display, and one guest noisily dropped his goblet.

Wearing a droll expression, Danilo leaned closer to Regnet. “Her timing rivals that of a bard, but can she sing?”

“Does it matter?” his crony responded dryly.

As were most of the guests, Myrna Callahanter was dressed to dazzle. Her blue-green gown was almost sheer, with clusters of sequins cleverly located to create an illusion of decency. The dress was cut low enough to reveal a lavish expanse of flesh. Multi-colored glitter had been glued in artful patterns to the skin of her arms, throat, and impressive curves. Even her hair—the raucous scarlet hue of Calimshite henna—was elaborately woven with gems and gilded ribbons. Nothing about Myrna was subtle; she had the reputation of devouring men with the speed and appetite of trolls in a butcher shop.

Making the most of the attention, Myrna heaved a theatrical sigh. Glancing around the circle through lowered lashes, she continued her litany of gossip. “And then there’s that terrible scandal involving Jhessoba, the poor dear—”

“Myrna, love, I know rumor-mongering is your family trade, but must you talk shop at a party?”

Again the young nobles grinned in unison. The speaker was Galinda Raventree. She and Myrna were sworn foes, and their catty warfare could always be counted on to liven up things.

This evening, however, Galinda had another motive for curbing Myrna’s tongue: Jhessoba’s latest misfortune had political implications, which could lead—the gods forbid—to serious debate upon substantive issues. A devoted party-goer, Galinda had seen to catering this affair, and she was determined that it remain appropriately frivolous.

Danilo draped an arm around Myrna’s shoulders, coming valiantly to her defense. “Really, Galinda, you must let Myrna talk. After two months with that dreary merchant train, I for one am longing for a bit of local gossip.”

He gave Myrna a squeeze of encouragement. “Do go on.”

“My hero,” the gossip purred. She snuggled a bit closer, and one scarlet-tipped hand snaked up Danilo’s chest to toy with his emerald pendant.

Noting the familiar, predatory expression in the noblewoman’s eyes, Danilo wisely retreated. His arm came away faintly dusted with glitter, though, and he regarded his defiled garment with dismay. “I say, Myrna, you’ve got that damnable stuff all over me.”

Several women in the group surreptitiously checked their escorts for similar telltale sparkles. Galinda Raventree took note of their suspicious scrutiny, and with great satisfaction she smirked into her wine goblet.

Incapable of being insulted, Myrna draped herself over Danilo again. “Do another trick,” she begged him.

“Love to, but I’ve cast all the spells I’ve got for the day.”

“Oh, no,” she cooed, pouting up at him. “Not every one?”

“Well …” Danilo hesitated. “I have been working on some interesting spell modifications.”

Regnet guffawed. “Another Snilloc’s Snowball?”

“Now, there’s gratitude for you,” Danilo huffed in mock pique. He turned to the group, and with one ringed hand he languidly gestured toward Regnet. “About three months ago our over-dressed friend here managed to insult some very large, very drunk gentlemen in a tavern down in the Dock Ward. A small fight ensued, and of course I leapt to his aid. Using the Snilloc’s Snowball spell, I conjured a magic missile—”

“A snowball?” sneered Wardon Agundar. His family dealt in the forging of swords, and he had little regard for lesser weapons.

“Well, not exactly,” Danilo confessed. “I tried a variation on the spell and came up with a slightly, um, more exotic weapon.”

“Thus creating the spell for Snilloc’s Cream Pie,” put in Regnet with a broad grin. The nobles shouted with laughter over the image this conjured, and Danilo bowed in acknowledgement.

“My claim to immortality,” he replied, laying a hand over his heart and striking a heroic pose.

“What happened?” demanded Myrna breathlessly. “Did you have to fight those men or did the watch step in?”

“Nothing so dramatic as that,” admitted Danilo. “We settled our differences like gentlemen. Regnet bought a round of drinks for our erstwhile opponents. Dessert, of course, was on them.”

A universal groan greeted Danilo’s pun. “You’d better do another trick now, to redeem yourself,” Regnet advised.

His friends joined in coaxing Danilo to casting another of his illusions. After modestly disclaiming that he hadn’t quite worked all the bugs out of this one, he agreed to try.

“Hmmmm. I’ll need something truly vulgar to use as a spell component,” Danilo mused. His gaze fastened on Regnet’s pendant, a rendering of the Amcathra crest in sparkling red and blue stones. “Oh, I say, Regnet, that will do splendidly.”

