Realms of Mystery

Speaking with the Dead
Elaine Cunningham

The sun began to disappear behind the tall, dense pines of the Cloak Wood, and the colors of an autumn sunset-deep, smoky purples and rose-tinted gold- stained the sky over the Coast Way.

Tired though they were from a long day’s travel, every member of the south-bound caravan quickened his pace. While splendidly mounted merchants urged their steeds on and drovers cracked whips over the backs of the stolid dray horses hitched to the wagons, the mercenary guards loosened their weapons and peered intently into the lengthening shadows. The trade route was dangerous at any time, but doubly so at night. Truth be told, however, most of the caravan members lived in greater fear of their own captain than of any chance-met monster or band of brigands. Elaith Craulnober was not an elf to be trifled with, and he had bid them make the fortress by nightfall.

“Last hill! Fortress straight ahead!” shouted one of the scouts. The news rippled through the company in a murmur of relief.

From his position near the rear of the caravan, Danilo Thann leaned forward to whisper words of encouragement into his tired horse’s back-turned ears. The ears were a bad sign, for the horse could be as balky as a cart mule. Once they crested the last hill, all would be well. The sight of a potential stable would spur the horse on as little else could, for he was a comfort-loving beast. He was also a beauty, with a sleek, glossy coat the color of ripe wheat. Danilo had turned down several offers from merchants who coveted the showy beast, and had shrugged off a good deal of jesting from the other guards. Dan felt a special affinity for this horse. The “pretty pony,” as the sneering mercenaries called him, had more going for him than met the eye. He was beyond doubt the most intelligent steed Danilo had ever encountered, and utterly fearless in battle. His mincing gait could change in a heartbeat to a fearsome battle charge. In Dan’s opinion, the horse would have been a worthy paladin’s mount, if not for its pleasure-loving nature and its implacable stubborn streak-both traits that Dan understood well.

He patted his horse’s neck and turned to his companion of nearly four years, a tall, rangy figure who was wrapped in a dark cloak such as a peasant might wear, and riding a raw-boned, gray-dappled mare. The rider’s height and seat and well-worn boots suggested a young man of humble means, well accustomed to the road. This, Dan knew, was a carefully cultivated illusion. This illusion was a needed thing, perhaps, but he was growing tired of it.

Danilo reached out and tugged back the hood of his partner’s cloak. The dying light fell upon a delicate elven face, framed by a chin-length tumble of black curls and dominated by large blue eyes, almond-shaped and flecked with gold. These marvelous eyes narrowed dangerously as they settled on him. Arilyn was half-elven and all his-or so Danilo liked to think. She was also furious with his latest foolishness. Danilo, well accustomed to such response, smiled fondly.

Arilyn jerked her hood back up into place. “What in the Nine bloody Hells was that about?” she demanded, her voice low and musical despite her irritation.

“It seems like days since I’ve had a good look at you. We’ re almost at the Friendly Arm,” Danilo said. His smile broadened suggestively. “The name suggests possibilities, does it not?”

The half-elf sniffed. “You keep forgetting the differences between us. A bard from a noble merchant clan can travel wherever he pleases, drawing attention but not suspicion. But I am known in these parts for what I am!”

He dismissed this with a quick, casual flip of one bejeweled hand. “In Baldur’s Gate, certain precautions were in order. But I hear the gnomes who hold this fortress are admirable little fellows-easygoing folk who set a fine table and mind their own affairs. And the Friendly Arm is perhaps the only truly neutral spot within a tenday’s ride. Nothing much ever happens within the fortress walls, so why should we not relax and enjoy ourselves?”

“We have business to attend,” she reminded him.

“I’ m honored that you take your responsibilities to the caravan so seriously,” said a new voice, one slightly lower and even more musical than Arilyn’s and rich with dark, wry humor. The companions turned to face a silver haired elf, just as he reined his cantering horse into step with Arilyn’s mare. Neither of them had heard his approach.

Enchanted horseshoes, no doubt, Danilo mused. Elaith Craulnober was known to have a fondness for magical items, and a wicked delight in keeping those around him off guard. The elf also valued information. Though Elaith would probably have given Arilyn anything she asked of him, Danilo suspected that the elf had another motive for allowing a representative of the Thann merchant clan to ride along with his caravan. Elaith knew that both Danilo and Arilyn were Harpers, and that members of this secret organization usually had duties far more pressing than acting as caravan guards.

Arilyn mirrored the elf’s faint smile and bantering tone. “I take all my responsibilities seriously,” she said. “Too seriously, if Danilo is to be believed.”

In response to that, Elaith lifted one brow and murmured an Elvish phrase, a highly uncomplimentary remark that defied precise translation into the Common trade tongue. His jaw dropped in astonishment when both Arilyn and Danilo burst into laughter. After a moment, he smiled ruefully and shrugged. “So, bard, you understand High Elvish. I suppose that shouldn’t have surprised me.”

“And had you known, would you have chosen your words with more tact?” Danilo asked, grinning.

Elaith shrugged again. “Probably not.”

The three of them rode in silence for several minutes. Something that for lack of a better term could be called friendship had grown between the elf and the Harpers, but Danilo never lost sight of the fact that theirs was a tenuous friendship. They were too different for it to be otherwise. Elaith Craulnober was a Moon elf adventurer, landowner, and merchant. He had far-flung interests, few of which were entirely legal, and a well-earned reputation for cruelty, treachery, and deadly prowess in battle. Arilyn was half-elven, the daughter of Elaith’s lost elven love. She was as focused upon duty as a paladin, and Danilo suspected that she would not allow a shared history and a common heritage to stay her hand should Elaith step beyond the bounds of law and honor. Danilo was, on the whole, a bit more flexible about such things. He had traveled with Elaith when circumstances had enforced a partnership between them, and they had developed a cautious, mutual respect. But Danilo did not trust the elf. There were too many dangerous secrets between them, too many deadly insults exchanged, treacheries barely avoided.

At that moment, they crested the hill and the fortress came suddenly into sight. Nestled in a broad valley just to the east of the trade route, it was a sturdy and defensible holdfast of solid granite. A tall, thick curtain wall enclosed an austere castle and a bailey big enough to house perhaps a score of other buildings. This holdfast, once a wizard’s keep, was now a wayside inn held and operated by a clan of gnomes.

