Elfsong

by Elaine Cunningham

  “I see,” Danilo said slowly. He recalled Elaith’s stricken face when Wyn Ashgrove mentioned that the elven temple took in the ill and the outcast. Although it was hard to imagine this beautiful child as a social outcast, by Elaith’s actions she was without honor or heritage. Suddenly the elf’s actions made perfect sense to the Harper. He wondered if the true purpose of the quest was as clear to Elaith.

  “I suppose he thinks that the artifact is to be rendered in payment, as one would pay a wizard or cleric for a powerful spell,” Danilo said.

  Evindal smiled sadly. “You know him well. To find an artifact is a difficult task, and such a quest inevitably changes all who undertake it. It was my hope that as Elaith Craulnober sought the elven harp, he would come to remember who he is. From all you have told me, that seems unlikely.”

  They quietly left the elfling’s room. “You should get some rest, my friend,” the patriarch told him. “There is little more you can do this night. You are welcome to stay here in the temple complex for the night.”

  The elf smiled suddenly. “It suddenly occurred to me that it has been some time since the temple was graced by the presence of a spellsinger.”

  “Life is full of these little ironies,” Danilo murmured.

  Evindal’s soft chuckle echoed down the silent halls.

  * * * * *

  Later that night, a chill easterly wind drove the storm out to sea, and the captive Waterdhavians ventured out of their shelters. The quiet that the storm left behind felt unnatural, and to Caladorn’s eyes and ears the city seemed as dispirited and demoralized as his own fighters.

  As he made his way home through the puddles and the swirling mist, Caladorn’s thoughts turned to his seafaring cronies, and he wondered how their ships would fare in the approaching storm. He almost envied them a peril as straightforward as Umberlee’s wrath, for at least the goddess of sea and storm was a force that could be understood and appeased. The threats to his beloved Waterdeep, and to his own peace of mind, were far more complex.

  To his surprise, Lucia met him at the door of his townhouse. She greeted him with a warm embrace and a goblet of his favorite wine.

  “Where is Antony?” Caladorn asked, looked over her dark head toward the kitchens. The lower level of the townhouse was unusually chill and unwelcoming, not at all what he had come to expect from his competent manservant. Caladorn was tired and hungry and disgruntled with life; in short, he was in no mood to endure domestic incompetence.

  “Oh, I gave him the night off,” the noblewoman said airily. “Tonight I will see to all your wants personally.” After giving him another kiss, she drifted off toward the kitchen to see to dinner.

  As Caladorn watched her go, Danilo Thann’s accusations rang in his head. He did not want to believe this of Lucia—he did not believe!—but neither could he dismiss the notion entirely. It occurred to him, suddenly, that there were no cooking odors emanating from the kitchen. The lower hall was usually redolent with the scent of roasts, steaming vegetables, and fresh bread.

  Caladorn looked down at the goblet in his hand. After a moment of indecision, he poured the wine into a potted plant.

  Following a decent interval in the cold darkness of the kitchen, Lucia returned to the front hall to find Caladorn lying on the floor, facedown. Quickly she picked up the goblet It had been drained. Antony had died from half the dose, and the twisted, tormented posture in which her lover lay suggested that he had suffered from the corrosive acid as painfully as had his manservant. Regrettable, but it could not be helped. This was the quickest acting of all Diloontier’s poisons, and Lucia was painfully short of time.

  With quick, expert movements she patted Caladorn down for his keys. When she found the small ring of keys, she turned and ran lightly up two flights of stairs. After a few moments, she hurried back down to the front hall, a large square box in her arms and a dark, hooded traveling coat obscuring her face and form. Thus garbed, Lucia Thione left her lover’s home for the last time without a backward glance.

  So intent was she on her purpose that she did not notice the quickly withering plant beside the body of her lover.

  Silence filled the hall for a long moment. When he was certain that Lucia was gone, Caladorn rose to his feet The pain in his heart and the bleak emptiness in his soul dimmed the memory of any battle wound he’d ever received.

  What, then, was he to do? His heart and his hopes were not the only casualties of Lucia’s treachery. Should he treat her like a wily trout, and give her enough line to maneuver, so that she would give proof to her evil intentions? Or should he bring her to instant and immediate justice? As a spy, she would no doubt be tried and executed. Caladorn doubted he had the strength to bring his lady to her death regardless of what she had tried to do to him, or her reasons for doing it.

  With a ragged sigh, Caladorn turned and mounted the stairs toward the third floor. If he was to uncover Lucia’s plot, he would have to know what object she considered worth the price of his life.

  * * * * *

  Clutching the box containing the magical helm, Lucia Thione fled through the quiet street. She had left one of Hhune’s coins beside Caladorn’s body, hoping to place the blame for the murders on the Tethyrian merchant It was important, however, that no one see her out and abroad this night. She made her way quickly to a well-guarded home she owned nearby. Armed servants stood watch at every entrance, and several fierce moor hounds patrolled the walled grounds surrounding the house.

  She brushed past one of the silent sentinels and made her way quickly up to her private chamber. She placed the box on her bed and shrugged off her cloak.

  “Good evening, Lady Thione.”

  The noblewoman screamed and spun around, one hand at her throat. A tall, slender moon elf clad in unrelieved black rose gracefully from a chair. She recognized Elaith Craulnober, and her terror increased fourfold. Backing away, she lunged for the bellpull that would summon her armed servants.

  “Don’t bother your servants at this hour on my behalf,” the elf said with a polite smile. “I gave them the night off.”

