"It matters not at all," Algorind said, marveling at the truth of his own words. "The light of Tyr's grace shines equally upon all men. What we are, we chose to become. What we do, we choose to do."
Danilo nodded, but his gray eyes looked troubled. "So you are not dismayed to learn the founders of your order were demon-spawned? You will hold nothing against Bronwyn and Cara, who share this heritage?"
"As long as neither of them shrinks me again," Algorind said fervently, "I will be content."
Later that night, Danilo let himself back into his town-house with a muttered spell and an impatient wave of one hand. He was too tired and dispirited to be bothered with keys.
His commendable halfling steward had left a lamp burning in the entrance hall, but the study beyond was deep in shadows. Even so, he could make out the outline of a tall, broad-shouldered man seated near the softly glowing embers of the hearth fire.
"You should bolster your wards," instructed a deep voice, slightly burred with the accent he occasionally neglected to hide. "As you have just demonstrated, they are far too easy to breach."
With a sigh, Danilo entered the room and flopped down into a chair opposite Waterdeep's archmage. "I thought you might drop by. No doubt the smell of magical meddling drew you like strong cheese does mice."
"You seem heavy of heart," the great wizard observed. He held up the empty vial, the second potion Danilo had given the young paladin. "It is no small thing, to magically control a man's will."
"No small thing?" Danilo echoed incredulously. "It's wrong. It's evil. It's no better than rape!"
"And yet… "
"And yet," Danilo echoed softly. He rubbed his hands over his face and sent Khelben a rueful look. "I have condemned you for far less. In truth, I have judged you harshly over the years."
"That is what young men do."
They sat together in silence, sharing the solitude that comes from great power and difficult choices. At long last, Danilo asked, "Can any good come of this night's work?"
"No man can see all possible outcomes," Khelben said, "and on the whole, this is a good thing. The multiplicity of possible truths would drive one mad. So can too much power. And since there is nothing you fear so much as madness, you have fought against me these many years, shying away from realizing your full magical potential and rejecting any suggestion that you might be my successor at Blackstaff Tower."
Danilo stared at him. "I didn't think you knew."
"You might be surprised how well I understand you," Khelben said. He nodded to the untidy pile of books and scrolls on Danilo's study table. "You have a wizard's talent, a bard's passion for history, and a sense of duty that demands you employ both in service to others. This is your path, and it is good and right that you follow it."
Moved beyond words, Danilo merely nodded his thanks.
Khelben cleared his throat. "So you will be leaving for Tethyr soon?"
"Yes, before the tenday's end, and I will not be going alone. My lady Arilyn has rights to redress; Elaith Craulnober has people to kill." Danilo shrugged. "Business as usual, only this time my ill-assorted elven friends find themselves in rare accord."
"Indeed! Should I be relieved to hear that, or worried?"
"A little of both, I daresay."
Khelben chuckled and rose to leave, which brought Danilo politely to his feet. The archmage regarded the younger man for a long moment.
"Mystra's blessing upon you, son."
Danilo smiled at him. "I won't be gone forever-a few years at most. To a man of your long years, that's a mere eye blink. I'll see you upon my return."
A strange expression crossed the archmage's face, a flicker of emotion, quickly mastered. Khelben lifted a hand in farewell and disappeared into mist.
6 Eleint, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Summit Hall
Laharin Goldbeard, the Master of Summit Hall, studied the papers spread out before him. His face paled as he read the bills of lading and shipping records linking Sir Gareth to the Zhentarim and, worse, to the Collectors Guild, the wicked treasure-hunters of Amn whose collective purpose was an evil twin to that of the Knights of Samular. Finally he fingered the scrying ring that, moments before, had revealed the face of Dag Zoreth, a priest of Cyric and member of the Zhentarim, who had impatiently answered "Sir Gareth" in a manner suggesting long acquaintance.
The paladin glanced up at one of the tall, fair-haired men standing before him. "How is it, Algorind, that you spent more than five years gathering this information? I won't deny that you've done a great service to the order, but subterfuge is difficult for a paladin whose heart is true."