Regnet pretended to wince at the good-natured insult, but he handed over the bauble. His friend began the spell, chanting the arcane words and gesturing broadly. Finally Danilo tossed the pendant into the air, and the show climaxed in a loud pop and a puff of multi-colored smoke.

When the smoke cleared, the young nobles stared at Regnet in a moment of stunned disbelief. Then their laughter echoed throughout the hall. The spell had turned his colorful finery into the drab brown robes of a druid.

Danilo’s eyes widened in mock dismay. He rocked back a pace and folded his arms across his chest. “Hmm. Now, how did that happen?” he murmured, raising one hand to tap reflectively at the highly decorative cleft in his chin.

Regnet’s face was a study of astonishment as he regarded his unfashionable ensemble, and his chagrin sent his friends into new peals of mirth. Suddenly the laughter died, and a nervous silence fell over the merry group.

A tall, burly man approached their corner. Unlike most of the party-goers, this man was dressed in solemn black, his only ornaments a silver torque and a cape lined with fine gray fur. His black hair was streaked with gray, and his brow was knit in disapproval.

“Uh-oh,” murmured Myrna, her eyes brightening with glee at the thought of impending disaster. Another of their number, a young nobleman deeply into his cups, blanched at the sight of the stern newcomer and edged out of range.

Danilo, however, raised a hand in delighted greeting. “Uncle Khelben! Just the person we need. That last bit of magic went awry. Can you show me where I went wrong?”

“I wouldn’t presume,” Uncle Khelben said dryly. “It would seem, Danilo, that we need to have another little talk.” He took a firm hold of the dandy’s glitter-speckled arm and glared around the circle of nobles.

The gay assemblage took the hint and scattered like a flock of startled birds, muttering excuses as they went. This would not be the first time that Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun, archmage and reputed member of the secret circle that ruled Waterdeep, had chastised his frivolous nephew over the irresponsible use of magic, and Danilo’s friends did not care to witness the coming lecture.

“Cowards, all of them,” Danilo mused as he watched the rapid retreat of his friends.

“Forget them. We have more important matters to discuss.”

Danilo grimaced and captured two goblets of Sparkling Evermead from the tray of a passing waiter. He thrust one of the goblets into his uncle’s hand. “Here, take this. I suppose it’s safe to assume that you’ll be as dry as usual.”

Khelben’s dour response was drowned out by a delighted squeal.

“Danilo, you’re back!” A tipsy young noblewoman, dressed in an incongruous mixture of sheer lace and white furs, launched herself at the green-clad dandy.

Adept at avoiding wine stains on his finery, Danilo held his goblet out at arm’s length as he caught the attractive missile in a careful, one-armed embrace. “I’ve counted the minutes, Sheabba.” He smiled into her upturned face.

The blond woman wrapped her arms around his waist and giggled up at him. “Of course you have. I suppose you’ve been charming all the women from here to Suzail?”

“Fertilizing the fields, more likely,” interjected Khelben in a sour tone.

“Bray elsewhere, old donkey,” Sheabba snapped. She threw a withering look at the mage, then recoiled in mortification as she realized whom she had insulted.

Danilo noted her dismay and came quickly to her rescue. “You’ll be at the festival games tomorrow, Shea, won’t you? Oh, marvelous. I’ll have to ride in one or two events, but a group of us are getting together at the Broken Lance afterward for drinks. My treat. Meet me there?”

The young woman managed a weak nod of agreement, then she took flight, weaving unsteadily through the crowd.

Danilo sighed noisily and shook his head. “Really, Uncle, the effect you have on women is beyond belief. Don’t despair. I’ve been working on this new spell, don’t you know, that might do your social life a world of—Hey, mind the silk!”

Khelben had once again seized Danilo’s arm. Ignoring the young man’s sputtering protests, the mage drew his nephew out of the room and into a secluded alcove.

Once released, Danilo leaned against a marble bust of Mielikki, Goddess of the Forest, and arranged his cape in artful folds before addressing himself to his glowering uncle. “To what do I owe the honor of this abduction?”

“You’ve heard about Rafe Silverspur.” Khelben was not given to lengthy preambles.

Danilo took a sip of his wine. “No, can’t say that I have. What’s the good ranger doing these days?”

“Very little. He’s dead.”

