Realms of Mystery a-6

by Elaine Cunningham

  Retrieving the assassin’s body was an easy matter. The gnomes had simply tossed it into the midden wagon along with the remnants of the wild boar they had roasted for their guests the night before, some chicken bones, and an over-ripe haunch of venison. The gnomes regularly removed any leftovers to the forest to feed the animals who lived there, and to return their bounty to the land. They gave the dead assassin no less respect, and no more.

  Danilo wrinkled his nose as he shouldered the dead man. “I can see why Gellana didn’t want to do the ritual on site. That venison should have been buried long ago.”

  “The same could be said of Yoseff,” retorted Arilyn, “but that’s another matter. Don’t you think it odd that Gellana Mirrorshade told us to bring his body to the temple?”

  Her partner immediately seized her meaning. “Come to think of it, yes,” he agreed as he fell into step beside her. “Gellana Mirrorshade summons her own husband’s spirit in a tavern. Why would she afford greater honor to a human assassin? Perhaps she feared that the curious tall folk who gathered at last night’s summoning would ill fit the Shrine of the Short.”

  Arilyn’s lips twitched. “The gnomes call it the Temple of Wisdom. But perhaps the size of the temple explains the matter.”

  It did not. The Temple of Wisdom was undoubtedly a gnomish work-a curious, asymmetric building fashioned of forest-hued stone and marble and filled with odd statues and embellished with gems-but the vaulted ceilings made concession for human supplicants, In fact, the shrine was large enough to accommodate all those who had witnessed the solemn ritual in the tavern the night before. This puzzled Danilo. He watched the gnomish priestess carefully as she spoke the words of the spell.

  A dank gray mist gathered in the hall and coalesced I into the shape of the man who has jostled Danilo the night before.

  “Go ahead,” Gellana said tersely. “Word your questions carefully, for the dead will tell you no more than they must.”

  Danilo nodded and turned to the specter. “Who were you sent to find?”

  “A young woman,” the spirit said grudgingly. “What name was she given at birth, and by what name is she now known?”

  “She was named Isabeau Thione; I know not what she is called now.”

  Arilyn and Danilo exchanged a look of mingled triumph and concern. This was indeed the woman they had been sent to find, and their competitors were also close on her trail. “Who sent you?” Danilo asked. “If you do not know names, describe the person or people.”

  “There were two: a fat man who smiles too much, and a small woman. She had the look of the old nobility of Tethyr: fine features, dark eyes, and a curve to her nose. She wore purple, in the old style.”

  Danilo recognized Lucia Thione, an agent for the Knights of the Shield, recently exiled from Waterdeep for treachery against the secret lords who ruled that city. She had never come to trial; hers was a private justice. She was given over to Lord Hhune, her rival. The man apparently kept her alive for his own purposes. Lady Thione, ever a survivor, had apparently found a way to earn her keep. She had birthed a daughter in secrecy and given her away into fosterage. Apparently she now planned to reclaim the girl and present her as a more suitable bride to the royal heir than Zaranda Star, a common born mercenary with a purchased title. Danilo forwarded two possible results: the girl would be accepted and crowned queen, thereby increasing Lucia Thione’s influence and status in Tethyr, or she would be rejected, but in the process providing a focal point to rally the anti-Zaranda sentiment and foment rebellion.

  “Thione and Hhune,” Danilo commented in an aside to Arilyn. “The Harpers erred when they made that match.”

  She nodded and turned with obvious reluctance to the spirit of the man she had killed. “What was the purpose of your meeting with Elaith Craulnober?”

  The spirit’s sneer widened. “Business. No, don’ t bother asking a better question-this one I will answer with pleasure. The elf’s purpose was the same as mine, the same as your own! Oh, yes, he knew you sought the Thione heiress, He agreed to take you with him for that reason. He is using Harper hounds to sniff out his quarry.”

  “Elaith has spies among the Harpers?” Danilo demanded, appalled by the thought.

  The spirit snorted derisively. “Everyone has spies among the Harpers.”

  Arilyn turned away. “I have heard enough,” she said shortly. “Send him away.”

