Songs & Swords 1 (26 page)

Arilyn did not bother to respond. She stalked through the tavern—this time Elaith’s giant doorkeeper did not attempt to hinder her—and threw open the door to the elf’s office. He was at his desk, going through what appeared to be bills of lading, and he looked up at the intruders with a chilling glare. Immediately his handsome face arranged itself in a smile of surprised welcome.

Without saying a word Arilyn tossed the snuffbox onto his desk. Elaith gave it a brief glance and said mildly, “Oh, so that’s where it went. Do you mind if I ask where you found it?”

“Do you know a man named Barth?” Arilyn said.

“Yes. I rather thought Barth had stolen it from me. He was inordinately fond of snuff and not at all happy with his partner for selling the snuffbox. Barth is dead, I take it?”

“Very.”

“Good. I paid a considerable sum for the spell that killed him. It’s always reassuring to know that one’s money was well spent.”

Arilyn exhaled deeply, disconcerted by the elf’s revelation. “You had him enspelled to die if he tried to reveal your name. Why?”

“My dear, I should think that would be obvious. One must occasionally employ a man such as Barth, but it is hardly in good form to advertise the fact.”

“Appearances must be maintained,” Danilo noted without a hint of sarcasm, though the others ignored him.

“Why was Barth following me?” Arilyn demanded.

“It’s rather a long story,” Elaith said. “Won’t you have a seat?”

“No.”

“As you will. I believe you’re acquainted with a man named Harvid Beornigarth?”

Arilyn straightened and folded her arms. “Sort of.”

“I’ve employed him and his men in the past, on such occasions when finesse is not essential. Several months ago I heard him ranting about an ‘elf-wench’ who fought with a two-handed grip. He vowed to find you and settle some imaginary score. Since I was curious to learn more about you, I sent along a man of my own with his band.”

“Barth.”

“Of course.”

Arilyn placed both hands on Elaith’s desk and leaned forward, her face full of quiet menace. “Why?” she repeated.

Elaith was silent for a moment. “I knew only one etriel who fought that way. I thought that you might be Z’beryl.”

Arilyn recoiled. Nothing could have prepared her for that answer. She was dimly aware than Danilo’s arm had circled her waist, that he was guiding her into a chair. “I think you’d better tell me what this is about,” she said in a dazed tone.

Elaith Craulnobur rose and walked to a window. He laced his long-fingered hands behind his back and gazed into the alley as if the answers to his past might be written there. “I grew up with Z’beryl on the island of Evermeet. We are related, although distantly. Many years ago we completely lost touch.”

“I don’t suppose you can support any of this,” Danilo said from his usual place behind Arilyn.

The elf shot a sidelong glance at the dandy. “Of course. I anticipated that Arilyn would be back, and I had certain items brought here to me.” He glided over to a wall safe and deftly opened it, taking out two silk-wrapped objects. The first he unwrapped and handed to Arilyn.

A small cry escaped the half-elf. She cradled the small oval frame in both hands, unable to look away from it. Danilo leaned down over her shoulder.

“Your mother?”

Arilyn could only nod. The portrait showed a young moon elf maiden, not quite a mature etriel, with long braids of sapphire silk and gold-flecked blue eyes. Beside her was a younger, happier version of Elaith Craulnobur. Both were dressed in ceremonial robes of silver and cobalt blue—betrothal robes? Arilyn raised incredulous eyes to the moon elf. His answering smile held an ancient sadness.

“There is also this,” Elaith said, unwrapping an ornate sword and laying it on the table before Arilyn. Runes ran the length of the blade, and a white, blue-flecked stone gleamed in its hilt.

“That’s a moonblade!” Danilo burst out, pointing.

“Don’t be so surprised, young man. These swords are not all that uncommon to my people. I know many who either carry or own them, although admittedly most of these elves live far away, either on Evermeet or in the far reaches of the Dales, near the old site of Myth Drannor.”

“You do not carry the moonblade?” Arilyn asked Elaith.

“That is so.”

“I thought that elf and blade could not be separated,” she said.

“While that is usually the case, this particular one is dormant. Whatever magic it once held is lost.”