The massive portcullis rose with a whirring of gears-a sure sign of a gnomish devise, noted Danilo. Most of the holdfast’s inhabitants were simple folk mostly occupied with the maintenance of the castle, and in recent years a few gnomes from the island of Lantan had settled at the Friendly Arm, bringing with them the worship of Gond the Wonderbringer and a corresponding fondness for mechanical devices that were often entertaining and occasionally useful.

At that moment the chain raising the portcullis slipped, and the pointed iron bars plunged downward. One of the men approaching the gate shrieked and lunged from his horse. He hit the dirt and rolled aside just as the portcullis came to an abrupt stop, mere inches from its highest point. This brought much laughter and many rough jests from the other members of the caravan, but Danilo noticed that they all rode through the gate with more alacrity than usual.

Inside the fortress wall, chaos reigned. The holdfast was home to perhaps three- or four-score gnomes, hill loving folk small enough to walk comfortably under the belly of Danilo’s tall horse. Most of the gnomes seemed to be out and about, busily loading goods into the ware- houses, tending horses in a long, low stable, directing the wagons into covered sheds, or bustling in and out of the many small buildings, clustered around several narrow alleys, that filled the Friendly Arm’s grass-covered bailey.

Danilo took the opportunity to observe this unusual clan closely. They looked a bit like dwarves, although somewhat shorter and considerably less broad than their mountain-dwelling relatives. The male gnomes wore their beards short and neatly trimmed, and the females’ faces, unlike those of bearded dwarf women, were smooth and rosy-cheeked. All the gnomes had small blue eyes, pointed ears, extremely long noses, and skin that echoed all the browns of the forest, from the gray-brown of the duskwood tree to the deeply weathered hue of old cedar. They favored forest shades in their clothing as well, and the lot of them were dressed in browns and greens-with an adventurous few adding a hint of autumn color.

They were certainly industrious folk. Nearly every pace of the courtyard was occupied by horse or wagon, but the gnomes directed the seeming chaos with the ease of long practice. A northbound caravan had arrived shortly before Elaith’s, and the southerners were still busily securing their goods for the night. Merchants shouted instructions to their servants in a half dozen southern dialects. A few swarthy guards loitered about, leaning against the walls and sizing up the newcomers with an eye toward the evening’s entertainment. In Danilo’s experience, it was always so. The road was long, and travelers were ever on the lookout for a new tale or tune, some competition at darts or dice or weapons, or a bit of dalliance. Most of the guards from both caravans had already gone into the castle’s great-hall-turned-tavern, if the din coming from the open doors was any mdication.

“Shall we join the festivities?” Danilo asked his companion. He handed the reins of his horse to a gnomish lad-along with a handful of coppers-and then slipped an arm around Arilyn’s waist.

She side-stepped his casual embrace and sent him a warning look from beneath her hood. “I am supposed to be your servant, remember?” she warned him. “You learn what you can in the great hail, while I talk to the stable hands.”

The young bard sighed in frustration, but he had no argument to counter Arilyn’s logic. He nodded and turned aside, only to step right into the unsteady path of a stocky, dark-haired man. There was no time to dodge: they collided with a heavy thud.

The dark, smoky scent of some unfamiliar liqueur rolled off the man in waves. Danilo caught him by the shoulders to steady him, then pushed him out at arm’s length-after all, one could never be too careful. The man was unfamiliar to him: a southerner, certainly, with a beak of a nose under what appeared to be a single long eyebrow, a vast mustache, and skin nearly as brown as a gnome’s. He appeared harmless enough. He carried no apparent weapons, and his rich clothing suggested a bored merchant whose only thought was to wash away the dust of a long road with an abundance of strong spirits.

“Are you quite all right?” Danilo inquired politely. “Shall I summon your manservant to help you to your room?”

The man mumbled something unintelligible and wrenched himself free. Dan watched him stagger off, then glanced back for a final look at Arilyn and did an astonished double take. She had fallen back into the shadows between two small buildings and dropped to one knee. There was a throwing knife in her gloved hand, held by the tip and ready to hurl.

“I know that man,” she said by way of explanation as she tucked the knife back into her boot. “Worse yet, he knows me. He was in the assassin’s guild with me, in Zazesspur.”

Danilo swore fervently and joined Arilyn in the shadows. Together they squeezed back into a narrow, gnome-sized alley. “Well, at least this confirms that we are on the right path,” he said in a low, grim tone. “I suppose it could be mere happenstance that a hired sword from Zazesspur shows up at this particular time, but it’s my observation that true coincidence is a rare thing-except in Selgauntan opera, of course…”

Arilyn nodded her agreement and said, “I’ll find out who sent him.”

Danilo swallowed the protest that was his first instinct. As Harpers, they played very different roles and they worked together well. He might hate the idea of Arilyn going up against a trained killer, but he saw no way around it. She had spent many months posing as an assassin in Tethyr. The competition among those ranks was fierce and deadly at the best of times, and she had not left the guild under good terms. It would be to Arilyn’s advantage to chose the time and place for the inevitable battle. And she was right: they needed to know what had prompted an assassin’s presence in this neutral holdfast. Even if the assassin’s purpose was not the same as the Harpers’, no one would risk violating the peace of the Friendly Arm unless the need was dire, or the potential gain great. To do so would bar the doors of the fortress against the wrongdoers for a gnome’s centuries-long memory. This was a severe penalty in these troubled lands, which for so many years could claim few truly neutral places.

But as to that, change was in the air. The seemingly endless civil war within Tethyr was winding to a close. Zaranda Star had been acclaimed queen in the city of Zazesspur, and was on the way to solidifying her hold on the entire country. To this end, she was preparing for a marriage of convenience to the last known heir to the royal House of Tethyr. There were factions, however, who used controlled chaos to their benefit, and who were not inclined to see peace come to their land. When the Harpers learned that there was a potential challenger to Zaranda’s throne, a distant relative of the soon-to-be- king and thus a potential bride, they foresaw trouble. Danilo and Arilyn had been sent to find the young woman and bring her to safety in the Northlands before someone else made her a pawn in a renewed struggle… someone who might send an assassin to retrieve-or do away with-the unsuspecting girl.

Yes, concluded Dan glumly, Arilyn had no choice but to face the assassin.

“Be careful,” he murmured. Before she could protest, he framed her face in his hands and tipped back her head for a long and thorough kiss.

“You know better than to distract me before battle,” she said in a tone that tried for severity, but did not quite succeed.