  The priestess murmured a few words, and the figure of the assassin faded away. Danilo thanked her, and led his grim-faced partner out of the temple.

  “We need to talk to Elaith,” he said.

  “You talk to him. Yoseff was all I can stomach for one day.”

  “At least come and listen,” he cajoled. “You might hear something that I miss. The answer lies right before us-I am certain of that!”

  “Finally, you’re making sense,” the half-elf said. “Elaith is guilty of murder and more. He planned to find that girl, sell her to the highest bidder, He used us to that end. What more answer do you need?”

  When they reached the dungeon, Danilo repeated most of these sentiments to Elaith while Arilyn looked in stony silence. “None of this endears us to your cause, you know,” he concluded. “Frankly, I’m disposed to let the matter stand.”

  “I have your pledge,” Elaith insisted. “You must press on.”

  Danilo sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, “Somehow I knew you’d say that. But what more can do?”

  “Find the girl,” the elf insisted. “Find her, and learn who else seeks her. Who would have better reason to see me condemned to death?”

  “Had I more time, I would write you a list,” Danilo said dryly. He took the amethyst locket from his bag and held it up. “This is an amulet of seeking, taken from your erstwhile friend Yoseff. The girl is not here, and we cannot leave to seek her elsewhere until the matter of Bentley’s death is settled.”

  “Nor would we expect to find her here,” Arilyn said, speaking for the first time. “Bentley Mirrorshade kept the peace for over twenty years. He could never have done that if he got caught up in the endless local fighting, so he swore never to admit anyone to the stronghold who claimed to be of the Tethynian royal family. We can assume that the girl was never at the Friendly Arm.”

  “Can we, indeed?” mused Danilo. “Now that I think on it, wouldn’t this be a perfect cover for the girl’s presence?”

  “Possibly,” the half-elf countered. “But Bentley is known as an honorable gnome. What purpose would he have in breaking his sworn word?”

  “Saving the life of an infant seems purpose enough. For that matter, he could have kept to the letter of his word: he swore not to admit anyone who claimed ties to the royal family. An infant could hardly make such a claim. If indeed Lady Thione’s child was brought here, it is possible that the gnome did not know at the time who the child was.”

  “But he learned,” Arilyn surmised. “He probably died to protect that knowledge.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Dan agreed, his tone even. He nodded a farewell to Elaith, and he and Arilyn walked toward the stairs.

  “You didn’t sound convinced back there,” she said.

  “I was thinking. Did you notice the barmaids at the inn? Any one of them could be the woman we seek-they are all about the right age, and by the look of them, any one of them could be kin to Lucia Thione.”

  Arilyn considered this. “Their presence in the gnomish stronghold is difficult to explain otherwise. Do you want to take a closer look at them?”

  Her partner responded with a smirk. Arilyn bit back a chuckle and tried to glare. “I’ll come looking for you in an hour.”

  “I shall bear that in mind,” Danilo murmured.

  He made his way back into the tavern and tried to strike up a conversation with the gnome barkeep. All the inhabitants of the fortress were stunned by their leader’s murder, and none of the small folk were inclined to share information with the human who had defended the accused elf. But Dan stringed together a series
of grudging, one-word answers and eventually learned that there were a total of eight barmaids, six of whom were on duty.

  Since Danilo was more interested in a woman who was not there, he left the castle and went to the barmaid’s house, a stone structure built right against one of the curtain walls. Danilo knocked softly on the wooden door. When there was no answer, he tried the door and found it unlocked.

  There was but one large room, simply furnished with straw pallets softened by down-filled mattresses. Two women lay sleeping. Danilo recognized one of them as Sophie, the girl who had administered the peace bonds the night before. A shadow of suspicion edged into his mind. He stooped by her bed and softly called her name. When still she slept, he tapped her shoulder, then shook her. Nothing woke her.

  Danilo rose and took a couple of odd items from the bag at his waist, then cast a spell that would dispel any magic in the room. The result was only half what he expected.

  “Sophie” was not a woman at all, but a pile of laundry. The other barmaid was not a woman either but an iron golem, a magically-animated construction enspelled to look enough like Sophie to be her cousin. One apparently solid stone wall was breached by a wooden door that was closed but not barred.

