Elfsong

Fourteen

“If’n I knowed yer friend would be late abed, I’d’ve had me another mug of that ale,” Morgalla said wistfully.

Danilo grinned, not taking the dwarf at all seriously. They’d been waiting for Caladorn at the Field of Triumph for well over an hour, and Danilo noticed that Morgalla watched the morning’s practice with an interested and critical eye. A fighter to the core, she was having a fine time appraising the styles and skills displayed on the practice fields.

The Harper also made good use of the time. He noted the poor turnout, the dispirited air of the contestants, and the number of clerics on hand to heal injuries. The horses in the arena’s stables—supposedly the best horses in all the Northlands—looked dull and lethargic. A number of them had suffered injuries, and for the price of a silver coin one of the grooms confided that several horses had been hurt so badly that they’d been put down.

Danilo also learned that many of the renowned fighters who’d expected to be in the contests had suffered injury or met with troubles of one sort or another. Most of the contestants who trained this morning were youths and visitors, eager for the fame that victory at the Midsummer Games would bring them and willing to take the all-too-apparent risks involved.

“If this be the best fighters you got in Waterdeep, I can’t figger out why the city ain’t overrun with trolls,” Morgalla commented. With the jester-head of her staff, she pointed toward two young men battling with staffs. Even to Danilo, it seemed a clumsy and halfhearted meet

“Jarun hurt his shoulder yesterday,” explained a deep voice behind them. “He’s favoring one side too much.”

Morgalla snorted, not bothering to turn around. “He’d do both sides a favor if’n he put down his staff and took up tapestry.”

Danilo turned at the familiar, hearty laughter that the dwarf’s comment evoked. Behind them stood Caladorn, dressed for the practice field in leggings and a linen shirt, which was unlaced nearly to the waist The short red curls on his head and on his well-muscled chest glistened in the bright midday sun.

“Sweet Sune!” Danilo exclaimed, casting an arch glance at Caladorn’s state of half-dress. “What sort of events are you preparing for, and where can I sign up?”

Caladorn laughed again and patted the sword at his hip. “It’s hot work, Dan, swinging seven pounds of steel in the midday sun.”

When Danilo responded with a delicate shudder, the swordsman chuckled and clapped him on the back. “You’ll not take me in with that act, lad! If I recall aright, you had the same swordmaster as did your brother Randor, and he’s a fine hand with a sword. Would you care for a match? I could use a bit of a challenge.”

“If you would for one moment consider me a challenge, things here must be in a sorry state,” Danilo said lightly.

Caladorn’s handsome face turned grim, and he raised a hand in the gesture of a fencer acknowledging a hit “I’ll tell you all about it some time over a few tankards.”

“How about now?”

“I wish I could, but I had to stop by the palace on tournament business, and I can’t afford to take any more time from the training. The games are tomorrow, and there remains much to do. I’ve got to put these boys and girls through their paces,” Caladorn said, eyeing the field with a resigned expression.

The firm manner in which Caladorn spoke, not to mention the indisputable evidence in the contestants around them, gave Danilo little hope of changing the fighter’s mind. He was about to take his leave when Caladorn spoke again.

“The stableboy said you’ve been waiting for me an hour and more. I’m sorry for that, Dan, but I ran into Khelben on my way to the field, and he kept me talking for some time. You know how the good archmage can run on.”

“Only too well,” Danilo replied with a rueful grin. In truth, he thought Caladorn’s comment rather odd. His Uncle Khelben was not given to idle, social chitchat. The Harper decided to probe for a bit more information. “Don’t tell me, Caladorn: you tried to talk the archmage into giving you a love potion to slip into Lady Thione’s wine!”

The fighter good-naturedly shrugged away Danilo’s teasing.

