Songs & Swords 1 (23 page)

“When next we encounter the Harper Assassin, we’ll be sure to pass along your good wishes,” Danilo drawled. “I’m sure your approval means everything to him.”

Arilyn ignored her companion as she spoke to Elaith. “I have reason to believe that the assassin is someone within the Harper ranks.”

“Really?” Danilo broke in, sounding surprised.

She threw a glance over her shoulder at the nobleman. “Yes. Now if you’ll excuse me for a moment?” She turned back to Elaith. “This makes any investigation difficult for me. Obviously, I cannot make inquiries directly for fear of alerting the wrong person.”

“Obviously,” Elaith murmured with a smile. “I am delighted to be of service, but might I ask why you have come to me?”

“I need information, and I’m aware that you have many connections in this city. I will pay whatever fee you require.”

“That will not be necessary,” the moon elf said firmly. “The Harpers are unlikely to pass secrets on to me, at least not directly, but I have other sources, as well as information not available to the Harpers. I will certainly make inquiries.” Elaith opened a drawer and pulled out parchment and a quill. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about this assassin. Start with the kill list.”

Kill list. Arilyn winced at the elf’s choice of words, spoken with such callous ease. Perhaps she was unwise to try to do business with Elaith Craulnobur. As she hesitated, Danilo came up and seated himself in the chair beside her. The nobleman took a small snuffbox out of his magic sack and helped himself to a liberal pinch. He sneezed violently and repeatedly, then he offered the box in turn to Arilyn and to Elaith.

“Thank you, no,” Elaith said coldly. Arilyn just stared at Danilo. His intention was too obvious to miss: by reminding her of Perendra’s snuffbox, he was telling her not to trust the elf. She would not have thought Danilo capable of coming up with such a ruse, and for a moment she was inclined to agree with the dandy. Yet she intended to tell Elaith Craulnobur only what the elf could easily gain from other sources. What harm could there be in that?

Arilyn briefly described the assassin’s method and macabre signature. Under Elaith’s prompting, she listed the victims, the approximate date of each attack, and the location. Finally she could think of nothing more that she wished the elf to know.

“Very impressive.” Elaith looked up from the parchment, and smiled reassuringly at Arilyn. “That should give me enough to start. I’ll get right on it and let you know as soon as I learn anything.” He rose and held out his palm to Arilyn.

Grateful, she laid her hand over his. “I appreciate your help.”

“My dear, be assured that I shall do whatever I can.”

“Why?” demanded Danilo bluntly.

Elaith withdrew his hand from Arilyn’s and looked the noble over, an amused smile on his face. “The etriel and I have much in common. Now, if you will excuse me? I have a great deal to do if the tavern is to open in time for tonight’s revelry.”

Arilyn nodded her thanks and dragged Danilo out the back door of the office into the alley.

“How did you like that last remark? ‘Much in common,’ indeed,” Danilo echoed derisively the moment the door had swung shut behind them. “I don’t know how much more proof you need.”

“What are you babbling about?”

“Proof, that’s what. ‘Much in common’? Think: you’re an assassin, he’s an assassin. To my ears, that was as good as a confession,” Danilo said. Arilyn threw up her hands in disgust. “I take it you don’t agree.”

The half-elf paused, carefully considering her words. “Whatever else Elaith Craulnobur may be, he is a moon elf quessir,” she said. “You could not possibly understand what that means.”

“Enlighten me,” Danilo returned in a flippant tone.

“The term quessir means more than a male elf. It is a formal word, with overtones of a certain status and code of behavior. The nearest equivalent in Common is the word ‘gentleman,’ but that is not very close, either.”

“I would hardly consider him a gentleman,” Danilo observed.

“You’ve made that very clear,” Arilyn said. “By the way, since when did you take up snuff?”

Danilo grinned. “Ah! You understood my message.”

“It wasn’t very subtle,” she groused. “What makes you think that the thug in Evereska got the snuffbox from Elaith? He isn’t the only elf in Waterdeep, you know.”

“I don’t trust him,” Danilo said flatly, “and I don’t like the fact that you do.”

“Who said I trusted him?” Arilyn retorted. “Although perhaps I should. Moon elves traditionally have a strong sense of loyalty to each other.”