Danilo paled, and a look of remorse washed over Khelben’s face. The wizard continued in a gentler tone, “I’m sorry, Dan. I’d forgotten that Rafe and you had become good friends.”

The young man nodded acknowledgement. His face was without expression, but he studied the bubbles in his glass for a long moment before he looked up.

“Branded, I suppose?” Danilo’s voice was flat, all hint of the lazy drawl gone.

“Yes.”

“Rafe Silverspur,” Danilo repeated in a distant voice. “Your death will be avenged, my friend.”

The vow was spoken quietly, yet no one could hear it and doubt that it would come to pass. Danilo’s voice rang with quiet strength and stubborn resolve. Anyone who saw the young noble at this moment would have had a hard time equating him with the smug dandy known to Waterdeep society. His handsome face was dark with fury as he turned to the mage, but his rage was held in check by a control as remarkable as it was unexpected.

“How did he die?”

“Same as all the others—in his sleep, for all we can tell,” Khelben responded. “If a ranger as good as young Silverspur could be taken unaware, it’s no wonder the Harpers are running around in circles after this assassin.”

“The search, I take it, is not going well.”

“No,” the mage admitted. “That’s where you come in.”

Dropping back into his foppish persona, Danilo crossed his arms and quirked one eyebrow. “Somehow I knew you’d get around to saying that.”

“Indeed,” Khelben agreed dryly, recognizing that his nephew’s manner covered strong emotion.

“Naturally, you have a plan,” Danilo prompted.

“Yes. I’ve been following the assassin’s route, and a pattern is starting to emerge. It leads here.” Khelben reached into a pocket and drew out a pewter-framed miniature.

Danilo accepted the portrait and studied it, then whistled in appreciation. “You did this? By the gods, Uncle, there may yet be some hope for you as an artist.”

The young man’s teasing brought a faint smile to Khelben’s face. “I did not know you were a connoisseur of art.”

“Art, no. Women, definitely,” Danilo said fervently, his eyes still fixed upon the portrait. The subject was a woman of rare and exceptional beauty. Curly raven-black hair framed the perfect oval face and contrasted with her creamy white skin. Her cheekbones were sharp and high, her features sculpted by a delicate hand. Most extraordinary were her eyes, almond shaped and vividly green. Danilo was highly partial to green.

“Does she really look like this, or did you take artistic license?” Danilo asked.

“She really looks like that,” Khelben confirmed. He cocked his head and amended cryptically, “Well, sometimes she looks like that.”

Danilo glanced up, his brow furrowed. He shook his head to rid himself of the temptation to pursue the subject and got back to the business at hand. “Besides being the future mother of my children, who is this beauty?”

“The assassin’s target.”

“Ah. You want me to warn her?”

“No,” Khelben continued, “I want you to protect her. And, in a manner of speaking, spy on her. If I’m right, you’ll need to do both in order to catch the Harper Assassin.”

Danilo sank onto the stone bench beside the statue. The vague, charming smile had disappeared from his face, and once again his tone was grim. “I’m supposed to catch this Harper Assassin, am I? Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning.”

“Very well.” Khelben seated himself beside his nephew. He stabbed a finger at the portrait that still lay cradled in Danilo’s hand. “During most of the assassinations, perhaps all of them, this woman has been near at hand.”

“Sounds to me as if you have a suspect, not a target.” Danilo’s tone was laced with regret as he eyed the portrait.

“No.”

“No?” Danilo’s tone was both surprised and hopeful.

“No,” reiterated Khelben firmly. “And I say this for several reasons. She’s a Harper agent. One of the best. In my opinion, the assassin has been after her for some time. When he can’t get close enough to strike and still avoid detection, he settles for a less challenging target.”

“I’m sorry, but considering some of the Harpers who have fallen to this assassin, I find your theory difficult to swallow,” Danilo protested. To support his argument, he ticked off a list on the fingers of one hand. “Sybil Evensong, Kernigan of Soubar, the mage Perendra, Rathan Thorilander, Rafe Silverspur …” Danilo’s voice trailed off, and he had to clear his throat before he continued. “This woman couldn’t be more capable than any of those.”

“Yes, she could.”

“Really? Hmm. Why does your pretty Harper agent draw this assassin? Apart from the obvious reasons, naturally.”

“She has a moonblade,” Khelben explained tersely. “It’s a magic elven sword, very powerful. It is possible that the assassin, whoever he is, is after Arilyn’s sword.”