“I knew it!” Danilo crowed. “I’ve been wondering how a pitiful specimen such as yourself managed to hold the lovely lady’s interest”

A wistful expression crossed Caladorn’s face. “To tell you the truth, there is little I wouldn’t do to win the lady’s heart, barring that,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “I have asked Lucia for her hand, but she is not yet ready to entrust it. When that day comes, I am determined to be worthy of the honor.”

The words were put forth simply, with a dignity and an old-fashioned courtliness that reminded Danilo of the knights of an earlier time. The love and reverence in Caladorn’s eyes when he spoke of his lady made Danilo feel vaguely ashamed of his earlier jest After promising Caladorn a match at a later time, he and Morgalla left the tournament field.

“Where to?” the dwarf asked.

“We’re to meet the others at the Broken Lance, a tavern not far from here,” Danilo said, leading the way down a side street “Let’s hope that one of them has fared better than we have!”

While her troublesome houseguest took a midday nap, Lucia Thione slipped away from her villa and hurried to Caladorn’s townhouse in the Castle Ward. To her dismay, she found all the cupboards locked. Her young lover was not at home. His manservant did not have the keys, but he informed her that Caladorn had left early, and that he’d had business with the archmage.

Although society deemed the hour far too early to be making calls, the noblewoman went at once to Blackstaff Tower. She was greeted at the wall by the Lady Arunsun and graciously received. Lucia felt uneasy in the beautiful mage’s presence—the noblewoman often had the feeling that those wicked silver eyes saw far too much—but she entered the tower with Laeral and accepted a goblet of iced pomegranate nectar. After the usual exchange of social amenities, Lucia asked for the archmage.

“He is not here, I’m afraid,” Laeral said, and her bare shoulders—at this time of the day!—lifted in a graceful, apologetic shrug.

Despite the mage’s polite words, Lucia got the distinct impression that Laeral was not at all displeased with the situation. The noblewoman’s tiny chin firmed and lifted to an imperious angle. “Would you be so good as to tell me where I might find him? Or Caladorn, for that matter?”

Silver eyes twinkled, and a dimple flashed briefly on the mage’s face. “I regret that such goodness is beyond me,” Laeral murmured. “Khelben left the tower early this morning, and he did not mention his destination.”

Before the frustrated noblewoman could respond, a young gold elf entered the reception hall, a silver lyre in his arms. He paused when he noted Lady Thione and made her a deep bow. The irrepressible Laeral dimpled and winked at the newcomer.

“Lady Thione, may I present Wyn Ashgrove. He is a minstrel and our guest at the tower. Wyn, Lady Thione is of the old royal family of Tethyr. Perhaps you might honor her with a song from her homeland?”

The elf agreed. He promptly seated himself and began to play a familiar melody on his silver lyre. His voice was high and sweet, and his skill remarkable, yet Lucia Thione had difficulty sitting through the elf’s well-meaning performance. For one thing, she’d had entirely too much to do with bards of late! Even more exasperating was the amused gleam in Laeral’s silver eyes. The mage was clearly aware of Lucia’s eagerness to be off, and she was deliberately detaining her guest in a fashion that the noblewoman could not dismiss without displaying an appalling lack of breeding. Angry at being toyed with in such a fashion, Lucia Thione seethed throughout the elf’s song. Despite Laeral’s power, beauty, charm, and social position as Khelben Arunsun’s lady, the mage remained somewhat of a rogue. With such a base trick, Lucia thought with a touch of malice, Laeral revealed herself as the common wench that she was!

As soon as the last silvery chord faded into silence, Lucia Thione rose to her feet “Thank you for your lovely tribute, Master Ashgrove,” she said, using her most regal tones to hide how flustered she truly felt. “Please accept in return this small tribute to your skills.” She reached into her money purse and selected one of several small coin bags. She handed it to the elf. He rose and accepted it with a polite bow.

The noblewoman’s farewell to the lady mage was as frosty as propriety allowed. Although Laeral did not appear to realize that she had been put in her place, at least she had the decency to escort Lady Thione to the street without further mockery.