Danilo opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. “On another matter, whyever did you say that the Harper Assassin might be a Harper?”

“Because it’s very likely,” Arilyn said shortly. “Harpers are a secret organization, and few advertise their membership in the group. The assassin knows his victims too well for it to be otherwise.”

“Oh.”

Arilyn started off down the alley, and Danilo took off after her. “Where are we going now?”

“We’re going to find the elf who had Perendra’s snuffbox.”

In the tree-lined alley behind the busy tavern, a shadow stirred and prepared to follow Arilyn and Danilo.

“Come, come, old friend. What’s your hurry?”

The melodious voice struck a chord, a memory of vile deeds that seemed incompatible with the gentle tone of the speaker. An icy chill stiffened Bran Skorlsun’s spine, and for the first time in many years he turned to face the Serpent.

Elaith Craulnobur had changed little over the decades. He was an elven warrior in his prime, an elegant and beautiful living weapon. Slender and sinuous, he leaned gracefully against the alley’s wooden fence. A smile of gentle amusement lit Elaith’s handsome face, and his amber eyes were deceptively mild.

Bran knew the elf for what he was. “It’s a cold morning for serpents to be about.”

Elaith’s brows arched lazily. “Hardly a gracious greeting, considering all the adventures we shared in your distant youth.”

“We share nothing,” Bran said flatly. “The Company of the Claw is no more. Many of its members were slain by your hand.”

The elf shifted his shoulders, unmoved. “A commonly held assumption, but one that was never proven. I shall forgive your bad manners. Your years of wandering through parts unknown have obviously dimmed whatever small amount of polish you once possessed.”

“Unlike you, I am what I appear to be.”

The elf’s gaze swept over the human. “That’s hardly something to boast about,” he observed wryly. “Even so, I must admit that I’m consumed with curiosity at your sudden appearance. Whatever could have brought you back to the City of Splendors?”

Elaith’s tone was gently mocking, and his confident smile implied that the answer was already known to him. Bran had no patience or time for the elf’s games, so he simply turned to leave.

“Going so soon? We’ve had no time to talk.”

“I’ve nothing to say to you.”

“Oh, but I’ve a few things to say that you may find of interest. And you need not hurry. The pair you follow should be easy to track … unless your ranger skills have become as dismally rusted as your social graces.”

“Insults from such as you mean nothing.”

The elf’s handsome face twisted with rage. “We are not so very different,” he hissed. He quickly regained his composure, but his amber eyes held a malicious gleam. “You’ve fallen as far as I have, but you just can’t bring yourself to admit it. Look at yourself. You’ve been exiled, to all intents and purposes, to wandering the far and forgotten edges of the world. Now you’re reduced to lurking in shadows, trying to disprove your nasty suspicions about Amnestria’s daughter.”

Bran’s face darkened at the elf’s last words. “You do not deserve to speak her name.”

“Don’t I?” taunted the elf. “Princess Amnestria and I were friends from our childhood in Evermeet, long before you were even a gleam in your father’s eye.” He sighed with deep nostalgia. “Such grace, such talent and potential. Arilyn is very like her in those respects. She’s got Amnestria’s spirit combined with a rather devious mind. Truly a fascinating combination. Amnestria would have been proud of her daughter, as I’m sure you are,” he concluded with heavy sarcasm.

“What is your interest in Arilyn?” Bran demanded.

A reflective expression crossed the elf’s face. “It is rare—even during the long lifetime of an elf—that one is afforded a second chance. By all that is just, Arilyn should have been my daughter.” He paused and gave Bran a measuring look. “Not yours.”

The Harper recoiled at the words. Elaith was pleased with the reaction, and an evil smile curved his lips.

“Yes, your daughter,” the elf mocked, openly baiting him toward admission. “Interesting, fate’s little twists: the oh-so-righteous Harper sires one of the best assassins in Faerun.”

“Arilyn is not the assassin,” Bran asserted.

“But she is your daughter!” Elaith crowed triumphantly, reading the truth in Bran’s face and tone. In his opinion, the only good thing about dealing with Harpers was that the fools were generally too noble—or too stupid—to dissemble. The elf’s face darkened suddenly. “Does Arilyn know about you? I should hate to have her learn her father’s identity when he provides evidence against her in a Harper court.”

“It is not your concern.”