"But not impossible," interjected his companion, a well-dressed nobleman a few years older than Algorind. "I placed him under a magical compulsion that caused him to set his doubts aside until such time as he had collected proof your order could not ignore. I coerced his will to this purpose."
Laharin regarded the man sternly. "You freely admit to this?"
"I do," Danilo Thann said evenly; "furthermore, I would take upon myself any blame that might fall upon Algorind, and I submit myself to your judgment."
"You do not fall under our jurisdiction."
"Nevertheless."
The master nodded and turned to the elderly man seated nearby, an armored guard standing on either side. "What say you to these accusations, Sir Gareth?"
"Papers can be forged and well you know it!" Gareth said sternly. "A wizard who would force another man's will could easily create an illusion such as the device before you. And Lord Thann was once a Harper, kinsman to Khelben Arunsun-and as such, an enemy to our order."
Laharin listened gravely, then turned to Algorind. "What response would you give to this?"
"Sir Gareth has spoken long about the faults of other men." The young paladin glanced at Danilo Thann. "But it seems to me that a good man will own his errors. I would consider warily any man who does not."
"Well said." Laharin rose and addressed the old knight. "Sir Gareth, in view of your long service to the Knights of Samular, and in concern for the reputation of our order, you will not stand a public trial, but go into quiet confinement."
Gareth looked relieved. "The sentence is just. Whatever might have come of my past actions, I never had any intention of doing evil."
"Neither did Renwick Caradoon. I trust you will find his company instructive."
Sir Gareth paled. "Sure you don't mean-"
"As you yourself observed, the sentence is just." Laharin glanced at the guards. "Take him to the Founder's Keep."
To his credit, Sir Gareth left without protest, carrying himself with the dignity that recalled his heroic youth. Once the room was cleared of armed paladins, Laharin sank back into his chair and wearily regarded the two young men standing before him.
"What penance would you place upon yourself, Algorind? Lest you judge too harshly, let me remind you that this man has offered to take your punishment upon himself."
The young paladin did not need to consider. "Let me serve the Knights of Samular by seeking out the artifacts Renwick Caradoon created or recovered from Ascalhorn, and return them safely to the order."
"I see," Laharin said slowly. His gaze flicked to the small, brown-haired woman sitting quietly in the corner. "And you could do this work better than the Collectors Guild? You could retrieve from Amn those devices these villains have already claimed?"
"Not alone, sir." Algorind's face flushed, but he held the master's eyes. "Bronwyn Caradoon knows the work of collecting antiquities. She speaks the languages of Amn and other southern lands, and she has had dealings with some of the men in the Guild."
"And you, Bronwyn? Would you share this task?"
The woman rose, her pretty face set in determined lines. "Those whoresons killed my family to get to me. They kidnapped my niece Cara once and they've made three more attempts since. Give me a quill and tell me where to sign up."
A smile spread across the Laharin's face. "A fitting t
ask for a daughter of Samular! Welcome home, child. And you, Lord Thann; are you content to let Algorind take the full consequences of this penance on this own shoulders?"
Something in his tone brought bought a look of alert inquiry to the young noble's face. He glanced from Bronwyn to Algorind, and understanding dawned. Since Bronwyn had no kinsman present, Laharin was granting Danilo, her friend and sponsor, the honor of giving consent to the proposed partnership. Danilo noted how the mismatched pair stood together, hands joined in common purpose… and watched as their hands slid apart, slowly. Reluctantly. He turned back to Laharin with a wry, knowing smile.
"I daresay this 'penance' will repay Algorind's debt in full, as well as fees and penalties beyond the dreams of the greediest moneylender."
"I knew Bronwyn's mother," the master observed, his eyes twinkling, "and the memory of that acquaintance, while fond, does nothing to contradict your observation. Your lady is Arilyn Moonblade, the half-elf Harper?"
"Yes."
Laharin nodded, a wry smile on his bearded face. "That suffices, as well."
Algorind listened to this exchange with obvious puzzlement. "I don't understand."
The master of Summit Hall and the nobleman exchanged a look of rare and total accord. "You will," they said in unison.
