Realms of Mystery
( Anthologies - 6 )
Elaine Cunningham
Dave Gross
Monte Cook
James Lowder
Mary H. Herbert
Steven "Stan!" Brown
Jeff Grubb
Richard Lee Byers
Keith Francis Strohm
J. Robert King
Brian M. Thomsen
Peter Archer
Thomas M. Reid
Ed Greenwood
Elaine Cunningham, Dave Gross, Monte Cook, James Lowder, Mary H. Herbert, Steven "Stan!" Brown, Jeff Grubb, Richard Lee Byers, Keith Francis Strohm, J. Robert King, Brian M. Thomsen, Peter Archer, Thomas M. Reid, Ed Greenwood
Realms of Mystery
Contents
Elaine Cunningham… Speaking with the Dead
Dave Gross… A Walk in the Snow
Monte Cook… The Rose Window
James Lowder… The Club Rules
Mary H. Herbert… Thieves' Justice
Steven "Stan!" Brown… Ekhar Lorrent: Gnome Detective
Jeff Grubb… The Devil and Tertius Wands
Richard Lee Byers… H
Keith Francis Strohm… Strange Bedfellows
J. Robert King… Whence the Song of Steel
Brian M. Thomsen… An Unusual Suspect
Peter Archer… Darkly, Through A Glass Of Ale
Thomas M. Reid… Lynaelle
Ed Greenwood… The Grinning Ghost of Taverton Hall
Speaking with the Dead
Elaine Cunningham
The sun began to disappear behind the tall, dense pines of the Cloak Wood, and the colors of an autumn sunset-deep, smoky purples and rose-tinted gold- stained the sky over the Coast Way.
Tired though they were from a long day’s travel, every member of the south-bound caravan quickened his pace. While splendidly mounted merchants urged their steeds on and drovers cracked whips over the backs of the stolid dray horses hitched to the wagons, the mercenary guards loosened their weapons and peered intently into the lengthening shadows. The trade route was dangerous at any time, but doubly so at night. Truth be told, however, most of the caravan members lived in greater fear of their own captain than of any chance-met monster or band of brigands. Elaith Craulnober was not an elf to be trifled with, and he had bid them make the fortress by nightfall.
“Last hill! Fortress straight ahead!” shouted one of the scouts. The news rippled through the company in a murmur of relief.
From his position near the rear of the caravan, Danilo Thann leaned forward to whisper words of encouragement into his tired horse’s back-turned ears. The ears were a bad sign, for the horse could be as balky as a cart mule. Once they crested the last hill, all would be well. The sight of a potential stable would spur the horse on as little else could, for he was a comfort-loving beast. He was also a beauty, with a sleek, glossy coat the color of ripe wheat. Danilo had turned down several offers from merchants who coveted the showy beast, and had shrugged off a good deal of jesting from the other guards. Dan felt a special affinity for this horse. The “pretty pony,” as the sneering mercenaries called him, had more going for him than met the eye. He was beyond doubt the most intelligent steed Danilo had ever encountered, and utterly fearless in battle. His mincing gait could change in a heartbeat to a fearsome battle charge. In Dan’s opinion, the horse would have been a worthy paladin’s mount, if not for its pleasure-loving nature and its implacable stubborn streak-both traits that Dan understood well.
He patted his horse’s neck and turned to his companion of nearly four years, a tall, rangy figure who was wrapped in a dark cloak such as a peasant might wear, and riding a raw-boned, gray-dappled mare. The rider’s height and seat and well-worn boots suggested a young man of humble means, well accustomed to the road. This, Dan knew, was a carefully cultivated illusion. This illusion was a needed thing, perhaps, but he was growing tired of it.
Danilo reached out and tugged back the hood of his partner’s cloak. The dying light fell upon a delicate elven face, framed by a chin-length tumble of black curls and dominated by large blue eyes, almond-shaped and flecked with gold. These marvelous eyes narrowed dangerously as they settled on him. Arilyn was half-elven and all his-or so Danilo liked to think. She was also furious with his latest foolishness. Danilo, well accustomed to such response, smiled fondly.
