by Mark Anthony
"As you wish, Master Cormik," Dario said, bowing with a flourish. He turned and disappeared through the hidden doorway.
"Do you trust him?" Caledan asked after Dario had gone.
"Better yet, I care for him," Cormik replied. "He's the son I never had, Caledan. But then, I don't suppose you'd care about such sentimental things."
Caledan grunted but said nothing.
"I want the Harpers out of my city!"
The Zhentarim Lord Ravendas was not in a pleasant mood. She prowled like a cat about the topmost chamber of the tower of the city lord. The chamber itself was a den of luxury. Snow white furs were strewn across the floor of dark, polished marble. Exotic tapestries woven with gold and silver draped the walls, and expensive incense scented the air. Ravendas spun to fix the lord steward with her ice-blue gaze.
"Do I make myself clear?" she hissed, her voice as chilling as her eyes. "I will not have their meddling undermine my control. I want the head of any Harper that dares to set foot within the walls of this city delivered to me on a silver tray."
"Including Caldorien's?" the lord steward, Snake, asked in his dry, sibilant voice. His tone was utterly deferential, but Ravendas's pale cheeks flushed with sudden rage.
"I should have you flogged for that impertinence, my lord steward," she snarled. She sat upon a velvet divan, smoothing the wrinkles from her crimson gown. "And perhaps I will do just that," she mused. "You know very well that I want Caldorien delivered to me undamaged."
Snake's expression remained impassive. "But pain is acceptable, my lord?" Snake inquired.
"Oh, yes," Ravendas crooned. Sudden fire sparked in her eyes. "Pain is quite acceptable when dealing with Caldorien." Her delicate hands clenched unconsciously. It had been seven years since she had last faced Caledan Caldorien, but the memory had if anything grown more vivid with the passing of time. Seven years ago she had raised an army to conquer a town called Hluthvar, but Caldorien and his Harper friends had defeated her, making a mockery of her power. That was an affront she would dearly love to repay.
Fate must favor her, she thought, to have brought Caldorien back to Iriaebor, practically to her doorstep. At first, when the reports of a troublesome stranger reached her, she had not thought of Caldorien. Then came the sudden, violent death of one of her captains on the Street of Jewels. Her lord steward was not without his uses, and by means of a magic created from the dead warrior's blood, Snake had conjured an image of the captain's killer. She had recognized the angular, wolfish face instantly. It was Caldorien. He was in the city-her city. But where?
She would find him. The intervening years had made her more powerful than she would have once dared to imagine. Caldorien would not defeat her again. No, this time he would become her slave.
"You are dismissed, my lord steward." She spoke harshly. "Do not forget your orders." The thin, almost skeletal man bowed deeply, then turned to leave the chamber, his green robes hissing against the marble floor. "And, Snake," Ravendas called after him, "send my son to me. I wish to hear him practice his music."
"Of course, my lord. I shall send for him immediately." The door shut, leaving Ravendas alone. She poured herself a goblet of crimson wine and gazed out the window, surveying the city that she had vanquished. Every building, every stone, every life down there was hers, hers to exploit or destroy as she saw fit. But even that was nothing to what was next Soon, very soon, the other lords among the Zhentarim would quail before her. It was Ravendas's destiny to rule them all.
She heard the door open softly behind her and set down her goblet, smiling with lips stained red by the wine. She turned to see a boy standing in the doorway, his skin as Pale as moonlight, his hair as dark as shadows. He regarded her with wide green eyes, clutching a set of reed pipes in his small hands.
“Come in, my son," Ravendas whispered. "Come in."
Dario rode through the pearly, predawn light. The dim silhouette of Iriaebor rose behind him in the misty air, like a spectral city. Cormik's plan had gone well. The little scene with Jad and Kevrek had caught the eye of a Zhentarim officer who had followed Dario until he rode out the city's north gate. After that, the guard had turned around and ridden back into the city. Dario had no doubt that a message would make its way to Lord Cutter's tower that Caledan Caldorien had been driven out of Iriaebor. Dario would ride a bit farther and lie low for a day or so before returning- without his disguise, of course. There was a small village a few leagues to the north. Dario had made the acquaintance of a certain farmer's daughter there a few years back, a fair-haired young woman named Adalae. Dario wondered if she would remember him.