THE BARGAIN
This story takes place shortly after the events of Elfshadow, my first FORGOTTEN REALMS book. It was also my first published short story, and it sets the tone for many tales to come in at least one aspect-irony. You'll find a lot of that in these pages.
Arilyn Moonblade, a half-elf fighter and Harper agent, has just been cleared of suspicion in the case of the Harper Assassin. She has nearly shed her much-hated nickname-again, "the Harper assassin," this time as a grim honorific recognizing the fact that people she fought usually ended up dead. She and Danilo Thann, a nobleman from a wealthy merchant family of Waterdeep, are sent to Tethyr on a mission for the Harpers, a mission that requires Arilyn to-wait for it-infiltrate the assassins' guild.
Some half-elves just can't buy a break.
The one thing Arilyn Moonblade hated above all else was being followed.
"But how do you know someone's trailing you?" demanded Arilyn's companion, a nattily attired nobleman who picked his way delicately along the littered docks of Port Kir. "If you haven't actually seen or heard anything suspicious, how can you be so sure?"
With a frustrated sigh, Arilyn tucked a handful of her dark curls behind one pointed ear. How could she explain to Danilo Thann something that, to her, was both art and instinct? She just knew. There was a silent rhythm to stalking, a rhythm known only to the best hunters and rangers-and assassins.
"A wizard can sniff out magic," she said slowly, absently waving away an overeager merchant attempting to spray her with jasmine perfume. "And I believe a paladin can often sense when evil is near."
"Ah." Danilo's gray eyes warmed with understanding as he studied the distracted half-elf at his side. "I take it that patience, for lack of a better word, has an aura of its own."
Arilyn smiled without humor. "Something like that."
"Has this been going on long?"
She shrugged. "Since Imnescar."
"Since-" The nobleman broke off abruptly, then let out a long hiss of exasperation. "Arilyn, my dear, someone's been stalking us through two kingdoms, and you don't see fit to mention it? Never came up in conversation, is that it?"
"This is the first time we've been alone," Arilyn said, a trifle defensively.
Danilo glanced pointedly around the teeming marketplace. Beyond the docks the Sea of Swords gleamed silver in the waning light, the horizon touched with the last faint pink of sunset. Most of the merchants were busily folding their bright silk tents and rolling up the mats that had displayed pottery, crafts, and exotic produce. The crowds had not diminished, but evening shoppers generally had goods of a different nature in mind.
"We're alone, you say? How odd," Danilo mused. "I've often been alone with beautiful women, and things were never quite so hectic and noisy. Not initially, at any rate."
"You know what I mean," the half-elf said curtly. For many days, she'd had little opportunity to speak to Danilo in private. They'd arranged to travel with a merchant caravan en route from the northern trade city of Waterdeep to Calimport, its counterpart in the South. Merchants were the only northerners welcome in parts of Tethyr, and, swept along on the tide of commerce, Arilyn and Danilo had moved unquestioned through the southern lands.
Today they were to begin their true mission.
Arilyn and Danilo had been sent by the Harpers-the self-appointed guardians of freedom and justice in Faerun-to bring a warning to Tethyr's ruling pasha. This was not an easy task, for Pasha Balik wanted nothing to do with "meddling northern barbarians." Repeatedly he'd refused Harper messengers or missives, and attempts to gain the ear of someone in his inner circle had also proved futile. Danilo had been charged with finding or creating a back door into the pasha's court; Arilyn's task was to keep the young nobleman alive during the process. Knowing Danilo as she did, Arilyn felt that her mission was sufficiently challenging without the aggravation of an extra shadow.
Even so, the half-elf had developed a certain grudging respect for her pursuer. Tracking a merchant caravan along the major north-south trade road was no test of skill; avoiding detection for so long was another matter. No other member of the company had realized they were being stalked, not even the powerful Harper mage at her side.