Danilo chuckled. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

He turned and strode into the castle, his manner far more insouciant than his mood. The prospect of an evening’s comfort and conversation held little appeal, but this was his role to play and he would attend to his part no less faithfully than did Arilyn.

Since this was his first visit to the Friendly Arm, he looked around with interest. The great hail had been set up as a tavern. Long tables and sturdy wooden chairs were scattered about, some of them gnome-sized, others intended for the comfort of taller travelers. A wild boar roasted on a spit in the enormous hearth, and kettles of steaming, herb-scented vegetable stews kept warm in the embers along either side. The air was thick with the fragrance of fresh bread and good, sour ale. Several young women moved slowly about the room carrying trays and tankards.

Prompted more by habit than inclination, Danilo slid an appraising eye over the nearest barmaid. She was young, not much past twenty, and blessed with an a bun dance of black hair and truly impressive curves. The former was left gloriously unbound, and the later were displayed by a tightly-laced scarlet bodice over a chemise pulled down over her shoulders. Her skirts ended several flirtatious inches above her ankles, and her black eyes scanned the room. They lit up with an avaricious gleam when they settled upon the richly-dressed newcomer.

The barmaid eased her way through the crowd to Danilo’s side. A passing merchant jostled her at a highly opportune moment, sending her bumping into the Harper. She made a laughing apology, then tilted her head and slanted a look at him through lowered lashes.

“And what can I get you, my lord?”

“Killed, most likely,” he said mildly, thinking of the response this flirtation would earn from the half-elf who was prowling the shadows beyond the brightly-lit hail. “Or severely wounded, at the very least.”

The barmaid’s dumbfounded expression brought a smile to his lips. “Wine, if you please,” he amended. “A bottle of your best Halruaan red, and several goblets.”

As she wandered off to relay this order to another bar- maid, Danilo scanned the tables for the captains of the northbound caravan. Before he could make his way over, he found his path barred by a stout, stern-faced, white-bearded gnome whose crimson jerkin was nearly matched in hue by an exceedingly red and bulbous nose.

“Bentley Mirrorshade,” the gnome announced.

Danilo nodded. “Ah, yes-the proprietor of this fine establishment. Allow me to intro-”

“I know who ya are,” Bentley interrupted in a gruff tone. “Word gets around. There’ll be no fighting and no spellcasting. Leave yer weapons at the door. Sophie here will peace bind yer left thumb to yer belt.”

Danilo winced. “It appears I will never live down that incident in the Stalwart Club.”

“Never heard about that one.” The gnome nodded to the barmaid who had greeted Danilo earlier. She fished a thin strip of leather from her pocket and deftly secured the bard’s hand. As she worked, Danilo scanned the room and noticed that he was not the only one subjected to such precautions: all known mages were peace bound, and everyone was required to leave weapons at the door.

Danilo made his way to the merchant captains’ table. After the introductions were made, he poured out the first of several bottles of well-aged wine, and listened as the conversation flowed. Although the merchants talked a great deal, they said little that informed his cause.

As the night wore on, Danilo found his eyes returning with increasing frequency to the door. His fellow travelers trickled in as their duties were completed and the caravan and its goods secured. Elaith was one of the late- corners. Danilo noted with interest that the elf was subjected to peace binding. Few people knew of the Moon elf’s considerable magical abilities. These gnomes apparently didn’t miss much-although Dan suspected that Elaith managed to retain a good many of his hidden weapons. The gnome’s insight was not too surprising. Dan had heard that Bentley Mirrorshade was a highly gifted mage, specializing in the illusionist’s art.

The evening passed and the hall began to empty as the gnomes and their guests sought their beds. When Danilo’s patience reached the end of its tether, he left the hail in search of his partner.

He found Arilyn in the stable, currying her mare. She looked up when he came into the stall. Her face was pale and grim beneath its hood. Fighting came easily to the half-elf-Danilo had never seen anyone who could handle a sword as well-but killing did not. Even so, Danilo sensed at once that something else weighed heavily on her mind.

“That took quite a long time,” he prompted.

“I had to wait until Yoseff was alone,” Arilyn said in a low, furious tone. “He had a meeting. With Elaith Craulnober.” Danilo hissed a curse from between clenched teeth. “Why am I not surprised? Did you hear what was said?”

“No, nothing. He must have cast a spell of silence, or some such thing.”

“Undoubtedly. Now what?” mused Dan, running one hand through his hair in a gesture of pure frustration. He had investigated Elaith’s purpose in this trip, which was allegedly to acquire exotic goods from faraway Maztica in the markets of Amn. The elf would make a fine profit selling coffee, cocoa, and dried vegetables to the merchants of Waterdeep, but he had also arranged to acquire goods that were restricted or forbidden outright: feather magic, enspelled gems, possibly even slaves. Danilo had considered this the extent of Elaith’s planned mischief; apparently, he had been wrong.

“And the assassin? What had he to say for himself?”

“Yoseff was never one for conversation,” Arilyn said shortly.

“Ah. And he is dead, I suppose?”

“Very. He carried a few things that might help, though.” Arilyn reached into the bag that hung from her belt and took several glittering objects from it. The first to catch Danilo’s eye was a finely wrought gold locket on a heavy gold chain. A very nice amethyst-brilliant cut, thumb-sized, and deep purple in hue-was set into the front of the locket and a wisp of fine, black hair was nestled within.

“An amulet of seeking,” he surmised, fingering the soft curl. “Hair so soft could only have belonged to an elf or a baby. I’m guessing the latter. So we not only have a fair idea who the assassin came to find, but also who sent him-may all the gods damn the woman who would so use her own child!”

Before he could elaborate, a female voice, raised in a keening wail, cut through the night. It was a chilling sound, an ages old, wordless song of mourning. It spoke of death more clearly than any cleric’s eulogy, and far more poignantly.

Arilyn bolted from the stable with Danilo close behind her. They dashed through the nearly empty hail, toward the babble of gnomish voices in a side chamber. A thick-chested gnome barred their way. He was an odd-looking fellow with hair and skin of nearly matching shades of slate gray. Danilo recognized him from descriptions as Garith Hunterstock, Bentley’s second-in-command, Though the gnomish commander was determined to keep them out, the Harpers were tall enough to see over the heads of the crowd.

In the room beyond, Bentley Mirrorshade lay in a spreading pool of blood. The hilt of a jeweled dagger rose from his chest.