“Arilyn,” Danilo repeated the name absently, looking down at the picture once more. “It suits her. Arilyn what?”

“Moonblade. She has taken the sword’s name as her own. But we digress.”

“Indeed. So, what can this magic sword do?”

Khelben took his time before answering. “I’m not aware of all its powers,” he said carefully. “That’s where you come in.”

“You said that already,” Danilo observed.

The mage’s face darkened with exasperation. “Apart from you and me, do you see anyone in this room?” he snapped. “There’s no need to continue playing the fool.”

Danilo smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Habit, you know.”

“Yes, well, please attend to the matter at hand. The possibility exists that Arilyn Moonblade has been targeted for her sword as well as her talents. If we find out who has an interest in the moonblade and why, we have a better chance of finding this assassin.”

Danilo sat quietly for a long moment. “One question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Why me?”

“Secrecy is vital. We can’t send someone obvious.”

“Oh,” Danilo crossed one knee over the other and flicked a lock of hair over his shoulder in an exaggerated, effeminate gesture. “Is it my imagination, or was I just insulted?”

Khelben scowled. “Don’t belittle yourself, boy. You’ve proven to be a more than capable agent, and you’re perfect for this job.”

“Indeed,” Danilo agreed wryly. “Protecting a woman who doesn’t seem to require my protection.”

“There’s more. We need information about the moonblade. You have proven to be very successful at separating women from their secrets.”

“It’s a gift,” Danilo modestly agreed. He tapped the portrait and added, “Not that I’m trying to get out of this assignment, mind you, but someone’s got to point out the obvious: why don’t we just ask her about the sword?”

Khelben faced the young nobleman, his expression grim and earnest. “There’s more to this than meets the eye, although an assassin of this skill, systematically wiping out Harpers, is trouble enough. No one must suspect that you work with me—not the assassin, not the other Harpers, and especially not Arilyn.”

“Intrigue within the ranks?” Danilo asked mockingly.

“It is possible,” Khelben answered cryptically.

“Marvelous,” Danilo muttered, looking genuinely appalled by Khelben’s unexpected response to his jest. “Even so, I don’t see why we need to keep this from Arilyn. If the assassin is after her, shouldn’t she be forewarned? Once she knows I’ve been sent to help her, she may be more prone to work with me.”

Khelben snorted. “Far from it. For all her talents, Arilyn Moonblade is one of the most stubborn, hotheaded, and unreasonable persons I’ve ever met. She wouldn’t agree to protection, and she wouldn’t take kindly to the notion that she couldn’t handle the assassin alone.” Khelben paused, and a grimace tugged the corners of his mouth down. “She reminds me of her father, come to think of it.”

Danilo regarded the mage with a skeptical expression. “This is all very interesting, but I sense that you’re skirting the real issue. It’s the sword, isn’t it? You know something about it that you’re not telling me.”

“Yes,” Khelben agreed simply.

“Well?” Danilo prompted.

Khelben shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to trust me. The fewer people who know, the better. I doubt even Arilyn herself knows the full extent of the sword’s power. We need to find out what she knows about the sword, and that’s—”

“Where I come in,” Danilo finished glumly.

“Indeed. You have a knack for getting people to talk. A word of caution, however. Until the assassin is identified and captured, you must never let down your facade.”

“Surely, after she becomes accustomed to my presence, she would—”

“No,” Khelben broke in. He raised a cautioning finger and paused for emphasis. “There is something you should know. Arilyn Moonblade is very good. She is not easy to follow, yet the assassin keeps cropping up near her. She is obviously being closely observed, probably through magical means. As a charming but ineffectual dandy, you may not seem a threat to whomever is watching Arilyn. If you should ever step out of your role …”

“Don’t worry,” Danilo said with an insouciant shrug. “I always did perform best for an audience.”

“I hope so. It could be a long performance. Arilyn is no fool, and you’ve got to stay with her until she leads you to the Harper Assassin.”

An expression of intense distaste crossed the young nobleman’s face. “I don’t like the idea of using this woman as bait for a trap.”

“Neither do I,” growled Khelben. “But can you think of a better alternative?”

“No,” Danilo admitted.

“Exactly.” Khelben rose abruptly, indicating that the interview was over. “I suggest that you make your apologies to Lady Sheabba. You leave for Evereska in the morning.”