Elfsong

Fifteen

Caladorn was hard at work when Danilo arrived at the Field of Triumph. When the young lord saw Dan, he sheathed his sword and dismissed his opponent with a nod. He strode over to the entrance and greeted the younger man with enthusiasm.

“Here to give me that match you promised, are you?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“I won’t hear otherwise! You’ve a sword already; shed your cloak and let’s have a go.”

“Caladorn, I really must speak with you. It’s most important”

“So is sword practice. We can talk while we work.”

With a sigh, Danilo did as he was bid. Ideally, he preferred not to break bad news to an armed man. Yet he had little time to spare with arguments, and Caladorn was adamant. The Harper drew his sword and mirrored his friend’s salute, then blocked the first ringing blow. He retreated and then feinted to the left. Caladorn blocked easily and riposted.

“The Knights of the Shield are active in Waterdeep,” Danilo began as he blocked.

Caladorn chuckled and made a flamboyant advance, his right foot stamping. He danced back before the Harper could retreat “And how would a bard know of such things? Oh, yes, I know of your rapidly growing fame. You are planning a new ballad about these infamous spies, is that it?”

“Not immediately, no.” Dan again blocked, riposted, retreated. “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll be blunt Lady Thione is one of their agents.”

Caladorn’s face darkened, and for a moment he lowered his sword. “You’re right, lad, you don’t know how to tell me anything of the sort.”

The Harper brought his sword up in time to fend off a high, downward strike. “She paid my associate with a coin bearing the Knights’ mark.”

“So? It was passed to her!”

“By whom?”

“How would I know!” Caladorn slammed his sword back into its scabbard and folded his arms.

“I can tell you that,” Danilo said softly as he sheathed his own blade. “Lord Hhune, a guildmaster of Tethyr and an agent of the Knights, is now here in Waterdeep, working to establish guilds for thieves and assassins.”

“So? This has nothing to do with Lucia! She is a merchant, and she has done business with Hhune in the past. He must have given the coin to her during a business transaction. She probably never knew she had it!”

“For your sake, I hope you’re right. It’s interesting, though, that one of Lucia Thione’s servants paid for a performance at the Three Pearls theater, using some of Hhune’s marked coins.”

Caladorn’s face went very still.

“I’m sorry about this, my friend, but can you afford to dismiss all suspicion?”

The fighter shook his head in astonishment “Why are you doing this, Dan? What could you possibly know of such matters?”

“I’m a Harper, Caladorn. It’s my job to know what’s going on.”

The young lord’s laughter was harsh. “I’m still trying to absorb the concept of your bardhood! Don’t stretch my credulity to the breaking point.”

“Nevertheless, all I’ve told you is true.”

“I’ll not hear another word against Lucia.” Caladorn glared at the younger man, controlling himself with visible effort. At long last he whirled and stalked away, leaving Danilo standing alone in the middle of the arena.

“Well,” the Harper said wryly, “that went better than I expected. Things could be worse.”

His words were met by a boom of thunder. Dark purple clouds began to gather over the Field of Triumph, and a flash of lightning ripped across the livid sky.

“You’d think I’d learn not to say things like that,” Danilo muttered to himself as he sprinted through the first streaks of rain.

After Danilo left Blackstaff Tower, Khelben Arunsun strode quickly through the underground passages that led to Piergeiron’s palace. The unmasked Lord commanded the combined forces of the guard and the watch, and his command would be needed to arrest important persons such as Hhune and Lady Thione.

Hhune’s presence in Waterdeep had been noted, and he would have been carefully watched under any circumstances. As a guildmaster, Hhune was a powerful force in Tethyr. This made his connection with the Knights of the Shield all the more disturbing, for it combined two powers hostile to Waterdeep and to her Lords. But he was also a wealthy, traveling merchant, and these were always welcome in Waterdeep. By rescinding this welcome, Piergeiron risked endangering trade between Waterdeep and Tethyr. It was a delicate matter, and no decision that the First Lord made would be entirely correct.

Khelben’s entrance to the palace was hidden in a small anteroom. He strode quickly through the halls toward the council room, noting as he went that the careful eyes of Piergeiron’s guard were upon him. Even here, he noted wearily, he could not escape the burden of suspicion that the bards’ songs had placed upon him.

“I will do what I can,” Piergeiron said once Khelben had related the story, “but it’s hard to believe that Lucia Thione is connected with Knights of the Shield. We will need more proof of guilt before taking steps against someone so powerful and popular. A quick sentence by the Lords of Waterdeep could bring about a good deal of resentment and unrest. Our decision to censor the bards was notoriously unpopular, and it backfired most decisively.”