“No one in, no one out,” the gnome gritted out. He raised his voice and began to bellow orders. “Lower the portcullis and bar the gates! Archers, to the walls! Shoot down anyone who tries to leave the fortress before the murderer is found.”

Later that night, Danilo and his “servant” attended a grim gathering in the castle’s hall. The body of Bentley Mirrorshade lay in state upon a black-draped table. Candles lined the walls, casting a somber, golden light.

The crowd parted to allow a green-robed gnome woman to pass. Respectful silence filled the room as Gellana Mirrorshade, the high priestess of Garl Glittergold and the widow of Bentley Mirrorshade, made her way to her husband’s bier. She carried herself with admirable dignity. Her pale brown face was set in rigid lines, but her eyes were steady and dry.

The priestess spoke into the silence. “You are gathered here to see justice done. It is no small thing to speak with the dead, but an evil deed must not go unpunished.”

Gellana began the words and gestures of a complicated ritual. Danilo watched closely; nothing about the spell was familiar to him. He had studied magic since his twelfth year with no less a teacher than the archmage Khelben Arunsun, but the magic of a wizard and that of a priest were very different things. Apparently, the priestess was stifled and devout, for a translucent image of Bentley Mirrorshade slowly took form in the air above the pall.

“The dead must speak truth,” Gellana said softly, “and in life or in death, Bentley Mirrorshade would tell no direct lie. Tell us, my husband, who is responsible for this death.”

The specter’s eyes swept the assemblage. His stubby, translucent finger lifted, swept to the left, and leveled at Elaith Craulnober with a sharp, accusing stab.

For the first time in their acquaintance, Danilo saw the elf’s composure utterly forsake him. Elaith’s face went slack and ashen, and his amber-hued eyes widened in stunned disbelief.

“What nonsense is this?” the elf protested as soon as he could gather enough of his wits to fuel speech. “I am innocent of this thing!”

“Silence!” Gellana demanded. She held a jeweled dagger up for the ghostly gnome’s inspection. “Was this the weapon used?”

The spectral head rose and fell once, slowly, in a nod of confirmation. Despite the gravity of the occasion, Danilo could not help but observe that the gnome’s spirit had a remarkable flair for drama.

“And whose dagger is this?” persisted Gellana.

“It belongs to the elf,” proclaimed the spirit. It is Elaith Craulnober’s dagger.”

Gellana Mirrorshade’s eyes were hard as they swept the gathering. “Have you heard enough? May I release my husband, and in his name order the death of this treacherous elf?”

A murmur arose, gathering power and fury. The accused elf stood alone in an angry circle of gnomes, buffeted by a storm of accusation and demands for immediate retribution. Elaith’s eyes went flat and cool, and his chin lifted with elven hauteur as he faced his death.

That gesture, that purely elven mixture of pride and courage and disdain, was to be his salvation. Danilo had always been a fool for all things elven, and this moment proved no exception. He sighed and quickly cast a cantrip that would add power and persuasion to his voice.

“Wait,” he demanded.

The single word thrummed through the great hall like a clarion blast, and the gnomes fell suddenly silent. Garith Hunterstock froze, his sword poised to cut the elf down. Danilo reached out and gently eased the gnome’s blade away from Elaith Craulnober’s throat. “The elf claims innocence,” the Harper said. “We should at least hear him out, and consider the possibility that he speaks truth.”

“Bentley Mirrorshade himself accused the elf’!” shouted a high-pitched gnomish voice from the crowd.

“The dead do not lie!” another small voice added.

“That is true enough,” Dan agreed in a conciliatory tone, “but perhaps there is some other explanation that will serve both truths.” Inspiration struck, and he glanced at Arilyn. She stood near the back of the room, nearly indistinguishable from the shadows. “Earlier this evening, Elajth Craulnober was seen meeting with a known thief and assassin. Perhaps this man stole the dagger, and used it to kill the gnome?”

“That is not possible,” Arilyn said flatly. “The assassin was dead before Bentley Mirrorshade’s murder.”

“Dead?” Garith Hunterstock said, turning a fierce glare in her direction. “By whose hand?”

The Harper didn’t flinch. “Mine.” she said simply. “He attacked me; I defended myself. You will find his body behind the smokehouse.”

“And who might you be?” demanded the gnome.

The half-elf slipped down her cowl and stepped into the firelight. Before she could speak, a young gnome clad in forest green let out a startled exclamation. “I know her! She’s the Harper who fought alongside the elves of Tethyr’s forest. If she says the stiff behind the smoke- house needed killing, that’s good enough for me. If she speaks for yonder elf, I say that’s call to think things over real careful.”

Dozens of expectant faces turned in Arilyn’s direction. Danilo saw the flicker of regret in her eyes as she met Elaith’s stare, and he knew what her answer would be.

“I cannot,” she said bluntly. “On the other hand, it never hurts to think things over. Lord Thann has apparently appointed himself Elaith Craulnober’s advocate. Give them time-two days, perhaps-to prove the elf’s claim of innocence. I know of Bentley Mirrorshade, and nothing I’ve heard suggests that he would want anyone denied a fair hearing.”

A soft, angry mutter greeted her words, but no one could think of a way to refute them. Garith Hunterstock ordered the elf taken away and imprisoned. The others left, too, slipping away in silence to leave Gellana Mirror shade alone with her dead.

As the sun edged over the eastern battlements of the fortress, Danilo made his way down the tightly spiraling stairs that led to the dungeon. It was a dank, gloomy place, lit only by an occasional sputtering torch thrust into a rusted sconce.

Since Elaith was the only prisoner, his cell was not hard to find. Danilo followed the faint light to the far corner of the dungeon. The elf’s cell was small, the ceiling too low for him to stand upright. The only furniture was a straw pallet. Elaith wore only his leggings and shirt, and his thumbs were entrapped in opposite ends of a metal tube, a gnomish device of some sort designed to make spellcasting impossible. He had been stripped of weapons, armor, and magical items. These lay heaped in an impressive pile, well beyond reach of the cell.

Danilo eyed the glittering hoard. “Did you actually wear all that steel? It’s a wonder you could walk without clanking,” he marveled.

The elf’s furious, amber-eyed glare reminded Danilo of a trapped hawk. “Come to gloat?”

“Perhaps later,” he said mildly. “At the moment, though, I would rather hear what you have to say.”

“And you would believe me, I suppose?”