Arilyn’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Z’beryl didn’t tell you about moonblades? No, I see that she did not.” Elaith leaned against the edge of the table and folded his arms. “Many centuries past, the first moonblade was elvencrafted in Myth Drannor. Although it was a magic sword it had but one inherent property: it could judge character. It could be wielded by only one person, and it was to be handed down from one generation to the next. With each generation, a new magical ability was added to the sword, and this was derived from the needs or nature of the wielder.” The elf paused and raised an eyebrow. “This much is familiar to you?” Arilyn merely nodded, not wishing to distract Elaith. “Do you know the purpose behind the moonblades’ creation?” he asked. She hesitated, then shook her head.

“I’m not entirely surprised,” Elaith said dryly. “You trained with Kymil Nimesin, did you not?”

“What of it?” Arilyn said, a trifle defensively.

“My dear etriel, in more ways than one Lord Kymil is of a dying breed. He still mourns the demise of Myth Drannor. Like many of his race, he is unable to come to terms with the changes that have swept Faerun and transformed the destinies of the elven peoples. If Kymil knows the part moonblades bore in this, I doubt he could bring himself to speak of it.”

“I’m no scholar, and Kymil knows that. My only interest was the practical use of the sword. Kymil’s time was too valuable to waste on history lessons that I wouldn’t bother to remember.”

“More’s the pity,” Elaith said, then sighed. “But to continue. The Council of Myth Drannor foresaw that steps had to be taken to ensure the continuation of the elven peoples on Faerun. We moon elves are in many ways most like mankind, and of all the elven races we are the most adaptable and tolerant, and are therefore best able to act as liaison between the more reclusive elven races and the increasingly dominant humans. It was decided that a moon elf family would be ennobled and set up as rulers of the island of Evermeet. Moonblades were used to choose this family, in a process that lasted many centuries.”

Elaith picked up the dormant moonblade. “It was a simple process of elimination. As you know, a moonblade can confirm or decline each new wielder. The family who held the most moonblades for the longest period of time showed true nobility as well as a proven line of succession. They became the royal family.”

“What happens when a sword declines the chosen heir?” Danilo asked.

“Remember what happened to your finger when you tried to touch the moonblade?” Arilyn asked.

“Ouch.” Danilo winced. “A risky inheritance.”

“Precisely,” the quessir agreed. “The risk increases as time progresses, for as a moonblade becomes more powerful, it becomes harder to handle. Few prove worthy of the task. Not every unworthy heir dies upon drawing the sword, however. If he or she is the last member of a line, the sword’s task-testing the bloodline’s nobility—is completed and it becomes dormant.” The elf’s hand absently touched the white stone set in his moonblade.

“Such as your sword,” said Danilo.

“Such as my sword,” Elaith echoed softly. He looked up at Arilyn and admitted, “I am the last in the Craulnobur line, the only child of an only son. The sword came into my possession shortly after that portrait was made.” A faint, self-deprecating smile curved his lips but did not reach his eyes. “It would seem that the sword knew more about me than I, at that time, understood about myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Arilyn said softly.

“So was I. On the basis of the moonblade’s choice, my betrothal was nullified. Rather than remain in Evermeet and live with the stigma, I chose to come to Waterdeep and carve out a niche for myself. The rest is a matter of record and—” the elf broke off and made an ironic bow to Danilo “—rumor.”

“This is all very touching,” Danilo drawled. “It explains your interest in Arilyn but, unfortunately, little else.”

“What else would you like to know?”

Danilo picked up Perendra’s snuffbox from the table. “Let’s get back to this. How did you get it?”

“I bought the snuffbox from a fence.”

“Jannaxil.”

Elaith’s silver eyebrows arched. “Very good, young man. And I suppose you know where he got it, as well?”

“From Hamit. Waterdeep seems to be a small city.”

“At the moment, I’m inclined to agree,” the elf said, eyeing Danilo with distaste. “Yes, at my request Barth and his partner Hamit broke into the mage’s home to retrieve one particular item, a spellbook. She surprised them, and they killed her. They made the mistake of plundering the place and selling the stolen items. I learned of this when I saw Perendra’s snuffbox in Jannaxil’s shop. I purchased the box and took it to my home, then I went to deal with Hamit.”

“You killed him,” Danilo specified.

“Of course. I would have seen to Barth as well, but while I was taking care of Hamit, he apparently retrieved the box and left for Evereska. Fortunately the spell seems to have done the trick.” He paused. “By then several Harpers had fallen to the assassin. Even though Perendra alone had not been branded, I wanted to leave no possibility that her accidental death would be placed on my doorstep, bringing with it the label of Harper Assassin. I do not care to wear that particular mantle.”