Lucia settled into her carriage, deeply troubled by the morning’s events. Bergand would not be leaving for Nimbral until after the Midsummer Faire, and Garnet could not be put off. She would not wait that long for a helm of a Lord of Waterdeep, and the only one Lucia had a hope of procuring was Caladorn’s. Unless she got it quickly, she stood the risk of being unveiled before Garnet and the Knights of the Shield. The helm she must have, right away, and at any cost.

With a deep sigh, she resolved herself to the necessary course of action. Tapping briskly on the carriage glass, she got the driver’s attention and instructed him to take her to Diloontier’s Apothecary. The posh shop, located in the heart of the Castle Ward, catered to the needs of wealthy ladies and dandies who required herbal and magical balms, perfumes, and potions, and it possessed a sterling reputation and a clientele that included many of those whose names were featured on society’s first-choice guest lists. Diloontier also had a startling array of poisons and potions, which he secretly sold to those who had the appropriate credentials and the right amount of gold. Unfortunately for Caladorn, Lucia possessed both.

When Danilo and Morgalla arrived at the Broken Lance, Wyn Ashgrove was waiting for them, looking strangely out of place amid the athletes and fighters who frequented the tavern. The elf waved them over to his table. “Khelben Arunsun could not come. He sends his regrets. Do you have any news?”

“Less than I’d like,” Danilo replied, taking a seat at the large circular table. The Harper ordered wine and sipped at it absently while Wyn told them about the recent events in Waterdeep. The rumored disappearances of the Lords of Waterdeep concerned the Harper deeply, not only for the city, but because his uncle and mentor was among that group. Not that Khelben had ever admitted to these disappearances, but Danilo had no doubt that the rumors at least in this instance were accurate. Wyn’s news also cast a sinister light on the prophecy in the spell scroll: the lord to fall on the field of triumph would most likely be one of the Lords of Waterdeep.

“Ready to order?” The serving woman, a former city champion in both jousting and swordplay, gave the question an inflection that suggested the talkative party would be advised to either order immediately, vacate the tavern, or draw weapons.

“Another round of drinks,” Danilo suggested, “some bread and cheese for the table, a bowl of bitter greens with summer herbs, and three servings of the eel pie. You must try it; it’s a house specialty,” he informed Morgalla and Wyn.

“Bring four servings,” corrected Elaith Craulnober, coming to the table with a silent grace that startled everyone there.

“You!” Danilo leaped to his feet. “I don’t believe you actually showed up! You’ve got more nerve than a drunken ogre.”

The moon elf rocked back on his heels, surprised by the Harper’s vehemence. “Have I missed something? We did agree to meet here at highsun.”

“That was before you stole the spell scroll.”

“Wait a minute,” Elaith demanded, taking a step toward the angry Harper. “The spell scroll is gone?”

“What? Is there an echo in here?”

Elaith let out a long hiss of exasperation and sank into a chair. “Vartain!” he said with disgust.

“Vartain?” echoed Morgalla and Wyn, in unison and disbelief.

“You heard me. He’s a better thief than a riddlemaster, although he doesn’t like to advertise the fact By the way, Lord Thann, it was he who separated you from your magic ring.”

“He is good,” Danilo muttered as he resumed his seat.

The servant came back with their meal. “Anything to drink?” she asked the moon elf.

“A large bottle of your best gold firewine.”

Danilo’s eyebrows rose. The wine was both potent and expensive. “Are we celebrating or drowning our sorrows?” he asked.

“Do whatever pleases you,” the rogue elf responded, leaning back in his chair. “The firewine is for me.”

“Ah.” The Harper nodded sagely.

“Who’s paying?” the server demanded bluntly.

Before Danilo could reach for his purse, Wyn produced a large gold coin and held it out to the impatient woman. “This should more than cover the cost of the meal and the wine,” he said.