“I would listen. That seems a reasonable place to start.” The elf was silent for a long moment. “I did not kill the gnome.”

“You know, of course, how difficult it is for the dead to lie,” Danilo pointed out. “The spirit of Bentley Mirror-shade named you as his killer. The weapon that dealt the killing stroke is yours. The proof against you is formidable.”

“Nevertheless, I am innocent,” Elaith maintained. A sudden, fierce light went on in his eyes. “I am innocent, and you must find proof’!”

“Really, now!” Dan protested, lifting one eyebrow in a wry expression. “Since I have a full two days, shouldn’t I warm up with an easier task? Pilfering Elminster’s favorite pipe maybe, or bluffing an illithid at cards, or persuading Arilyn to dance upon a tavern table?”

The elf ignored the obvious irony. “When you signed on to travel with my caravan you promised your support and aid to the expedition.”

“Insofar as its purpose was lawful and just,” Danilo specified.

“What better way to fulfill this pledge than to clear an innocent person, unjustly accused? And why would you speak for me in the tavern, if you had no intention of following through?”

The Harper thought this over. “Those are both excellent points. Very well, then, let’s assume for argument’s sake that I will take on this task. Consider my dilemma. Even under the best of circumstances, ‘innocent’ is not the first word that comes to mind when your name is mentioned.”

“Perhaps the gnome priestess erred.”

“An unlikely possibility, but one I have already considered. Gellana Mirrorshade permitted me to test the murder weapon myself,” the Harper said. “I cast the needed spell not once, but three times. Each time the result was the same. The dagger is indisputably yours, and it was indeed responsible for the killing stroke. Now, I understand that most people would hardly consider my command of magic sufficient to such a task-”

“Save your breath,” Elaith said curtly. “I have seen what you can do. Your command of magic exceeds my own. If it suits you to play the fool and muck about with minstrels, that is your affair.”

“Enough said, then. Let’s consider the murder weapon. Was the dagger ever out of your keeping? Did you entrust it to another? Loose it in a game of dice? Anything?”

Elaith hesitated, then shook his head. “I didn’t even notice it was missing,” he said ruefully. With a grim smile, he nodded to the pile of weapons outside his cell. “I carry several, you see.”

The Harper folded his arms. “The situation is bleak, make no mistake about it. But it might interest you to learn that I, too, seem to be without an item or two. It would appear that there is a very talented pickpocket at work here. I was jostled by the assassin,” Arilyn dispatched, “and you were seen meeting with. And speaking of which, is there anything you would like to tell me about that?”

“No.”

“I had to ask,” Danilo commented. “As I was saying, this assassin would be my first suspect. It is possible that he had a partner.”

“That is a place to start,” the elf allowed. “Then you will do it? You will honor your pledge?”

“Well, since you put it that way…“ Danilo said dryly. “But don’ t get your hopes too high. Arilyn has bought us some time, but not much.”

Elaith’s gaze faltered. “She believes that I am responsible.”

The Harper didn’t deny it. Arilyn had had a great deal to say about Danilo’s defense of the rogue elf. Dan’s ears still burned from the heat of their argument. “My lady is occasionally more elven than she realizes,” he said dryly.

This earned a small, wry smile from Elaith. “If she could not be supportive, at least she has been fair. More than fair. I don’ t suppose my other employees have followed her example.”

“The caravan guards have already drawn their pay from the quartermaster, and plan to scatter once the gates of the city are opened. Forgive me, but the prevailing attitude seems to be that this is a long overdue justice.”

The elf was silent for a moment. “I am not unaware of the irony in my situation,” he said finally, “but I maintain that I am innocent of this murder. Go now, and prove it!”

That morning, over a breakfast of bread, cheese, and newly-pressed cider, Danilo related the conversation to Arilyn. “And I have but two days to accomplish this miracle,” he lamented in conclusion. “You couldn’t have asked for a tenday?”

The half-elf sighed and stabbed a piece of cheese with her table knife. “I doubt it would help. You know Elaith as well as anyone, and you know he could have killed that gnome. He nearly killed you once.”

“Three times, actually, but why quibble?” Arilyn cast her eyes toward the ceiling. “Why do you persist in this?”

“Two things keep me from giving up: my promise to help Elaith, and the task that brought us here,” he said quietly.

His partner nodded, accepting this reasoning. “What do you propose to do?”

“You’ re not going to like this,” Danilo cautioned, “but we could ask the priestess to speak to the spirit of the dead assassin. We need to know who he was working for, and who he was working with.”

Arilyn’s lips thinned. “You know elves do not believe in disturbing the dead.”

“But gnomes do. Gellana Mirrorshade can hardly deny us this, considering that she called back her own husband’s spirit. And what other course could we take?”

“Nearly any would be preferable,” the half-elf grumbled, but Danilo read the surrender in her eyes and tone. He tossed several silver coins on the table to pay for the meal and followed Arilyn out of the tavern. One of the dark haired barmaids glided forward to clear the table and pocket the coins. The barmaids were hardworking girls, Danilo noted, recognizing several faces familiar from the night before.

Retrieving the assassin’s body was an easy matter. The gnomes had simply tossed it into the midden wagon along with the remnants of the wild boar they had roasted for their guests the night before, some chicken bones, and an over-ripe haunch of venison. The gnomes regularly removed any leftovers to the forest to feed the animals who lived there, and to return their bounty to the land. They gave the dead assassin no less respect, and no more.

Danilo wrinkled his nose as he shouldered the dead man. “I can see why Gellana didn’t want to do the ritual on site. That venison should have been buried long ago.”

“The same could be said of Yoseff,” retorted Arilyn, “but that’s another matter. Don’t you think it odd that Gellana Mirrorshade told us to bring his body to the temple?”

Her partner immediately seized her meaning. “Come to think of it, yes,” he agreed as he fell into step beside her. “Gellana Mirrorshade summons her own husband’s spirit in a tavern. Why would she afford greater honor to a human assassin? Perhaps she feared that the curious tall folk who gathered at last night’s summoning would ill fit the Shrine of the Short.”

Arilyn’s lips twitched. “The gnomes call it the Temple of Wisdom. But perhaps the size of the temple explains the matter.”

It did not. The Temple of Wisdom was undoubtedly a gnomish work-a curious, asymmetric building fashioned of forest-hued stone and marble and filled with odd statues and embellished with gems-but the vaulted ceilings made concession for human supplicants, In fact, the shrine was large enough to accommodate all those who had witnessed the solemn ritual in the tavern the night before. This puzzled Danilo. He watched the gnomish priestess carefully as she spoke the words of the spell.

