Songs & Swords 1 (32 page)

Khelben gripped the portrait. Laeral sat with her hand clasped in that of her friend Amnestria. The archmage could see why Danilo did not wish Arilyn to see the pencil sketch; without the vivid difference in their coloring apparent, Amnestria and Arilyn looked so much alike that the half-elf could not have failed to recognize her mother. If she had seen the picture of the four friends, she would have surely raised questions that Khelben was not prepared to answer.

Laeral. The mage’s gaze returned to the pert, smiling face of the young adventurer. It had been quite some time since he’d seen his lady. She returned to Waterdeep from time to time, and Khelben still kept chambers for her in the top floor of his tower. But Laeral had developed a taste for travel and continued a life of adventuring, and Khelben found himself trapped in Waterdeep more and more often, pursuing politics and diplomacy. Both had become powerful mages, both worked with the Harpers. There was no real quarrel between them. How then, Khelben mused, could it be that they were drifting apart?

The archmage found himself pondering Danilo’s angry words. How much had he himself sacrificed on the altar of a noble cause? Even for a man who strove for self knowledge, it was a disturbing thought.

In his villa not far from Blackstaff Tower, Kymil Nimesin leaned back from his scrying crystal. His angular face showed deep concern. Perhaps he should have heeded Elaith Craulnobur’s warning concerning Danilo Thann.

Even if the young nobleman was indeed the fool he appeared to be, he had led Arilyn to Khelben Arunsun. Of all those connected to the Harpers, the Blackstaff was most likely to know the secrets of Arilyn’s moonblade. Since Kymil could not magically observe the half-elf in Blackstaff Tower, he had no idea what she had learned from the archmage. At least the mage had been foolish enough to mention the pair’s destination outside the tower: Candlekeep. Kymil cursed. He could not spy on her there either. If his plan was to succeed, he needed to move now. Kymil turned to his assistant.

“Filauria, summon the mercenary team.”

The lovely etriel at Kymil’s side went without question to do his bidding. Soon she returned, leading a contingent of human adventurers from the chambers where they had awaited Kymil’s summons, swilling ale and playing dice.

For a long moment, Kymil regarded the men whom Elaith Craulnobur had recommended for the task. They were led by Harvid Beornigarth, an uncouth one-eyed giant of a man. The unfortunate result of a barbarian rampage, Harvid owed his size to his father’s race and his eye patch to Arilyn Moonblade. The fighter’s huge arms were knotted with muscle, and he was known to wield his spike-studded mace with skill. The four men with Harvid were equally strong and unkempt, to all appearances a wild and formidable force. They were precisely what Kymil needed.

“Well, Harvid, it seems that you shall finally have the opportunity to avenge the loss of your eye,” Kymil began, steepling his fingers in a gesture of satisfaction.

The man hefted his mace in anticipation. “Where is the gray wench?” he snarled.

“Let us hope your skills match your enthusiasm,” Kymil said dryly. “Your chance will come before the sun rises again. Behold.”

Kymil waved his fingers over the scrying crystal and an image of a garden courtyard appeared. A few people wandered about, enjoying the bright autumn morning. “This is Jester’s Square. Do you know it? Good. The half-elf and her companion, Danilo Thann, will arrive here before daybreak. There are but two ways to leave the courtyard.” Kymil pointed to a large gap between two buildings. “This would be the mostly likely exit. You are to block it. Use whatever you can find. You will lie in wait for them here, in this alley.”

Kymil looked up at the mercenaries, his face grim. “And you will kill them both.” A gasp of surprise came from the elven female who stood attentively behind the armsmaster’s chair.

Harvid Beornigarth had his own doubts. He grimaced and scratched at his eye patch with a large, grimy finger.

“Is there a problem?” Kymil asked calmly.

“Well, yes,” Harvid admitted. “I know young Lord Thann.”

“Yes? So?”

“I don’t want to kill him.”

“Really,” chided Kymil. “I had thought you beyond such sentiment.”

“It’s not personal. I just don’t like messing with nobility. His family is powerful.”

“Is that all.” Kymil sniffed. “Believe me, the Thann family will recover from the loss. Danilo is a sixth son, a wastrel and a fool by most measures.” The elf’s voice hardened. “You will kill Danilo Thann. That is the price I demand for giving you Arilyn Moonblade’s life.”