"Caledan the Harper?" a voice spoke suddenly from the mist.
Dario's mare spooked, rearing. He fought with the reins, managing to bring the horse to a stop. Its hooves skittered nervously against the cobbles of the road.
"Who's there?" Dario called into the thick fog. His dagger was ready in his hand.
A tall figure, clad head to toe in a black, concealing robe, stepped out of the swirling mist.
"Caledan the Harper?" the stranger asked again, in a voice that was both cold and dry. It sent a shiver up Dario's spine.
"Who wishes to know?" Dario asked, confused at the fear he felt rising in his throat.
"I wish to know," the black-robed figure said. Dario began to lift his dagger in alarm, but with dizzying speed a long arm reached out and, with terrible strength, pulled Dario from his horse. The mare neighed in terror and galloped away. An icy, strangely smooth hand closed about Dario's throat. His eyes widened in terror, but he was unable to move.
Another hand pulled the hood of Dario's cloak away from his face. A cold finger traced a line down his cheek. Dario tried to scream, but no sound escaped his throat.
"No, you are not the one," the attacker hissed.
Cold fingers closed about Dario's neck. There was a wet, snapping sound, and the young man fell limply to the ground, dark eyes staring lifelessly into the silvery light.
The black-robed stranger hesitated a moment. This was odd. The man's cloak had smelled right, but there was no scent of the shadow magic.
Of course-there could be only one answer. This man was a decoy. Caldorien must still be within the city's walls.
This was troublesome. The stranger dared not enter the city. No, the stinking streets were too much. Their scents were too overpowering. They would cause torment, resulting in sure madness. There was nothing to do now but wait. Yes, wait. Eventually Caldorien would set foot beyond those walls, and when he did, the stranger would be there to greet him.
Silently the black-robed figure drifted back into the veils of mist from which it had emerged just as the first rays of sunlight set fire to the tops of the city's towers.
Five
The crimson fire of sunset was fading to ash-gray behind the dark silhouette of the Tor when Mari heard the clatter of horses' hooves and the creak of wagon wheels. She waited in the shadows to the side of one of the New City's broad, tree-lined avenues, trying to slow the beating of her heart. She could only hope that Caldorien was ready. He had done little enough to inspire her trust these last days.
Mari had been elated when Belhuar Thantarth, the Master of Twilight Hall, had given her the task of finding Caldorien in Iriaebor. It was her first important mission as a true Harper, and she had been anxious to prove herself. Now she was having second thoughts. This cynical, ill-mannered, scruffy-looking scoundrel was not the legendary Harper she had been led to expect Old Master Andros, the Harper who had been her mentor, used to tell her stories of Caldorien's adventures: how he had destroyed the Cult of Bane's plan to seize the throne of the Empire of Amn; how he had freed an army enslaved by a bloodthirsty Calimshite sorcerer; how he had rescued hundreds of children who had been kidnapped from Water-deep and forced to work in a goblin prince's mines. As a child, such tales had enthralled Mari. But she was no longer a child, and Caldorien obviously was not the hero he once was.
A wagon appeared on the dusky avenue, dr
awn by a pair of dark horses. On it sat two men. One held the reins, the other rested a hand comfortably on the hilt of his short sword. Zhentarim soldiers. The wagon itself was a box-shaped rig, like a gypsy wagon, and Mari knew that within it was a valuable cargo. Mari and Caledan had met with one of Cormik's countless spies that morning. The woman had told them that a wagon entered the city's east gate every evening bearing stiff tariffs that Cutter's men had extracted from caravans that tried to bypass the city on their journey toward Cormyr.
Unfortunately, the information about Cutter's tax collectors wasn't the only news Mari and Caledan had learned at the Prince and Pauper. The body of Cormik's apprentice, Dario, had been discovered that morning on the north highway outside the city.
"I suppose it was brigands," Cormik had said, his round face haggard. "Gods know the roads are crawling with ruffians these days, what with no guards riding out on patrol. It's Ravendas's fault the highways aren't safe anymore."