A dank gray mist gathered in the hall and coalesced I into the shape of the man who has jostled Danilo the night before.

“Go ahead,” Gellana said tersely. “Word your questions carefully, for the dead will tell you no more than they must.”

Danilo nodded and turned to the specter. “Who were you sent to find?”

“A young woman,” the spirit said grudgingly. “What name was she given at birth, and by what name is she now known?”

“She was named Isabeau Thione; I know not what she is called now.”

Arilyn and Danilo exchanged a look of mingled triumph and concern. This was indeed the woman they had been sent to find, and their competitors were also close on her trail. “Who sent you?” Danilo asked. “If you do not know names, describe the person or people.”

“There were two: a fat man who smiles too much, and a small woman. She had the look of the old nobility of Tethyr: fine features, dark eyes, and a curve to her nose. She wore purple, in the old style.”

Danilo recognized Lucia Thione, an agent for the Knights of the Shield, recently exiled from Waterdeep for treachery against the secret lords who ruled that city. She had never come to trial; hers was a private justice. She was given over to Lord Hhune, her rival. The man apparently kept her alive for his own purposes. Lady Thione, ever a survivor, had apparently found a way to earn her keep. She had birthed a daughter in secrecy and given her away into fosterage. Apparently she now planned to reclaim the girl and present her as a more suitable bride to the royal heir than Zaranda Star, a common born mercenary with a purchased title. Danilo forwarded two possible results: the girl would be accepted and crowned queen, thereby increasing Lucia Thione’s influence and status in Tethyr, or she would be rejected, but in the process providing a focal point to rally the anti-Zaranda sentiment and foment rebellion.

“Thione and Hhune,” Danilo commented in an aside to Arilyn. “The Harpers erred when they made that match.”

She nodded and turned with obvious reluctance to the spirit of the man she had killed. “What was the purpose of your meeting with Elaith Craulnober?”

The spirit’s sneer widened. “Business. No, don’ t bother asking a better question-this one I will answer with pleasure. The elf’s purpose was the same as mine, the same as your own! Oh, yes, he knew you sought the Thione heiress, He agreed to take you with him for that reason. He is using Harper hounds to sniff out his quarry.”

“Elaith has spies among the Harpers?” Danilo demanded, appalled by the thought.

The spirit snorted derisively. “Everyone has spies among the Harpers.”

Arilyn turned away. “I have heard enough,” she said shortly. “Send him away.”

The priestess murmured a few words, and the figure of the assassin faded away. Danilo thanked her, and led his grim-faced partner out of the temple.

“We need to talk to Elaith,” he said.

“You talk to him. Yoseff was all I can stomach for one day.”

“At least come and listen,” he cajoled. “You might hear something that I miss. The answer lies right before us-I am certain of that!”

“Finally, you’re making sense,” the half-elf said. “Elaith is guilty of murder and more. He planned to find that girl, sell her to the highest bidder, He used us to that end. What more answer do you need?”

When they reached the dungeon, Danilo repeated most of these sentiments to Elaith while Arilyn looked in stony silence. “None of this endears us to your cause, you know,” he concluded. “Frankly, I’m disposed to let the matter stand.”

“I have your pledge,” Elaith insisted. “You must press on.”

Danilo sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, “Somehow I knew you’d say that. But what more can do?”

“Find the girl,” the elf insisted. “Find her, and learn who else seeks her. Who would have better reason to see me condemned to death?”

“Had I more time, I would write you a list,” Danilo said dryly. He took the amethyst locket from his bag and held it up. “This is an amulet of seeking, taken from your erstwhile friend Yoseff. The girl is not here, and we cannot leave to seek her elsewhere until the matter of Bentley’s death is settled.”

“Nor would we expect to find her here,” Arilyn said, speaking for the first time. “Bentley Mirrorshade kept the peace for over twenty years. He could never have done that if he got caught up in the endless local fighting, so he swore never to admit anyone to the stronghold who claimed to be of the Tethynian royal family. We can assume that the girl was never at the Friendly Arm.”

“Can we, indeed?” mused Danilo. “Now that I think on it, wouldn’t this be a perfect cover for the girl’s presence?”

“Possibly,” the half-elf countered. “But Bentley is known as an honorable gnome. What purpose would he have in breaking his sworn word?”

“Saving the life of an infant seems purpose enough. For that matter, he could have kept to the letter of his word: he swore not to admit anyone who claimed ties to the royal family. An infant could hardly make such a claim. If indeed Lady Thione’s child was brought here, it is possible that the gnome did not know at the time who the child was.”

“But he learned,” Arilyn surmised. “He probably died to protect that knowledge.”

“Undoubtedly,” Dan agreed, his tone even. He nodded a farewell to Elaith, and he and Arilyn walked toward the stairs.

“You didn’t sound convinced back there,” she said.

“I was thinking. Did you notice the barmaids at the inn? Any one of them could be the woman we seek-they are all about the right age, and by the look of them, any one of them could be kin to Lucia Thione.”

Arilyn considered this. “Their presence in the gnomish stronghold is difficult to explain otherwise. Do you want to take a closer look at them?”

Her partner responded with a smirk. Arilyn bit back a chuckle and tried to glare. “I’ll come looking for you in an hour.”

“I shall bear that in mind,” Danilo murmured.

He made his way back into the tavern and tried to strike up a conversation with the gnome barkeep. All the inhabitants of the fortress were stunned by their leader’s murder, and none of the small folk were inclined to share information with the human who had defended the accused elf. But Dan stringed together a series of grudging, one-word answers and eventually learned that there were a total of eight barmaids, six of whom were on duty.

Since Danilo was more interested in a woman who was not there, he left the castle and went to the barmaid’s house, a stone structure built right against one of the curtain walls. Danilo knocked softly on the wooden door. When there was no answer, he tried the door and found it unlocked.

There was but one large room, simply furnished with straw pallets softened by down-filled mattresses. Two women lay sleeping. Danilo recognized one of them as Sophie, the girl who had administered the peace bonds the night before. A shadow of suspicion edged into his mind. He stooped by her bed and softly called her name. When still she slept, he tapped her shoulder, then shook her. Nothing woke her.