“At least have Lady Thione followed,” the archmage insisted.

Piergeiron grimaced and pointed to the arched window of the audience chamber. “That will be difficult at present I doubt that she, or anyone else for that matter, will be going anywhere until that storm passes.”

Khelben glanced toward the window. Blue lightning flared against roiling purple clouds. “Wizard weather,” he muttered. A roll of thunder punctuated his words.

“In that case, can you undo it?” the First Lord asked anxiously.

“Not without a certain elven harp.”

“Really! I didn’t know you played.”

The archmage responded with a grim smile. “I don’t, but I’m beginning to think that perhaps I should have learned.”

By midafternoon the sky was as dark as night. Rain pelted the outdoor market, sending merchants and shoppers, street performers and pickpockets scurrying for cover. Taverns, festhalls, and shops filled to capacity and beyond as the townspeople and visitors sought shelter from the violent thunderstorm. On and on the rain went, past the time of sunset and the official beginning of Midsummer. In every tavern and festhall in the city, bards and performers recited to their captive audiences tales of past evil that had been foretold by Midsummer storms.

Danilo was alone on the street as he dashed through the rain toward the Elfstone Tavern. It seemed a likely place for a half-elven bard to go. At the very least, perhaps he could get some information about the Morninglark harp. He entered the crowded taproom—for once, the tavern had opened its doors to member of all races—and handed his sodden cloak to an elven servant.

Danilo made his way through the crowds to the hearth. He was soaked to the skin, tired to the point of exhaustion, and becoming increasingly uncertain of his success. All efforts to find Vartain had met with failure. Danilo and his friends had searched every likely place and made inquiries throughout the city. It was as if the riddlemaster had been snatched into another plane of existence. Finally, Danilo had left the exhausted Wyn at his townhouse to rest Morgalla had elected to stay behind, as well, not sure of her welcome in the elven tavern. With a profound sigh, Dan stretched his hands toward the hearth fire, hoping that the heat would restore a measure of feeling to his numb fingers.

“Well met, young bard,” said a dry, ancient voice at his elbow. Danilo looked down into the thin, patrician face of the elven priest Evindal Duirsar. “I would rise to greet you, but I fear that someone would steal my place from under me,” the elf said with a touch of humor as he regarded the mixed crowd. The tavern was strictly standing room only, and few of the surly, sodden patrons would respect the patriarch’s age or position. At the elf’s invitation, Danilo upended a log of firewood and made it into an impromptu chair at the small table.

“Your fame has multiplied since last we met,” the patriarch noted.

“Not as fast as the challenges,” Danilo murmured. He remembered another of his responsibilities: the rest of Elaith’s mercenaries would be arriving in Waterdeep in a few days, and with them would be the mad elven hermit of Taskerleigh. Dan asked Evindal if the temple would accept the elf as a ward. The patriarch listened to the story with keen interest.

“By all means, the unfortunate soul is welcome in the temple. Now, tell me more about your recent journey.”

To the wise and sympathetic elf, Danilo poured out the tale of a quest gone terribly awry, from the encounter with the dragon to the partnership with Elaith to the growing outcry against his uncle the archmage. He told Evindal of his personal quest to learn the art of elfsong, and he told of the spell scroll and the plot against the city. Finally, he spoke of the Morninglark harp, its power and its challenges.

“And I have pledged to hand the harp over to Elaith Craulnober when this is done,” Danilo concluded.

“Given all that is said of him, it is reasonable for you to assume that he will put the artifact’s power to evil purpose,” the patriarch said thoughtfully. After a moment of silence, he rose from the table. “There is nothing more you can do here, and you may find some of the answers you seek at the temple. Come, let us go at once.”

Despite his surprise, the Harper’s manners brought him to his feet “Humans are permitted?”

“Under certain circumstances, yes. You are a friend of the People, and you strive to reclaim an elven artifact from one who wields it with dishonor. We must aid you in this quest Also, you have remanded an elven ward to our care. It is only fitting that you meet another ward of the temple, so that you may know how we will honor the trust you have placed in us.” The patriarch led the way to the front door.

“The rain is still coming down in sheets,” Danilo observed.

“Yes,” the elf agreed, and then strode out into the storm.