Caledan felt responsible and tried to say something, but Cormik had waved his words away. "No, Caledan," he said wearily. "It was I who devised the little charade, not you. Besides, the culprit couldn't be Ravendas. You and I both know that Ravendas would prefer you alive, not dead. No, Dario has always been lucky-until now."
Despite his grief, Cormik had been ready to help plot this night's adventure. He was eager to help organize a resistance movement against Lord Ravendas. And for that they needed gold.
As the wagon drew close, Man lifted the hood of her tattered gray cloak and gripped her stout walking stick tightly in one hand. Back bent, she hobbled out onto the avenue, directly in the wagon's path. The driver swore loudly, pulling back on the reins. The wagon clattered to a stop just short of Man's shambling form.
"Hey there, old woman!" the driver shouted. "Make way, unless you want to spend the night in Cutter's dungeon." Mari just stood there, muttering under her breath as if she were some simpleminded old crone.
"Gods, Brim, get the old witch off the road, will you?" the driver snapped. "Cutter'll have our heads if we're late to the countinghouse."
"All right, all right," the other Zhentarim said in annoyance, climbing off the wagon. He swaggered toward Mari. "You're in our way, hag. Be off with you, before we do something to you that you wouldn't like." He flashed a lurid grin at his partner, but in the moment his head was turned Mari hefted the gnarled walking stick and swung it in a whistling arc. It struck the Zhent's jaw with a resounding crack, and the guard sprawled to the ground.
"I guess that will teach you to respect your elders," Mari said with a grim laugh.
"By all the bloody gods!" the driver shouted in shock. "You'll pay for that, you crazy old witch!" He stood up, drawing his short sword, but he never had the chance to swing it. A dark form leaped from the overhanging branch of an oak tree, landing nimbly on the roof of the wagon. The driver turned around in surprise-just as Caledan's boot caught him square in the face, shattering his nose. The Zhent tumbled out of the wagon and rolled into the foul muck of the gutter.
"Care for a ride, old woman?" Caledan asked with a smirk. Mari smiled back. The two took a moment to strip the dead Zhents of their dark leather uniforms.
"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you, scoundrel?" Mari hopped up into the wagon as Caledan flicked the reins.
“It never hurts to take pride in your work," Caledan remarked as the wagon bounced along into the night.
Before guiding the horses onto the steep road that led up the face of the Tor, Caledan halted the wagon. Quickly he and Mari donned the uniforms of the dead Zhents. Then they continued up the Tor, winding through the dim streets of the Old City. Both tensed when a trio of city guards rode by on horseback, but the guards simply saluted and continued on their way.
Caledan brought the wagon to a halt at the base of a tall spire in the shadow of the city lord's tower. Cormik's multifarious eyes and ears had learned that this was Cutter's primary countinghouse. The lion's share of the money that her guards extorted from Iriaebor's ships and caravans passed through here on its way to her coffers.
"Are you ready?" Caledan asked Mari as he brought the wagon to a stop in the courtyard.
"Worry about yourself, Caldorien, not me," she said crisply as she stepped down from the wagon. Caledan merely shrugged, following suit. Mari opened the wagon's rear door. Inside was a jumble of swords, shields, bolts of cloth, and pieces of ivory, but after a moment Caledan found what he was looking for-a small iron-banded casket filled with coins. He lifted, grunting with effort.
Mari's heart was beating swiftly in her chest, but she forced herself to walk boldly alongside Caldorien to the tower's stout wooden door. She rapped on the portal with a black-gloved hand. After a moment the door swung open. A meaty-looking guard glared out unpleasantly at them.
"We've got a delivery," Caledan said.
Mari was surprised at his suddenly brisk military demeanor. It was a convincing act. She nodded, doing her best to imitate Caldorien. "It's the caravan gold," she added harshly. "We had a good haul today."
"Avdis has been waiting for you," the massive man said gruffly. Then suspicion glittered in his eyes. "Say, I don't know you, do I?"
Caledan shrugged. "Your loss, friend. Brim got sick tonight, and his partner, too."
"Sick?"
Caledan nodded grimly. "Plague. But it's all right. I don't think he coughed on me. How about you?" he asked, turning to Mari.
"Oh, not more than a couple of times," she replied flatly. "He was almost dead, after all."