Danilo rose and took a couple of odd items from the bag at his waist, then cast a spell that would dispel any magic in the room. The result was only half what he expected.

“Sophie” was not a woman at all, but a pile of laundry. The other barmaid was not a woman either but an iron golem, a magically-animated construction enspelled to look enough like Sophie to be her cousin. One apparently solid stone wall was breached by a wooden door that was closed but not barred.

The Harper crept closer for a better look. The golem was curled up in mock slumber, but when it stood it would be nearly twice the height of a tall man. The body, shaped roughly like that of a human woman, probably outweighed Danilo’s horse six or seven times over. No wonder so few gnomes held the fortress, Dan realized. An iron golem could stop a war-horse’s charge without get- ting knocked back on its heels, crush an ogre’s skull with one fist, and shrug off blows from all but the most powerful magical weapons. This golem was in need of repair. There was a considerable amount of rust along some of the joints, requiring filing and oils at the very least, and possibly the ministrations of a blacksmith. Danilo guessed that the golem could still do considerable dam age in its current condition. He backed out of the room, grateful that the stone floor, which had no doubt been built to support the construct’s great weight, did not creak.

He bumped into Arilyn at the door. “The barkeep thought I might find you here,” she said.

“Keep your voice down,” he implored, nodding toward the golem.

But his spell had faded, and the figure that rose from the pallet appeared to be nothing more than an angry girl. The illusion-draped construct rushed forward, fist raised for a blow.

Arilyn stepped forward, her forearm raise to block the attack. There was no time for explanation, so Danilo did the only thing he could; he leaped at Arilyn and knocked her out of the golem’s path. Her angry retort was swallowed by the sound of an iron fist smashing into the wall. Jagged fissures raced along the stone, carving a spider-like portrait on the wall.

The half-elf’s eyes widened. “Iron golem,” Danilo said tersely. “Rust on the elbow joints.”

Arilyn nodded in understanding. In one swift movement, she rolled to her feet and drew her sword. Danilo reached for his, then remembered that only magic-rich swords could have any impact. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for a thin, ornamental blade he wore on his right hip-a singing sword with a ringing baritone voice and an extremely bawdy repertoire.

“Softly,” he admonished the sword as he tugged it free of its sheath. “There might be more of these things waiting tables in the castle.” Obligingly, the sword launched into a whispered rendition of ”Sune and the Satyt”.

Arilyn shot him an exasperated, sidelong glance, and then turned her attention to the golem.

The woman-shaped construct turned slowly to face the half-elf, spewing a cloud of roiling gray smoke from its mouth. The golem balled one fist into a deceptively dainty weapon. Arilyn sidestepped attack, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut against the stinging gas. She brought her sword up high and delivered a powerful two-handed blow that would have cleaved an orc’s skull in two. A harsh clang resounded through the room, and Arilyn’s elven sword vibrated visibly in her hands. There was not so much as a scratch on the illusionary barmaid, and as the gas cleared, the golem wrapped its arms around one of the beams that supported the building and began to rock.

As dust and straw showered down from the thatch Danilo remembered his glimpse of the golem, recalled how the iron plates of the arms were arranged. He lunged forward and thrust his weapon into the arm. The magic sword slid between the plates and out the other side. The blade bit deeply into the wooden beam the golem was holding, pinning one arm fast.

Arilyn stepped in and swung again, hitting the golem’s other arm once, then a second time. The elven sword severed the arm at the elbow. The limb fell to the stone floor with a clatter, the illusion dispelled. Its iron fingers flexed and groped, seeking to dig deep into an unwary foot. Arilyn tried to kick the arm aside and swore when her boot met unyielding iron. She sidestepped the twitching limb and struck again and again, chopping at the construct like a deranged woodsman determined to fell a tree one limb at a time. With each piece she knocked or pried loose the construct’s struggle weakened.

But not soon enough. The golem, now plainly visible for what it was, managed to work its impaled arm free. Danilo’s singing sword went skidding across the floor.

At once the half-elf struck, thrusting her own blade back into the same place. She leaned into the sword to hold it in place and shot a look over her shoulder at Danilo. “Melt it,” she commanded.

Danilo hesitated, quickly considering his options. Fire would only restore the golem. Lighting, then. He lifted both hands and deftly summoned the force, holding it between his hands in a crackling ball as he shouted for the Arilyn to stand clear.

Magic flowed from his fingertips like white-hot arrows and Arilyn’s hands fell away from her sword. His aim was true, and an arc of blue-white lightning crashed between his hands and what remained of the golem. The construct wilted like a candle left out in the sun.

Arilyn grabbed her sword and, the muscles in her arms corded so tightly they seemed about to snap, pulled the enchanted blade through the golem’s iron flesh.

The construct sank to the stone floor and the severed roof, arm ceased its twitching.

Arilyn was white-faced, weaving on her feet. Danilo suspected that only an act of will kept her standing. He went to her and brushed a stray curl off her damp forehead. When he gathered her close, her arms went around him instinctively.

“This battle reminds me of something else,” he murmured. “There was a powerful illusion cast on this golem, and Bentley Mirrorshade was a powerful illusionist.”

Arilyn lifted her head from his shoulder. “And?”

“One of the main tenants of the illusionist’s craft is to make people overlook the obvious. What is the most obvious question, and the one that no one thought to ask?”

The half-elf pondered this. A small, wry smile lifted the corner of her lips when the answer came to her, and she eased out of Danilo’s arms. “Give me the amulet of seeking,” she said. “I’ll go after the girl.”

Later that morning, Danilo again stood in the Temple of Wisdom. The body of Bentley Mirrorshade had made it there at last, and it was laid out in the enclosed courtyard in the center of the temple, upon a bier of stacked wood well-soaked with fragrant oil. It was no coincidence, thought Danilo, that the gnomes were preparing so hasty a funeral. Another hour more, and nothing he could do would save Elaith.

He explained his intentions to Gellana Mirrorshade. The gnomish priestess was not happy with his request, but she had pledged her aid to his quest for justice. She sent Garith Hunterstock to the dungeon to retrieve Elaith.

“The accused elf has a right to tell his story,” Danilo said, “but he does not wish to do so before witnesses.”

Gellana shrugged and spoke a few gnomish words to her fellow clerics. All left the temple. When the only sound was the steady dripping of the large Neveren water clock that stood like a monument in the courtyard, Danilo bid the priestess to summon Bentley Mirrorshade. When the ghostly gnome stood before them, Danilo turned to Elaith.