Arilyn cast a sidelong glance at Danilo, who was idly whistling the melody of an off-color ballad. Few who knew the young man might guess that he was either Harper or wizard. Danilo Thann was known as a dandy, an amateur mage whose spells comically misfired, a foppish dilettante with amusing pretensions toward bardhood. His self-satisfied smirk and extravagant attire bespoke wealth, ease, and privilege. In truth, Danilo cultivated that image. Prominently displayed on the amethyst silk of his jacket was the crest of a noble merchant family of the Northlands. His billowing trousers were tucked into impractical suede boots, and the voluminous sleeves of his silk shirt were embroidered with tiny runes in gold and violet threads. The nobleman's garments were loose and flowing, cut to mask his lean, powerful build, just as the sparkle of jewels on his sword's hilt distracted the eye from its keen and well-used edge. Danilo's facade made him an effective Harper agent, but it annoyed the Nine Hells out of Arilyn.
"It's getting late," she said abruptly. "Let's find a quiet place to plan our next move. Some food wouldn't hurt, either."
The nobleman's face lit up at the suggestion. "I know the very spot. Local color, and all that." He took Arilyn's arm and led her down a maze of alleys to a low wooden building that possessed all the charm of an abandoned warehouse.
"Local color, just as promised," Danilo said with enthusiasm as he swung open the door. He removed his plumed hat and tucked it under one arm, then patted his blond hair carefully into place as he beamed down at her. "Isn't this splendid?"
"This" was a tavern of sorts, a vast sprawling taproom that was anything but splendid. If the room were thoroughly swept and aired, it might qualify as squalid.
The taproom was crowded with tables and booths, most of them filled. It was a local haunt, judging from the swarthy faces and the distinctive blue-purple robes of Tethyr's natives. The crowd comprised men of all ages and social classes. Only men, Arilyn noted, though a row of doors lining the north wall of the taproom suggested that women were not entirely absent from the establishment.
Danilo ushered Arilyn into the room. The patrons nearest the door studied the new arrivals, their faces betraying a mixture of interest and hostility. At one table, however, three well-dressed locals eyed Arilyn with speculation and began to argue.
"Ah, Lord Thann!" proclaimed a nasal voice. Arilyn turned to see a squat, dark-robed man waddling toward them, his pudgy hands outstretched in welcome.
Danilo greeted the innkeeper by name, inquired after the health of his wives and childre
n, and requested his customary table. The man ushered them to a corner table-which was already occupied-and dismissed the lesser patrons with a few curt words in the local dialect. Beaming widely, the innkeeper wiped the table with the sleeve of his robe, promised them a wine fit for Pasha Balik himself, and hurried off.
"Is there one tavern in the world where you're a stranger?" Arilyn asked with a touch of asperity.
Danilo pursed his lips and considered the matter. Before he could speak, a blue-robed man approached their table.
"I am the servant of Akim Nadir," the man told Danilo, and he gestured toward one of the three men Arilyn had noted earlier. "My master wishes to purchase your woman."
Danilo placed a restraining hand on Arilyn's arm. "Let me handle this," he said. Turning to the servant, he asked, "How much does your master offer?"
"Twenty gold."
"Danilo, this is no time for foolishness-"
"I quite agree," Danilo broke in. He reached across the table and patted her sword hand as if consoling her. "You're worth several times that amount, I should say."
"Let go of my wrist and get rid of this man," she said through clenched teeth.
"And miss a chance to hone my bargaining skills?"
"Twenty-five?" the servant suggested.
Danilo shook his head, his face alight with mischief. "Eyes that shame the desert sky," he noted in a wheedling tone.
"Thirty gold. No more."
"Look at her," Danilo persisted, deftly swiveling in his chair to move his shins beyond the reach of the half-elf's booted feet. "Have you ever seen such skin? Moonlight upon pearls! A hundred gold would be a bargain."
"Perhaps fifty," the servant allowed. "Has she any special talents?"
"Well, she's rather good with that sword of hers," Danilo said thoughtfully, "though I doubt that's what you had in mind."
"That's it." Arilyn jerked her hand free of Danilo's grasp. Rising to her feet, she glared down at the servant. "Take your business elsewhere."
The Stories of Elaine Cunningham Page 4