“You’re very forthcoming about all this,” the nobleman said with a touch of bewilderment.

Elaith looked faintly surprised. “Surely you’ve heard that there is honor between thieves. Assassins have a similar code.” The elf turned to Arilyn. “By the way, I have some of the information you requested.” He returned to the safe and took out several sheets of parchment, one of which he handed to Arilyn. “I acquired something this morning that belongs to you. You certainly don’t want this to fall into the wrong hands.”

Not understanding, Arilyn scanned the sheet. “This is directed to the Zhentarim at Zhentil Keep.”

“Yes. I came across it while looking into the background of the Harper Assassin.”

Arilyn winced involuntarily. Elaith took in her reaction with an amused smile on his face. “Perhaps now, all things considered, we can dispense with the pretense.”

“Pretense?”

“Oh, come now,” he chided her gently. “Truly, I admire your plan. Quite devious. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to arrange my affairs so that I could collect simultaneous fees from both the Harpers and the Zhentarim.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded, aghast.

“Why, your scam, of course.” He smiled. “It is brilliant, although not without risks. A Harper agent, working for the Zhentarim. Whatever their other shortcomings may be, the Black Network is certainly known to pay well. As a Zhentarim enforcer, you provide them with a valuable service: culling their ranks of the unruly, the inconvenient, and the inept. The Harpers are pleased to see you ridding the world of vermin.” Elaith chuckled. “Harpers and Zhentarim, united at last. What delightful irony!”

Elaith’s amusement broke off abruptly. The tip of Arilyn’s moonblade was held firmly at his throat.

“I do not work for the Zhentarim,” Arilyn stated, her voice bubbling with suppressed rage. “Where did you get such an idea?”

“Well, what do you know?” Danilo marveled. “I’ve been baying at the wrong raccoon, after all.”

Arilyn shot a furious glance at him. “Danilo, this is not the time—”

“Don’t you see?” the nobleman persisted. “The elf you’re about to skewer is innocent. Well, I don’t suppose you can claim that he’s innocent, precisely, but on the other hand he’s not exactly guilty. Er, that is to say—”

“Out with it!”

“Elaith Craulnobur thinks that you ate the Harper assassin!” Danilo blurted out. “Which means, of course, that he is not.”

Fourteen

Arilyn slowly lowered the moonblade. Elaith raised a hand to his throat and wiped away a fleck of blood from the spot where she’d nicked him. “Thank you for that stirring defense of my character,” he said to Danilo.

Turning to Arilyn, the elf bowed deeply. “It seems that I have made a grave error. Forgive me for misreading your character, daughter of Z’beryl. May I explain how this occurred?”

“Please.”

Elaith pointed to the letter Arilyn still held. “I thought that letter came from your hand.”

“Why?” demanded Danilo, clearly outraged.

“A detailed bill was sent with it,” Elaith said, laying two pieces of parchment on the table. He pointed to the one on the left. “This is the bill. And this,” he added, pointing to the other, “is the information you gave me about the Harper deaths.”

Arilyn bent over the desk to read, and Danilo leaned over her shoulder. On the bill to the Zhentarim was a list of names. All of them were known to Arilyn. The last name was Cherbill Nimmt, the soldier she had killed last moon in Darkhold. “This bill lists most of my assignments for the past year,” she said in a small voice.

“Yes, I know,” Elaith said.

She compared the lists. Like two columns of a merchant’s receipt book, the dates and locations lined up in perfect balance. Arilyn froze.

Balance. For each Harper who fell to the assassin, an agent of the Zhentarim was slain by her sword. Neither side gained in strength from the other’s loss. As Arilyn considered this aspect of Elaith’s revelation, a suspicion crept into her mind, too appalling to contemplate, but too insistent for her to dismiss.

Still absorbed in the study of the two lists, Danilo let out a low whistle. “By the gods, someone is going through a lot of trouble to set you up.”

“And succeeding,” Elaith added. To Arilyn, he said, “I have reason to believe that the Harpers suspect you and have set someone on your trail. If they get hold of this supposed connection to the Zhentarim, your guilt in their eyes would be sealed. Be careful.”