“You were late to the tavern last night. Did you have dinner?”

The elf looked at Danilo as if he had lost his mind. “I ordered, but did not eat. The gnome’s murder was discovered before my meal arrived, and the tavern closed.”

“Ah. And what did you order?”

“Medallions of veal, I believe, with capers and cream. Why?”

Danilo ignored the question. “You were also subjected to a peace bond, of the sort given to mages. Is your magical skill widely known?”

“It is not,” the elf replied. “The best weapon is often a hid- den one.”

“Well said. So it would appear that the gnomes knew more of you than is common. Who tied your thumb in a peace bond?”

The elf shrugged. “A human wench, overblown and under-clad. Dark hair. I did not ask her name.”

“That sounds like Sophie. Is peace bonding her task?” Danilo asked Gellana. The gnomish priestess responded with a cautious nod. The Harper held up a small sack of green-dyed leather. “Is it also her task to relieve guests of their valuables? This coin purse is mine. I lost it in the tavern and found it this morning in Sophie’s chest. But Sophie herself, I could not find. A marvel, considering that the fortress is sealed.”

Gellana scowled. “You had me summon my husband to listen to this nonsense? If you have questions for Bentley Mirrorshade, ask them!”

Danilo nodded agreeably and turned to the specter. “Is Bentley Mirrorshade dead?”

“What kind of question is that?” snapped Gellana.

“A very good one, I should think,” the Harper replied. “It is the one question that no one thought to ask. When presented with a body, everyone’s instinct was to look for the killer. But Bentley Mirrorshade is an illusionist of some skill, and considerable sophistry. Looking back, it strikes me that your questions at the summoning, dear lady, were rather oddly worded. You referred to the spirit by name, but never the body. The elf was responsible for ‘the death,’ and his weapon struck the killing blow-that is all that was said. Elaith would be responsible indeed, if the death in question was that of the veal calf he ordered for his dinner.”

Danilo held out his hands, his palms open and empty “Shall I cast the needed spell?” he asked the priestess. “One that can dispel the effects of others’ spells?”

“Don’t bother,” said a gruff voice from the vicinity of the clock. A door on the pedestal cabinet flew open, and Bentley Mirrorshade, very much alive, strode toward his bier. He snatched the illusionary specter from the air and crumpled it as a frustrated scribe might treat a sheet of blotched parchment. On the bier, as Danilo expected, lay the body of a brindle calf.

The gnome illusionist folded his stubby arms and glared up at the Harper. “All right, then, you got me. What now?”

“That depends upon you.” Dan said. “Tell me, why did you stage your own death?”

Bentley rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Had a responsibility to the girl. She’s trouble-and make no mistake about that-but she don’t deserve the likes of this elf sniffing around. I got no use for those who would use the girl to stir up rebellion-and less for those who would hunt her down to enrich themselves.” He glared at the elf.

“And by leaving behind your own illusionary corpse, you created a diversion that allowed the girl to escape unnoticed, and that condemned Elaith Craulnober to death. Masterfully done,” Danilo complemented him. “But how did you intend to explain your eventual return from the grave? I have my suspicions, mind you, but I’d like hear you tell the tale.”

The gnome had the grace to look sheepish. “I’ve been known to go off fishing now and again. Gives me time alone, time to think. I thought to come back when this was over, act surprised by this rogue’s fate. And yer right in what yen thinking, Harper; I thought to pin the blame for the illusion on you. Yen known for pranks, and for spells gone awry”

Danilo took note of the remarkable change, which came over Elaith during this confession. Understanding, then profound relief, then chilling anger played over his elven features. Danilo sent him a warning look.

“I must say, this leaves me with something of a dilemma,” the Harper said. “Elaith has been found to be without guilt in this case, but to make public your scheme would upset the balance in the Friendly Arm, and would alert those who are seeking the Thione heiress.”

“True enough,” the gnome agreed. “So what yen gonna do, then?”

Danilo sighed. “I see no real choice. I shall take the blame for the illusion, as you intended. If asked, I can cite old and very real enmities between myself and Elaith.” He turned to the elf. “In return for this, I expect your word that you will not hinder Arilyn and me in our task. We intend on taking Isabeau Thione-better known as Sophie the pickpocket-to safety in the north.”

Bentley snorted. “Yer gonna take the word of such a one as this?”

“In your position, I would not be too quick to cast aspersions on the honesty of another,” Elaith said, his voice bubbling with barely controlled wrath. “I am what I am, but the Harper knows that my word, once given, is as good as that of any elf alive, and better than that of any gnome. And so you may believe me when I swear that if ever I meet you beyond these walls, I will kill you in the slowest and most painful manner known to me.”

The gnome shrugged. “Sounds fair enough. But mind you, take care who yen calling a liar. I never said a single thing wasn’t Garl’s honest truth. An illusion ain’t never a lie-people just got a bad habit of believing what they see.”

Danilo took Elaith’s arm and led the furious elf from the temple. “I will keep my oath to you, bard,” the elf hissed from between clenched teeth, “but there is another I long to break! Like any other elf I believe that disturbing the dead is a terrible thing. But I would give fifty years off my life to continue this discussion-with that wretched gnome’s real spirit!”

The Harper shrugged. “We are neither of us quite what we seem, are we? Why, then, should you expect anything else to be what it seems?” Elaith glared at him. After a moment a smile, slow and rueful, softened the elf’s face. “If a Moon elf of noble family commands half the illegal trade in Waterdeep, and if a foolish minstrel from that same city displays insight that an elven sage might envy, why should we make foolish assumptions about speaking with the dead?”

“Exactly,” Danilo agreed, his expression somber. “There is some comfort in having at least one thing proven true.”

“Oh?”

“The dead are every bit as dreary as I have been led to believe. A small thing, to be sure, but in this life we should take our absolutes where we can find them.”

Elaith gave the Harper an odd look. After a moment, a wry chuckle trickled from his lips. He stopped and extended his hand, and his amber eyes were utterly devoid of mockery or disdain.

The gesture was all the apology, and all the thanks, that Danilo would ever receive. For once, the Harper felt no need to seek for hidden meanings or illusionary truths. He knew the proud, complex elf for what he was, but there were some absolutes that Danilo took when and where he found them. Friendship was one of them.

Without hesitation, he clasped Elaith’s wrist in a comrade’s salute.