Elaith’s amber eyes narrowed, and he snatched the coin from the gold elf’s hand. After a moment’s scrutiny, he demanded, “Where did you get this?”

“It was given in tribute for an impromptu performance,” Wyn replied, looking both surprised and defensive. “Many of the People make their living with music, and there is no shame in my accepting payment. The gold was rightly earned.”

“Only if you’ve taken up work as a thief or assassin,” Elaith retorted.

“Look, I don’t care how you make the money. Just pass some of it over,” the server demanded.

Danilo handed the woman several silver pieces and waved her on her way. The rogue elf’s words, combined with the size of the coin, reminded him of the coin Arilyn had given him in Tethyr. “How do you know all this?” he asked Elaith. “Seriously,” he added, before the rogue elf could put him off by stating the obvious.

Elaith held out the coin and traced a finger around the circular pattern of runes along the edge. “See these markings? And this shield in the middle of the coin? This is the symbol of the Knights of the Shield, a secret society active mostly in the Southlands—”

“I know who they are,” Danilo interrupted.

“Then you also knew they are sworn enemies of the Lords of Waterdeep. These coins are used for several purposes: as payment, as a tribute for work well done, as a warning when given to an uncooperative lord or merchant, as a means of claiming responsibility for certain violent acts. Some coins even give the name of the agent”

“How do you know so much?” Danilo asked.

“Agents of the Knights show up in Waterdeep from time to time, and I’ve been forced to remove those who get too active,” Elaith admitted freely. “Although I bear little love for the Lords of Waterdeep, the present system works well for me, and it’s in my own best interest to help sustain it”

“Big o’ him,” muttered Morgalla.

“You have reason to believe the Knights of the Shield threaten Waterdeep and her Lords?” Danilo asked.

Elaith nodded. “I’ve spent the night being bombarded with rumors that two new guilds are being organized for thieves and assassins.” When the Harper looked skeptical, Elaith added, “This has been verified by one of my best informants: a highly placed agent of the Kraken Society. His organization is not involved, but they do not disapprove.”

“It must be nice to have friends in low places,” Danilo murmured absently. He claimed Wyn’s coin from the rogue elf and studied it. In the center of the Knights’ distinctive shield was a familiar rune. “I know this symbol!” he exclaimed. “This is the mark of one Lord Hhune of Tethyr. He’s master of the shipping guild there, and I managed to annoy him repeatedly during my sojourn in that land.”

“That I can well imagine,” Elaith said. He looked at the Harper with a touch of amusement. “You may be interested to know that Lord Hhune is now in Waterdeep. By all accounts, he is organizing the city’s thieves and assassins, but he may have time to spare for you. Is he the persistent type, do you think?”

“I can see that your day is made,” Danilo said dryly. He turned to the gold elf. “Who gave you this coin, Wyn?”

“A lady of Tethyr, who came to Blackstaff Tower early this morning seeking the archmage. Her name escapes me, I’m afraid.” The minstrel smiled apologetically. “I was contemplating Lady Laeral’s smile and did not take notice.”

“I won’t pass that on to my uncle. What did this visitor look like?”

Wyn considered. “She was small and slender, with olive skin and large dark eyes. Her nose was narrow and slightly aquiline, and her hair was a gleaming dark chestnut hue, elegantly dressed in coils and ringlets. I found her decolletage a bit extreme, but this is after all Waterdeep.”

“Mercy! I’d love to know what you’d see if you were taking notice. Remind me to ask you about the special properties of your elven heat vision at some later time. Was the lady wearing purple?”

“I believe so. If this is any help, she was seeking the archmage and someone else, as well. I believe the name was—”

“Caladorn?”

“Yes, that’s it The Lady Laeral said that he and Khelben had an appointment to meet this morning. Is that important?”

The Harper nodded slowly as he put together the pieces of information, then he buried his head in his hands. He had to warn Caladorn, but in light of their earlier conversation, the situation was extremely delicate. Before he could confront the lovestruck young lord, he would have to confirm his suspicions.