Arilyn jerked her hood back up into place. “What in the Nine bloody Hells was that about?” she demanded, her voice low and musical despite her irritation.
“It seems like days since I’ve had a good look at you. We’ re almost at the Friendly Arm,” Danilo said. His smile broadened suggestively. “The name suggests possibilities, does it not?”
The half-elf sniffed. “You keep forgetting the differences between us. A bard from a noble merchant clan can travel wherever he pleases, drawing attention but not suspicion. But I am known in these parts for what I am!”
He dismissed this with a quick, casual flip of one bejeweled hand. “In Baldur’s Gate, certain precautions were in order. But I hear the gnomes who hold this fortress are admirable little fellows-easygoing folk who set a fine table and mind their own affairs. And the Friendly Arm is perhaps the only truly neutral spot within a tenday’s ride. Nothing much ever happens within the fortress walls, so why should we not relax and enjoy ourselves?”
“We have business to attend,” she reminded him.
“I’ m honored that you take your responsibilities to the caravan so seriously,” said a new voice, one slightly lower and even more musical than Arilyn’s and rich with dark, wry humor. The companions turned to face a silver haired elf, just as he reined his cantering horse into step with Arilyn’s mare. Neither of them had heard his approach.
Enchanted horseshoes, no doubt, Danilo mused. Elaith Craulnober was known to have a fondness for magical items, and a wicked delight in keeping those around him off guard. The elf also valued information. Though Elaith would probably have given Arilyn anything she asked of him, Danilo suspected that the elf had another motive for allowing a representative of the Thann merchant clan to ride along with his caravan. Elaith knew that both Danilo and Arilyn were Harpers, and that members of this secret organization usually had duties far more pressing than acting as caravan guards.
Arilyn mirrored the elf’s faint smile and bantering tone. “I take all my responsibilities seriously,” she said. “Too seriously, if Danilo is to be believed.”
In response to that, Elaith lifted one brow and murmured an Elvish phrase, a highly uncomplimentary remark that defied precise translation into the Common trade tongue. His jaw dropped in astonishment when both Arilyn and Danilo burst into laughter. After a moment, he smiled ruefully and shrugged. “So, bard, you understand High Elvish. I suppose that shouldn’t have surprised me.”
“And had you known, would you have chosen your words with more tact?” Danilo asked, grinning.
Elaith shrugged again. “Probably not.”
The three of them rode in silence for several minutes. Something that for lack of a better term could be called friendship had grown between the elf and the Harpers, but Danilo never lost sight of the fact that theirs was a tenuous friendship. They were too different for it to be otherwise. Elaith Craulnober was a Moon elf adventurer, landowner, and merchant. He had far-flung interests, few of which were entirely legal, and a well-earned reputation for cruelty, treachery, and deadly prowess in battle. Arilyn was half-elven, the daughte
r of Elaith’s lost elven love. She was as focused upon duty as a paladin, and Danilo suspected that she would not allow a shared history and a common heritage to stay her hand should Elaith step beyond the bounds of law and honor. Danilo was, on the whole, a bit more flexible about such things. He had traveled with Elaith when circumstances had enforced a partnership between them, and they had developed a cautious, mutual respect. But Danilo did not trust the elf. There were too many dangerous secrets between them, too many deadly insults exchanged, treacheries barely avoided.
At that moment, they crested the hill and the fortress came suddenly into sight. Nestled in a broad valley just to the east of the trade route, it was a sturdy and defensible holdfast of solid granite. A tall, thick curtain wall enclosed an austere castle and a bailey big enough to house perhaps a score of other buildings. This holdfast, once a wizard’s keep, was now a wayside inn held and operated by a clan of gnomes.