The gleam returned to Harvid’s good eye. “I’ll get the gold you promised when I bring you her sword?”

“Of course,” Kymil said smoothly. “Now go.”

Filauria watched the mercenaries clomp from the room. “I have seen the half-elf in battle. Those men are as good as dead.”

Kymil patted her hand. “Of course they are, my dear, but they are nothing if not expendable.”

The etriel looked puzzled. “If Harvid Beornigarth and his men cannot kill the half-elf, why do you send them?”

“I do not want Arilyn dead. I merely wish to restore her sword to its full potential,” Kymil said mildly. “Harvid Beornigarth is the means to that end. At first glance, he looks dangerous, and he and his men should give Arilyn a good fight. Bran Skorlsun will certainly come out of the shadows if his daughter’s life appears to be endangered. With him comes the moonstone.”

The first thing Arilyn noticed about Candlekeep was that the air was considerably warmer than that in Waterdeep. No wonder, she thought dazedly. She and Danilo had materialized several hundred miles to the south of the City of Splendors.

Before them towered the library, a massive citadel of pale gray stone that was ringed by walls and perched on a rocky seacoast. Although the setting was austere, the air, even in late autumn, was balmy, tempered by the strong breeze that blew in from the Sea of Swords.

“State your business,” boomed a powerful voice. For the first time Arilyn noticed the small gatehouse that stood at the entrance to the wall ringing Candlekeep. From it came a tiny, wizened apparition of a man.

The Keeper of the Gate was stooped and thin, and his skin was as dry and yellowed as ancient parchment. The aura of power about the man, however, was such that Arilyn doubted he was ever challenged.

“We request entrance to the libraries. The archmage Khelben Arunsun of Waterdeep sent us to seek information about a magic elven weapon.” Danilo handed the scroll to the keeper. The old man glanced at the sigil and nodded.

“Who might you be?”

Danilo drew himself up. “I’m the Blackstaff’s apprentice,” he said with a mixture of pride and becoming modesty. “Danilo Thann, accompanied by an agent of the Harpers.”

Arilyn leaned close to Danilo. “Nice cover,” she murmured. “Remind me never to play cards with you.” The nobleman smirked.

Not noticing the exchange, the keeper broke the seal and scanned Khelben’s letter of introduction. “You may enter,” he said. Immediately the gate opened and a robed man came out and bowed to the keeper. “Moonblades,” the old man said tersely, and the newcomer bowed again.

“I am Schoonlar,” the man said, turning to Arilyn and Danilo. He was of medium height and slender build, with unremarkable features and hair, and garments the color of dust. “I will aid you with your studies. If you will follow me?”

He led them into the tower and up a narrow spiral staircase. They passed floor after floor filled with scrolls and tomes, illuminators and scribes laboriously copying rare books, and scholars delving into the accumulated lore of centuries. Located about halfway between the two largest cities on the coast, Waterdeep and Calimport, and lying directly east of the lower Moonshae Isles, Candlekeep was a repository of knowledge for all three regions: the North, the desert lands of the south, and the ancient island cultures.

Finally they reached a floor near the top of the tower. Schoonlar brought out a large tome and laid it on a reading table. “This book may be a good place to begin your search. It is a collection of tales about elven owners of moonblades. Since few bearers of these blades chose to broadcast their swords’ abilities, we rely in the main upon the writings of observers.”

Schoonlar turned to an index that comprised several pages in the front of the book. “To your knowledge, who was the earliest wielder of the blade in question?”

“Amnestria,” Arilyn said.

Obligingly Schoonlar ran a finger down the list of names. “I’m sorry. She is not listed.”

“What about Zoastria?” Danilo suggested.

The scholar’s face lit up. “That name is familiar.” He quickly found the passage and then scurried off in search of more information. Danilo began to read aloud.

” ‘In the year 867 by Dalereckoning, I, Ventish of Somlar, met the elven adventurer Zoastria. She sought information concerning the whereabouts of her twin sister Somalee, who disappeared during a sea voyage between Kadish and the Green Island.’ “

Danilo looked up. “Kadish was an elven city on one of the Moonshae Islands, I believe. Long since vanished. Evermeet was once known as the Green Island.”

“Go on,” Arilyn urged him.