Swiftly, the massive guard retreated several steps, his meaty hand pressed to his mouth. "Gods, get on with you!" he said, waving them past quickly.
"Thanks, friend," Caledan said. "We'd hate to keep Avdis waiting."
He and Mari strode past as the doorkeeper repeatedly made the sign against the evil eye. They reached the floor of a spiral staircase and proceeded upward. They passed several floors where they caught glimpses of city guards gambling, sleeping, or sharpening weapons. Mari and Caledan exchanged concerned looks. The message was clear: getting out might not be as easy as getting in had been. The stairway opened up into a circular chamber.
The chamber was lit all around with bronze oil lamps. Windows faced in all four directions. The ceiling was a high tiled dome. There was little furniture in the room besides a large table and a chair, on which sat a flabby middle-aged man with a pointed ratlike nose and beady ratlike eyes. The man was counting gold coins, muttering to himself as he piled them in neat, precise stacks. He looked like a child hoarding his favorite toys and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. After long moments, Mari cleared her throat.
"Blast it!" the rat-faced man-apparently Avdis- squealed. "You've made me lose my count!" He looked up, but he barely noticed Mari and Caledan. Instead his eyes locked immediately upon the small chest Caledan held. "Well, what are you standing around for?" he snapped impatiently. "Bring that over here. Hurry!"
Caledan did as he was bid. Avdis pulled out a silver key he wore on a chain around his neck and unlocked the chest. He eagerly flipped back the lid, then let out a sigh of delight at the gold and silver within. He reached out with eager fingers to scoop up some of the precious metal, but a black-gloved hand on his wrist stopped him.
"Not so fast, friend," Caledan said. He smiled nastily. Avdis stared at him in dull confusion, then his eyes widened in comprehending horror.
"Not my gold!" he gasped. Caledan nodded solemnly. The little man drew in a deep breath as if to scream, but when he saw the threatening glimmer of Mari's knife he stifled the impulse.
Caledan picked up some of the gold and let it tumble though his fingers as Avdis watched, licking his rubbery lips. "You know," Caledan mused, "gold and silver are so heavy. Why don't you show us something a bit lighter, Avdis?" Avdis groaned. "Something in jewels, perhaps?"
Within minutes the sacks Mari and Caledan had tucked inside their uniforms were bulging with jewels. It represented at least a half-month's income for Ravendas, Mari was cer
tain. There had been no need to tie up Avdis. He had slumped to the floor, quivering there as Mari and Caledan riffled through various chests and boxes, relieving them of their valuable contents. Concealing their burdens as best they could, they started down the stairs.
"I hope no one notices we've put on a little weight all of a sudden," Caledan commented wryly.
They were halfway down the staircase when suddenly a small, unnoticed rip in one of Caledan's sacks opened wider. A single, brilliant emerald slipped out of his jerkin and tumbled down the stairs. The gem bounced brightly down the stairwell and came to rest on a stone step, right at the foot of a Zhentarim warrior who had been walking in their direction.
Mari and Caledan froze. The Zhentarim was a grizzled fellow, an officer of some sort. Slowly he bent down and picked up the shining emerald. He stared at it thoughtfully for a moment, then looked up at Mari and Caledan, baring his yellowed teeth in a grin. The two grinned back weakly.
"Robbers in the tower!" the Zhent shouted. 'To arms! To arms!" The thunder of booted feet and the ringing of drawn swords echoed up the stairwell. The Zhentarim officer lunged at Caledan, managing to grab his leg out from under him. Caledan fell, trying to kick away the soldier's tenacious hold. Mari grabbed a torch from an iron sconce on the wall and brought it down hard on the Zhent's head. He groaned and fell backward, bowling over the first of the guards who had come dashing to the scene.
Mari pulled Caledan to his feet, and the two scrambled back up the stairwell. "Now what?" she shouted.
"I was just about to ask you that," Caledan returned.
Once again they burst back into the topmost chamber. Avdis, who had just managed to gain his feet, stared at them in renewed horror and then promptly slumped back to the floor. They slammed the chamber's door shut and slid home the bolt just as the first guards reached the landing. Immediately the door resounded with forceful blows.