The Harper followed. In time they came to a sweeping stairway of white marble, leading to a building complex defined by curving lines and surrounded by flowering plants. They hurried up the steps and into the corridor, where an elven servant took their cloaks. Evindal took Danilo down a corridor lined with doors. He tapped gently on one and cracked it open for a peek.

“Come in quietly,” the elf said, disappearing into the room.

Curious, Danilo followed. The room was softly lit by several floating, glowing balls of white light, and was furnished with comfortable chairs, a low table and a tiny stool, and a small bed. No expense had been spared in the room, for the furnishings were fine and costly, and wondrous toys were scattered about. On a velvet cushion near the bed curled a yellow kitten, and in the corner sat a white-robed elven woman. She smiled at Danilo and pointed toward the bed.

The Harper took a step closer and peered down. Sleeping there was an elven toddler, perhaps the most beautiful child he had ever seen. Tousled silvery curls clustered about her face, and a tiny golden thumb nestled in her mouth. The points of her little elven ears were still soft, folding over slightly at the tips. Her features were tiny and delicate, and her skin in the soft light appeared both rosy and golden.

“Who is she?” Danilo whispered.

“May I present the Lady Azariah Craulnober,” Evindal said softly.

Danilo looked up sharply. “Elaith’s daughter?”

“That is so. Last spring, his elven mistress bore him a child. It was a most unexpected pregnancy, troubled from the first. The mother died at childbirth, leaving our mutual friend with an heir. As time went on, it became important to him that his daughter should receive her birthright, and he came to me asking what might be done to restore magic to his moonblade. I bid him recover an artifact and bring it to the temple. He carries the sword now by elven law and tradition. I will not burden you with the particulars.”

“I see,” Danilo said slowly. He recalled Elaith’s stricken face when Wyn Ashgrove mentioned that the elven temple took in the ill and the outcast. Although it was hard to imagine this beautiful child as a social outcast, by Elaith’s actions she was without honor or heritage. Suddenly the elf’s actions made perfect sense to the Harper. He wondered if the true purpose of the quest was as clear to Elaith.

“I suppose he thinks that the artifact is to be rendered in payment, as one would pay a wizard or cleric for a powerful spell,” Danilo said.

Evindal smiled sadly. “You know him well. To find an artifact is a difficult task, and such a quest inevitably changes all who undertake it. It was my hope that as Elaith Craulnober sought the elven harp, he would come to remember who he is. From all you have told me, that seems unlikely.”

They quietly left the elfling’s room. “You should get some rest, my friend,” the patriarch told him. “There is little more you can do this night. You are welcome to stay here in the temple complex for the night.”

The elf smiled suddenly. “It suddenly occurred to me that it has been some time since the temple was graced by the presence of a spellsinger.”

“Life is full of these little ironies,” Danilo murmured.

Evindal’s soft chuckle echoed down the silent halls.

Later that night, a chill easterly wind drove the storm out to sea, and the captive Waterdhavians ventured out of their shelters. The quiet that the storm left behind felt unnatural, and to Caladorn’s eyes and ears the city seemed as dispirited and demoralized as his own fighters.

As he made his way home through the puddles and the swirling mist, Caladorn’s thoughts turned to his seafaring cronies, and he wondered how their ships would fare in the approaching storm. He almost envied them a peril as straightforward as Umberlee’s wrath, for at least the goddess of sea and storm was a force that could be understood and appeased. The threats to his beloved Waterdeep, and to his own peace of mind, were far more complex.

To his surprise, Lucia met him at the door of his townhouse. She greeted him with a warm embrace and a goblet of his favorite wine.

“Where is Antony?” Caladorn asked, looked over her dark head toward the kitchens. The lower level of the townhouse was unusually chill and unwelcoming, not at all what he had come to expect from his competent manservant. Caladorn was tired and hungry and disgruntled with life; in short, he was in no mood to endure domestic incompetence.

“Oh, I gave him the night off,” the noblewoman said airily. “Tonight I will see to all your wants personally.” After giving him another kiss, she drifted off toward the kitchen to see to dinner.

As Caladorn watched her go, Danilo Thann’s accusations rang in his head. He did not want to believe this of Lucia—he did not believe!—but neither could he dismiss the notion entirely. It occurred to him, suddenly, that there were no cooking odors emanating from the kitchen. The lower hall was usually redolent with the scent of roasts, steaming vegetables, and fresh bread.

Caladorn looked down at the goblet in his hand. After a moment of indecision, he poured the wine into a potted plant.