” ‘Upon occasion, Zoastria was seen in the company of a female elf who was as like to her as a reflection in a pool. She once confided that she could summon the elf to do her bidding, something she did with less frequency during the time I knew her.’ ” Danilo paused and pointed to the small writing under the passage. “This note was added by the scribes who compiled this volume:

” ‘Zoastria died without issue, and the moonblade passed to the oldest child of her younger brother. The heir’s name was Xenophor.’ “

Danilo flipped back to the index, found an entry bearing that name, and turned to it. He scanned the brief passage and grinned.

“Well?” Arilyn asked impatiently.

“It seems that Xenophor had a difference of opinion with a red dragon, and the beast tried to incinerate him. The chronicler notes that Xenophor was unharmed by the blast and was thereafter impervious to fire.” The nobleman gleefully nudged Arilyn’s ribs with his elbow. “I told you so.”

“Keep reading.”

“Here is something you might find interesting,” broke in Schoonlar. He handed Danilo a cracked, ancient parchment. “It gives the lineage of the sword of Zoastria.”

Danilo accepted the scroll and carefully unrolled it. With a feeling of deep awe, Arilyn looked down at the fine writing. Before her were the names of her ancestors, elves who had carried the sword that was now strapped to her side. The half-elf had grown up without knowledge of her family, and the scroll represented the elven heritage that had been denied her. With a sense of reverence she touched a finger to the runes, gently tracing the thin lines that connected the elves. Danilo allowed her a moment before he resumed.

“Here’s something. This says that Dar-Hadan, Zoastria’s father, was a mage rather than a fighter, so he imbued the sword with blue fire to warn of physical danger.”

“We know that already. Keep going.”

They worked all day and long into the night, aided by the attentive Schoonlar. A fascinating picture emerged, a saga of elven heroes and the response the magic sword made to each. Finally they traced the line to Thasitalia, a solitary adventurer. The dreamwarning evolved so that she could sleep alone on the road without fear. From the date of Thasitalia’s death, they gathered that she had been the great-aunt who had passed the sword to Amnestria. There was nothing about Amnestria in any of the records.

“The night’s drawing to a close,” Arilyn grumbled, “and we’re no closer to finding the Harper Assassin. A waste.”

Danilo stretched languidly. “Not entirely. We know what power each wielder granted your sword, with the exception of you and your mother.”

“I will never add to the moonblade’s magic,” the half-elf said. “The moonstone is missing, and all magic originates in the stone and is gradually absorbed by the sword. I’m not sure whether my mother added a power—” She broke off.

“What’s wrong?” asked Danilo, suddenly alert.

“Elfgate,” Arilyn said softly. “That has to be it.”

Danilo looked thoroughly bewildered. “I beg your pardon?”

The half-elf drew the moonblade and pointed to the bottommost rune. “When we were in the Drunken Dragon, the mage Coril deciphered this mark to read ‘elfgate.’” Her face grew more animated as she tapped the ancient scroll laid out before them. “This traces the moonblade’s history from its creation until it passed to my mother. There were seven wielders, and we know seven of the sword’s magic powers: rapid strike, glowing to warn of coming danger, silent warning of danger present, dreamwarning, fire resistance, casting illusions over the wielder, and elfshadow.” As she spoke, she counted off the powers on her hand.

“Go on,” urged Danilo, catching some of her excitement.

“Look at the sword,” she said triumphantly. “There are eight runes. The final one, elfgate, must refer to the power my mother gave the sword. That has to be it!” The half-elf turned to Schoonlar. “Can you check and see whether you have any information concerning something called elfgate?”

Their assistant bowed and withdrew. He returned almost immediately, looking deeply troubled. “The files are sealed,” he said without preamble.

Arilyn and Danilo exchanged worried looks. “Well, who can unseal them?” Danilo asked. Schoonlar hesitated. “Surely telling us the names can do no harm,” Danilo said persuasively.

“I suppose not,” the man conceded. “The only persons who can open the files are Queen Amlaruil of Evermeet, Lord Erlan Duirsar of Evereska, Laeral the mage, and Khelben Arunsun of Waterdeep.”

Arilyn’s face darkened. “I knew it. Khelben already has the answers, doesn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got most of them,” Danilo admitted.

“Why send us here?”

“Like everyone else allied to the Harpers, Khelben likes to keep secrets,” the nobleman said. “He also likes to collect them. If there’s one puzzle piece he lacks, he’s probably hoping we’ll find it.”

“Such as?”