  The Harper crept closer for a better look. The golem was curled up in mock slumber, but when it stood it would be nearly twice the height of a tall man. The body, shaped roughly like that of a human woman, probably outweighed Danilo’s horse six or seven times over. No wonder so few gnomes held the fortress, Dan realized. An iron golem could stop a war-horse’s charge without get- ting knocked back on its heels, crush an ogre’s skull with one fist, and shrug off blows from all but the most powerful magical weapons. This golem was in need of repair. There was a considerable amount of rust along some of the joints, requiring filing and oils at the very least, and possibly the ministrations of a blacksmith. Danilo guessed that the golem could still do considerable dam age in its current condition. He backed out of the room, grateful that the stone floor, which had no doubt been built to support the construct’s great weight, did not creak.

  He bumped into Arilyn at the door. “The barkeep thought I might find you here,” she said.

  “Keep your voice down,” he implored, nodding toward the golem.

  But his spell had faded, and the figure that rose from the pallet appeared to be nothing more than an angry girl. The illusion-draped construct rushed forward, fist raised for a blow.

  Arilyn stepped forward, her forearm raise to block the attack. There was no time for explanation, so Danilo did the only thing he could; he leaped at Arilyn and knocked her out of the golem’s path. Her angry retort was swallowed by the sound of an iron fist smashing into the wall. Jagged fissures raced along the stone, carving a spider-like portrait on the wall.

  The half-elf’s eyes widened. “Iron golem,” Danilo said tersely. “Rust on the elbow joints.”

  Arilyn nodded in understanding. In one swift movement, she rolled to her feet and drew her sword. Danilo reached for his, then remembered that only magic-rich swords could have any impact. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for a thin, ornamental blade he wore on his right hip-a singing sword with a ringing baritone voice and an extremely bawdy repertoire.

  “Softly,” he admonished the sword as he tugged it free of its sheath. “There might be more of these things waiting tables in the castle.” Obligingly, the sword launched into a whispered rendition of ”Sune and the Satyt”.

  Arilyn shot him an exasperated, sidelong glance, and then turned her attention to the golem.

  The woman-shaped construct turned slowly to face the half-elf, spewing a cloud of roiling gray smoke from its mouth. The golem balled one fist into a deceptively dainty weapon. Arilyn sidestepped attack, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut against the stinging gas. She brought her sword up high and delivered a powerful two-handed blow that would have cleaved an orc’s skull in two. A harsh clang resounded through the room, and Arilyn’s elven sword vibrated visibly in her hands. There was not so much as a scratch on the illusionary barmaid, and as the gas cleared, the golem wrapped its arms around one of the beams that supported the building and began to rock.

  As dust and straw showered down from the thatch Danilo remembered his glimpse of the golem, recalled how the iron plates of the arms were arranged. He lunged forward and thrust his weapon into the arm. The magic sword slid between the plates and out the other side. The blade bit deeply into the wooden beam the golem was holding, pinning one arm fast.

  Arilyn stepped in and swung again, hitting the golem’s other arm once, then a second time. The elven sword severed the arm at the elbow. The limb fell to the stone floor with a clatter, the illusion dispelled. Its iron fingers flexed and groped, seeking to dig deep into an unwary foot. Arilyn tried to kick the arm aside and swore when her boot met unyielding iron. She sidestepped the twitching limb and struck again and again, chopping at the construct like a deranged woodsman determined to fell a tree one limb at a time. With each piece she knocked or pried loose the construct’s struggle weakened.

  But not soon enough. The golem, now plainly visible for what it was, managed to work its impaled arm free. Danilo’s singing sword went skidding across the floor.

  At once the half-elf struck, thrusting her own blade back into the same place. She leaned into the sword to hold it in place and shot a look over her shoulder at Danilo. “Melt it,” she commanded.

  Danilo hesitated, quickly considering his options. Fire would only restore the golem. Lighting, then. He lifted both hands and deftly summoned the force, holding it between his hands in a crackling ball as he shouted for the Arilyn to stand clear.