The massive portcullis rose with a whirring of gears-a sure sign of a gnomish devise, noted Danilo. Most of the holdfast’s inhabitants were simple folk mostly occupied with the maintenance of the castle, and in recent years a few gnomes from the island of Lantan had settled at the Friendly Arm, bringing with them the worship of Gond the Wonderbringer and a corresponding fondness for mechanical devices that were often entertaining and occasionally useful.
At that moment the chain raising the portcullis slipped, and the pointed iron bars plunged downward. One of the men approaching the gate shrieked and lunged from his horse. He hit the dirt and rolled aside just as the portcullis came to an abrupt stop, mere inches from its highest point. This brought much laughter and many rough jests from the other members of the caravan, but Danilo noticed that they all rode through the gate with more alacrity than usual.
Inside the fortress wall, chaos reigned. The holdfast was home to perhaps three- or four-score gnomes, hill loving folk small enough to walk comfortably under the belly of Danilo’s tall horse. Most of the gnomes seemed to be out and about, busily loading goods into the ware- houses, tending horses in a long, low stable, directing the wagons into covered sheds, or bustling in and out of the many small buildings, clustered around several narrow alleys, that filled the Friendly Arm’s grass-covered bailey.
Danilo took the opportunity to observe this unusual clan closely. They looked a bit like dwarves, although somewhat shorter and considerably less broad than their mountain-dwelling relatives. The male gnomes wore their beards short and neatly trimmed, and the females’ faces, unlike those of bearded dwarf women, were smooth and rosy-cheeked. All the gnomes had small blue eyes, pointed ears, extremely long noses, and skin that echoed all the browns of the forest, from the gray-brown of the duskwood tree to the deeply weathered hue of old cedar. They favored forest shades in their clothing as well, and the lot of them were dressed in browns and greens-with an adventurous few adding a hint of autumn color.
They were certainly industrious folk. Nearly every pace of the courtyard was occupied by horse or wagon, but the gnomes directed the seeming chaos with the ease of long practice. A northbound caravan had arrived shortly before Elaith’s, and the southerners were still busily securing their goods for the night. Merchants shouted instructions to their servants in a half dozen southern dialects. A few swarthy guards loitered about, leaning against the walls and sizing up the newcomers with an eye toward the evening’s entertainment. In Danilo’s experience, it was always so. The road was long, and travelers were ever on the lookout for a new tale or tune, some competition at darts or dice or weapons, or a bit of dalliance. Most of the guards from both caravans had already gone into the castle’s great-hall-turned-tavern, if the din coming from the open doors was any mdication.
“Shall we join the festivities?” Danilo asked his companion. He handed the reins of his horse to a gnomish lad-along with a handful of coppers-and then slipped an arm around Arilyn’s waist.
She side-stepped his casual embrace and sent him a warning look from beneath her hood. “I am supposed to be your servant, remember?” she warned him. “You learn what you can in the great hail, while I talk to the stable hands.”
The young bard sighed in frustration, but he had no argument to counter Arilyn’s logic. He nodded and turned aside, only to step right into the unsteady path of a stocky, dark-haired man. There was no time to dodge: they collided with a heavy thud.
The dark, smoky scent of some unfamiliar liqueur rolled off the man in waves. Danilo caught him by the shoulders to steady him, then pushed him out at arm’s length-after all, one could never be too careful. The man was unfamiliar to him: a southerner, certainly, with a beak of a nose under what appeared to be a single long eyebrow, a vast mustache, and skin nearly as brown as a gnome’s. He appeared harmless enough. He carried no apparent weapons, and his rich clothing suggested a bored merchant whose only thought was to wash away the dust of a long road with an abundance of strong spirits.
“Are you quite all right?” Danilo inquired politely. “Shall I summon your manservant to help you to your room?”
The man mumbled something unintelligible and wrenched himself free. Dan watched him stagger off, then glanced back for a final look at Arilyn and did an astonished double take. She had fallen back into the shadows between two small buildings and dropped to one knee. There was a throwing knife in her gloved hand, held by the tip and ready to hurl.