“We’ll see. How is Amnestria?” Elaith asked, changing the subject. “Where has she been these many years?”

Bran was silent, and a look of deep sadness filled his eyes. “Despite everything, you are her far kinsman, and there is no reason why you should not know. Amnestria went into secret exile before Arilyn’s birth. She took the name Z’beryl of Evereska. She has been dead for almost twenty-five years.”

“No.”

“It is true. She was ambushed and overcome by a pair of cutpurses.”

The elf stared at Bran. “It does not seem possible,” he murmured, dropping his stricken eyes. “No one could fight like Amnestria. Has nothing has been done to avenge her death?”

“The murderers were brought to justice.”

“That remains to be seen,” Elaith said in a grim tone. When he again raised his eyes to Bran’s, hatred blazed in their amber depths. “Another weapon might have killed Amnestria, but it was you who destroyed her. Keep away from Arilyn. The etriel has her own life.”

Elaith leaned toward the Harper, looking the very picture of a fighter taking an offensive stance. His evil smile openly taunted his foe. “By the way, know you that Arilyn has taken the name Moonblade as her own? Denied family and rank, she made her own name and forged her own code. And she is good. Arilyn has developed skills that would make her Harper sire squirm.”

Elaith paused. “To answer your earlier question, my interest in her is both personal and professional.”

“I’ve no use for riddles.”

“Nor wit for them, either. In plain words, Arilyn should have been my daughter, but she is not. What a remarkable partner she would make, or—” he smiled maliciously “—what a consort. She and I could accomplish much, side by side.”

Bran’s massive hand shot out, grabbing Elaith’s shirtfront and jerking the slender elf up to his eye level. “I’ll see you dead first,” the man thundered.

“Keep your threats, Harper,” Elaith said scornfully. “Arilyn Moonblade has nothing to fear from me. I only wish to aid her and to guide her career.”

“Then she is indeed in grave danger,” Bran concluded.

Elaith misunderstood Bran’s meaning, and his eyes narrowed in menace. “She is in no danger from me,” he hissed. “The same, however, cannot be said for you.”

With the speed of a serpent’s strike, a dagger appeared in the elf’s hand and flashed toward Bran’s throat. The aging Harper ranger was faster still. He tossed the elf to the ground. Elaith twisted and landed crouched on his feet, wrist cocked in readiness to flick the dagger into his old friend and enemy.

But Bran Skorlsun had vanished. Elaith stood and tucked the dagger back into its hiding place.

“Not bad,” Elaith admitted, brushing a bit of dust from his leg as he admired Bran’s skill. “You should watch your back, old friend. Watch your back.”

Elaith turned back to his new establishment. As entertaining as the encounter had been, he had a myriad of details to attend to before the tavern could open. His eye fell upon the large oak sign, just delivered that morning, that leaned against the back wall of the building. This turned out nicely, the elf mused, moving in for a better look. I must have someone hang it immediately.

He ran his fingers over the raised letters of the sign that would soon grace the front door of the Hidden Blade.

Twelve

In early afternoon Virgin’s Square was teeming with activity and bright with autumn sunlight and colorful merchandise. Local legend claimed that an altar had once stood on the site, upon which virgins were sacrificed to dragon gods centuries before Waterdeep was a city. On such a day that dark past seemed distant indeed.

The time for the highsun meal had passed, and delicious scents lingered in the warm autumn air. A large crowd browsed among the stalls of an open air market that offered goods ranging from fresh produce to exotic weapons. On the other side of the square services were sold, and perhaps two hundred persons, representing many races and nationalities, milled up and down the steps of a tiered piazza.

Those who wished to find work flocked to the square. Newcomers to the city, travelers relieved of their purses by pickpockets and in need of passage home, adventurers, servants, mages, sellswords—all gathered to hire themselves out. Services of many kinds could be purchased in Virgin’s Square. There was little overt pandering, but those who made inquiries were assured that discreet introductions were always possible.

Potential employers were there in large number, as well. Caravan-masters stopped in Virgin’s Square to acquire the guards and scouts needed for long trips. Since slavery was illegal in Waterdeep, visiting merchants and dignitaries from the southern and far-eastern lands often went there to find hired servants to replace their slaves. Even adventurers wishing to form parties sought each other out in the square.