  Magic flowed from his fingertips like white-hot arrows and Arilyn’s hands fell away from her sword. His aim was true, and an arc of blue-white lightning crashed between his hands and what remained of the golem. The construct wilted like a candle left out in the sun.

  Arilyn grabbed her sword and, the muscles in her arms corded so tightly they seemed about to snap, pulled the enchanted blade through the golem’s iron flesh.

  The construct sank to the stone floor and the severed roof, arm ceased its twitching.

  Arilyn was white-faced, weaving on her feet. Danilo suspected that only an act of will kept her standing. He went to her and brushed a stray curl off her damp forehead. When he gathered her close, her arms went around him instinctively.

  “This battle reminds me of something else,” he murmured. “There was a powerful illusion cast on this golem, and Bentley Mirrorshade was a powerful illusionist.”

  Arilyn lifted her head from his shoulder. “And?”

  “One of the main tenants of the illusionist’s craft is to make people overlook the obvious. What is the most obvious question, and the one that no one thought to ask?”

  The half-elf pondered this. A small, wry smile lifted the corner of her lips when the answer came to her, and she eased out of Danilo’s arms. “Give me the amulet of seeking,” she said. “I’ll go after the girl.”

  Later that morning, Danilo again stood in the Temple of Wisdom. The body of Bentley Mirrorshade had made it there at last, and it was laid out in the enclosed courtyard in the center of the temple, upon a bier of stacked wood well-soaked with fragrant oil. It was no coincidence, thought Danilo, that the gnomes were preparing so hasty a funeral. Another hour more, and nothing he could do would save Elaith.

  He explained his intentions to Gellana Mirrorshade. The gnomish priestess was not happy with his request, but she had pledged her aid to his quest for justice. She sent Garith Hunterstock to the dungeon to retrieve Elaith.

  “The accused elf has a right to tell his story,” Danilo said, “but he does not wish to do so before witnesses.”

  Gellana shrugged and spoke a few gnomish words to her fellow clerics. All left the temple. When the only sound was the steady dripping of the large Neveren water clock that stood like a monument in the courtyard, Danilo bid the priestess to summon Bentley Mirrorshade. When the g
hostly gnome stood before them, Danilo turned to Elaith.

  “You were late to the tavern last night. Did you have dinner?”

  The elf looked at Danilo as if he had lost his mind. “I ordered, but did not eat. The gnome’s murder was discovered before my meal arrived, and the tavern closed.”

  “Ah. And what did you order?”

  “Medallions of veal, I believe, with capers and cream. Why?”

  Danilo ignored the question. “You were also subjected to a peace bond, of the sort given to mages. Is your magical skill widely known?”

  “It is not,” the elf replied. “The best weapon is often a hid- den one.”

  “Well said. So it would appear that the gnomes knew more of you than is common. Who tied your thumb in a peace bond?”

  The elf shrugged. “A human wench, overblown and under-clad. Dark hair. I did not ask her name.”

  “That sounds like Sophie. Is peace bonding her task?” Danilo asked Gellana. The gnomish priestess responded with a cautious nod. The Harper held up a small sack of green-dyed leather. “Is it also her task to relieve guests of their valuables? This coin purse is mine. I lost it in the tavern and found it this morning in Sophie’s chest. But Sophie herself, I could not find. A marvel, considering that the fortress is sealed.”

  Gellana scowled. “You had me summon my husband to listen to this nonsense? If you have questions for Bentley Mirrorshade, ask them!”

  Danilo nodded agreeably and turned to the specter. “Is Bentley Mirrorshade dead?”

  “What kind of question is that?” snapped Gellana.

  “A very good one, I should think,” the Harper replied. “It is the one question that no one thought to ask. When presented with a body, everyone’s instinct was to look for the killer. But Bentley Mirrorshade is an illusionist of some skill, and considerable sophistry. Looking back, it strikes me that your questions at the summoning, dear lady, were rather oddly worded. You referred to the spirit by name, but never the body. The elf was responsible for ‘the death,’ and his weapon struck the killing blow-that is all that was said. Elaith would be responsible indeed, if the death in question was that of the veal calf he ordered for his dinner.”