“I know that man,” she said by way of explanation as she tucked the knife back into her boot. “Worse yet, he knows me. He was in the assassin’s guild with me, in Zazesspur.”
Danilo swore fervently and joined Arilyn in the shadows. Together they squeezed back into a narrow, gnome-sized alley. “Well, at least this confirms that we are on the right path,” he said in a low, grim tone. “I suppose it could be mere happenstance that a hired sword from Zazesspur shows up at this particular time, but it’s my observation that true coincidence is a rare thing-except in Selgauntan opera, of course…”
Arilyn nodded her agreement and said, “I’ll find out who sent him.”
Danilo swallowed the protest that was his first instinct. As Harpers, they played very different roles and they worked together well. He might hate the idea of Arilyn going up against a trained killer, but he saw no way around it. She had spent many months posing as an assassin in Tethyr. The competition among those ranks was fierce and deadly at the best of times, and she had not left the guild under good terms. It would be to Arilyn’s advantage to chose the time and place for the inevitable battle. And she was right: they needed to know what had prompted an assassin’s presence in this neutral holdfast. Even if the assassin’s purpose was not the same as the Harpers’, no one would risk violating the peace of the Friendly Arm unless the need was dire, or the potential gain great. To do so would bar the doors of the fortress against the wrongdoers for a gnome’s centuries-long memory. This was a severe penalty in these troubled lands, which for so many years could claim few truly neutral places.
But as to that, change was in the air. The seemingly endless civil war within Tethyr was winding to a close. Zaranda Star had been acclaimed queen in the city of Zazesspur, and was on the way to solidifying her hold on the entire country. To this end, she was preparing for a marriage of convenience to the last known heir to the royal House of Tethyr. There were factions, however, who used controlled chaos to their benefit, and who were not inclined to see peace come to their land. When the Harpers learned that there was a potential challenger to Zaranda’s throne, a distant relative of the soon-to-be- king and thus a potential bride, they foresaw trouble. Danilo and Arilyn had been sent to find the young woman and bring her to safety in the Northlands before someone else made her a pawn in a renewed struggle… someone who might send an assassin to retrieve-or do away with-the unsuspecting girl.
Yes, concluded Dan glumly, Arilyn had no choice but to face the assassin.
“Be careful,” he murmured. Before she could protest, he framed her face in his hands and tipped back her head for a long and thorough kiss.
“You know better than to distract me before battle,” she said in a tone that tried for severity, but did not quite succeed.
Danilo chuckled. “I shall take that as a compliment.”
He turned and strode into the castle, his manner far more insouciant than his mood. The prospect of an evening’s comfort and conversation held little appeal, but this was his role to play and he would attend to his part no less faithfully than did Arilyn.
Since this was his first visit to the Friendly Arm, he looked around with interest. The great hail had been set up as a tavern. Long tables and sturdy wooden chairs were scattered about, some of them gnome-sized, others intended for the comfort of taller travelers. A wild boar roasted on a spit in the enormous hearth, and kettles of steaming, herb-scented vegetable stews kept warm in the embers along either side. The air was thick with the fragrance of fresh bread and good, sour ale. Several young women moved slowly about the room carrying trays and tankards.
Prompted more by habit than inclination, Danilo slid an appraising eye over the nearest barmaid. She was young, not much past twenty, and blessed with an a bun dance of black hair and truly impressive curves. The former was left gloriously unbound, and the later were displayed by a tightly-laced scarlet bodice over a chemise pulled down over her shoulders. Her skirts ended several flirtatious inches above her ankles, and her black eyes scanned the room. They lit up with an avaricious gleam when they settled upon the richly-dressed newcomer.
The barmaid eased her way through the crowd to Danilo’s side. A passing merchant jostled her at a highly opportune moment, sending her bumping into the Harper. She made a laughing apology, then tilted her head and slanted a look at him through lowered lashes.
“And what can I get you, my lord?”
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