Following a decent interval in the cold darkness of the kitchen, Lucia returned to the front hall to find Caladorn lying on the floor, facedown. Quickly she picked up the goblet It had been drained. Antony had died from half the dose, and the twisted, tormented posture in which her lover lay suggested that he had suffered from the corrosive acid as painfully as had his manservant. Regrettable, but it could not be helped. This was the quickest acting of all Diloontier’s poisons, and Lucia was painfully short of time.

With quick, expert movements she patted Caladorn down for his keys. When she found the small ring of keys, she turned and ran lightly up two flights of stairs. After a few moments, she hurried back down to the front hall, a large square box in her arms and a dark, hooded traveling coat obscuring her face and form. Thus garbed, Lucia Thione left her lover’s home for the last time without a backward glance.

So intent was she on her purpose that she did not notice the quickly withering plant beside the body of her lover.

Silence filled the hall for a long moment. When he was certain that Lucia was gone, Caladorn rose to his feet The pain in his heart and the bleak emptiness in his soul dimmed the memory of any battle wound he’d ever received.

What, then, was he to do? His heart and his hopes were not the only casualties of Lucia’s treachery. Should he treat her like a wily trout, and give her enough line to maneuver, so that she would give proof to her evil intentions? Or should he bring her to instant and immediate justice? As a spy, she would no doubt be tried and executed. Caladorn doubted he had the strength to bring his lady to her death regardless of what she had tried to do to him, or her reasons for doing it.

With a ragged sigh, Caladorn turned and mounted the stairs toward the third floor. If he was to uncover Lucia’s plot, he would have to know what object she considered worth the price of his life.

Clutching the box containing the magical helm, Lucia Thione fled through the quiet street. She had left one of Hhune’s coins beside Caladorn’s body, hoping to place the blame for the murders on the Tethyrian merchant It was important, however, that no one see her out and abroad this night. She made her way quickly to a well-guarded home she owned nearby. Armed servants stood watch at every entrance, and several fierce moor hounds patrolled the walled grounds surrounding the house.

She brushed past one of the silent sentinels and made her way quickly up to her private chamber. She placed the box on her bed and shrugged off her cloak.

“Good evening, Lady Thione.”

The noblewoman screamed and spun around, one hand at her throat. A tall, slender moon elf clad in unrelieved black rose gracefully from a chair. She recognized Elaith Craulnober, and her terror increased fourfold. Backing away, she lunged for the bellpull that would summon her armed servants.

“Don’t bother your servants at this hour on my behalf,” the elf said with a polite smile. “I gave them the night off.”

The echo of words she had recently spoken to Caladorn chilled Lucia, and an image of Antony’s body flashed into her mind. “They are all dead,” she stated in a dull voice.

“Quite,” Elaith agreed pleasantly. He resumed his seat and began to toy with a jeweled dagger. “Sit down, won’t you? We have a shared problem to discuss.”

Lucia sank down onto the edge of her bed. “How did you get past the magical wards around this house?” she demanded.

“Collecting magical toys is a hobby of mine,” the elf said. “I’ve become rather good at identifying and dispatching them. Now, about this problem. We both have allies who have outlived their usefulness. I will remove yours, if you would be so kind as to have your agents tend to a partner of mine.”

“I do not need to make such arrangements. The Lords of Waterdeep will see to Hhune,” she said.

“No doubt. I was speaking of the other, the bard who carries an elven harp.”

The noblewoman stared. “How do you know of this?”

“That is not important. Just tell me where she is—or who she is, for that matter—and I assure you she’ll not trouble you further.”

Lucia’s mind whirled as she considered this possibility. The elf had proven himself capable of dispatching armed men and powerful magic. Perhaps he might be a match for the sorceress. That, however, raised another question.

“If you can do this, why do you not remove this unwanted partner yourself?”

The elf’s smile held a bit of self-mockery. “Let’s just say it’s a matter of honor. Now, have we a deal?”

“Garnet is a half-elf woman of middle years. She is staying at my Sea Ward villa. Kill her, and I will grant you anything in my power to give,” she said in a hard voice.

“I see that we shall get along fine,” Elaith observed. “Now, there is something else you should know. Khelben Arunsun will soon be informed that you are an agent of the Knights of the Shield. All is not lost,” the elf said, holding up a hand at her cry of dismay. “I have a network of safe houses throughout the city. I will be happy to hide you and smuggle you safely out of Waterdeep. I will ensure that an armed escort will see you to an appropriate destination.”

The elf smiled pleasantly. “Of course, I will do all this for you after you have ordered your agents to rid the world of one Danilo Thann.”