“What is it?” Morgalla demanded, elbowing Danilo sharply.

He raised weary eyes to his dwarven friend. “You can have my portion of eel pie, Morgalla. I must return to Blackstaff Tower.”

“That ain’t the place to be at mealtime, lessen yer prepared to do the cookin’ yerself,” the dwarf observed.

“Yes. My sentiments precisely, but it can’t be helped. After you eat, Morgalla, why don’t you head down to Virgin’s Square and see what more you can find out about these proposed guilds. Find old Blazidon One-Eye and claim to be looking for work. He knows who’s hiring whom. Also, his bodyguard is a dwarf. Think he might be susceptible to your charm?”

“Never met me a dwarf who wasn’t,” Morgalla replied with a twinkle in her brown eyes. “I’ll meet you back at yer townhouse at sunset”

“What would you like the rest of us to do?” Wyn asked softly.

“Keep looking for the Morninglark harp, of course. It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye out for Vartain, as well.”

“Rest assured, I’ll find that treacherous buzzard,” Elaith said.

Danilo gazed thoughtfully at the moon elf. If Elaith were to find the sorceress first, the elf would no doubt abscond with the harp, and he would have no hope of reversing the spell. “Why don’t you go along with our partner, Wyn, just to keep things rolling along on the right path?”

Elaith’s silver brows rose, and he nodded approvingly at the Harper. “Very good, young man. There may yet be hope for you.”

“I live for your approval,” Dan said as he rose from his chair. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I must attend to a most unpleasant task.”

“One moment,” Elaith said. The moon elf paused and cast his eyes toward the ceiling, as if he could not believe what he was about to do. “I recognized Lady Thione from the minstrel’s description. Perhaps you should know that one of her servants secretly paid for a satirical performance at the Three Pearls club. The payment was made with Hhune’s marked coin.”

Danilo stared at the elf for a moment, then he nodded his thanks. He left the tavern and made his way quickly to Blackstaff Tower. He found Khelben and Laeral at midday meal, eating more of the lentil stew of which the archmage was so perversely fond.

“Caladorn said he met with you this morning,” Danilo said without preamble. “Is that true?”

Khelben laid down his spoon and fixed keen black eyes on his nephew. “Why do you ask?”

Danilo took a deep breath and threw diplomacy down the cistern. “I need to know whether Caladorn is one of the Lords of Waterdeep.”

“The identities of the Lords are secret You know that”

“There’s no time to hedge! To whom do you think that spell scroll was referring when it spoke of a lord falling on the field of triumph?”

“I have already considered that,” Khelben told him, “and it was for that reason that I met with young Caladorn this morning. He is in charge of the tournament, and he is of noble birth. I advised him to withdraw from the games; barring that, I warned him to take whatever precautions he could.”

Danilo placed both hands on the table and leaned down to glare into his uncle’s eyes. “What would you say if I told you that Caladorn’s ladylove, Lucia Thione, is an agent of the Knights of the Shield?”

The archmage’s eyes widened, and an uncharacteristically earthy expletive burst from him.

“Well!” Danilo straightened up. “That’s not what I thought you’d say, to be sure, but apt nonetheless. May I take that as a confirmation?”

When Khelben again hesitated, Laeral broke in. “Lucia Thione was here earlier looking for Caladorn. She seemed anxious, almost distraught. I agree with Danilo. Someone has to warn Caladorn at once. If you’d seen that woman’s face, you’d know that the dangers arrayed against him are not limited to the arena. Go, Dan.”

The archmage conceded with a grim nod.

“Unless you’d rather speak to him yourself?” Danilo asked, hope in his voice.

“Go!”

After receiving Khelben’s assurance that the city officials would take care of Lady Thione and Lord Hhune, Danilo went He retraced his way to the tournament field, and the memory of the love shining in Caladorn’s eyes haunted him as he went.