  The echo of words she had recently spoken to Caladorn chilled Lucia, and an image of Antony’s body flashed into her mind. “They are all dead,” she stated in a dull voice.

  “Quite,” Elaith agreed pleasantly. He resumed his seat and began to toy with a jeweled dagger. “Sit down, won’t you? We have a shared problem to discuss.”

  Lucia sank down onto the edge of her bed. “How did you get past the magical wards around this house?” she demanded.

  “Collecting magical toys is a hobby of mine,” the elf said. “I’ve become rather good at identifying and dispatching them. Now, about this problem. We both have allies who have outlived their usefulness. I will remove yours, if you would be so kind as to have your agents tend to a partner of mine.”

  “I do not need to make such arrangements. The Lords of Waterdeep will see to Hhune,” she said.

  “No doubt. I was speaking of the other, the bard who carries an elven harp.”

  The noblewoman stared. “How do you know of this?”

  “That is not important. Just tell me where she is—or who she is, for that matter—and I assure you she’ll not trouble you further.”

  Lucia’s mind whirled as she considered this possibility. The elf had proven himself capable of dispatching armed men and powerful magic. Perhaps he might be a match for the sorceress. That, however, raised another question.

  “If you can do this, why do you not remove this unwanted partner yourself?”

  The elf’s smile held a bit of self-mockery. “Let’s just say it’s a matter of honor. Now, have we a deal?”

  “Garnet is a half-elf woman of middle years. She is staying at my Sea Ward villa. Kill her, and I will grant you anything in my power to give,” she said in a hard voice.

  “I see that we shall get along fine,” Elaith observed. “Now, there is something else you should know. Khelben Arunsun will soon be informed that you are an ag
ent of the Knights of the Shield. All is not lost,” the elf said, holding up a hand at her cry of dismay. “I have a network of safe houses throughout the city. I will be happy to hide you and smuggle you safely out of Waterdeep. I will ensure that an armed escort will see you to an appropriate destination.”

  The elf smiled pleasantly. “Of course, I will do all this for you after you have ordered your agents to rid the world of one Danilo Thann.”

  Sixteen

  Throughout the night, the wall surrounding Blackstaff Tower was ringed by an assortment of unhappy people. Mages from the Watchful Order stood guard, ready with spells and wands to counter another attack of wizard weather. A circle of bards took turns singing the ballads that had changed the respect many Waterdhavians held for Khelben Arunsun into fear and distrust. The bards’ audience, frightened by the strange Midsummer storm and the reputed disappearances of some of the Lords of Waterdeep, feared that the city’s troubles were examples of anarchy to come. Khelben Arunsun was being blamed for events as varied as the attack upon the courtesan Larissa Neathal and the death of a caravan master from Baldur’s Gate by the hands of overeager cut-purses. Several watch patrols stood by the tower in case the crowd’s emotions spilled over into violence.

  Inside the tower, Khelben paced his private chamber. “You should try to get some rest, my love,” Laeral told him, laying aside the book she was vainly trying to read. “You have not slept for days now.”

  “Who could sleep with all that noise outside?” he retorted, flinging a hand toward the window. Like all the windows and doors of the tower and the surrounding wall, this one was visible only from the inside, and it shifted location constantly, yielding the wizards an ever-changing view of the crowd outside.

  “While Piergeiron pondered matters of diplomacy and trade, Lucia Thione went into hiding,” Khelben fumed. “I sent Harper agents to check all the properties she owns in the city. No one has found a trace of her. That was hours ago, and two agents have failed to report back at all.”

  In the corner of the room, a large crystal globe began to pulse with light Khelben strode over to the scrying crystal and passed a hand over it. The face of a well-known shopkeeper came into view.

  “Well?” the archmage demanded.

  “Greetings, Blackstaff. Ariadne and Rix have been found,” the woman said in a voice raw with unshed tears. “They were outside the walls of Lucia Thione’s estate in the Sea Ward. Both died by garotte, and the bodies were left as if in warning.” She stopped and cleared her throat several times before she could proceed. “Their eyes had been closed, and a large gold coin placed on each eyelid.”

  “Hhune’s mark?” Khelben asked, his voice low.

  “Yes.”

  The shopkeeper’s face faded from view, but the archmage did not move or speak. As the minutes ticked by, Laeral studied her love with growing concern. Always he was hard hit by the death of Harpers who acted at his bidding, but this time she feared that Khelben’s broad shoulders could not bear another such burden. He was overextended and exhausted, frustrated by his inability to control this situation or solve the city’s problems.

  With a sudden fierce swing, Khelben backhanded the scrying crystal. The globe flew across the room and shattered against the wall. He snatched up a cloak and the black wooden staff for which he was famed and feared. Before Laeral could respond to the uncharacteristic outburst, the archmage vanished.

  Khelben materialized in the ballroom where Lucia Thione had recently held her lavish party. The room looked quite different at this hour of the night, almost austere without its crowd of merry revelers. It was lit only by the moonlight that filtered in from the garden beyond, casting silvery shadows upon the pale marble of the floor. The night air was scented by flowering vines that climbed trellises over each window alcove and arched door, and the silence was heavy with the memory of gay laughter and rollicking music. The archmage stood there a long moment, trying to collect his thoughts and to decide how to follow through on his impulsive action.

  Like the ghost of a forgotten melody, a thread of silvery harp music reached out to him from the shadows at the far side of the ballroom. The archmage followed the sound, and his footsteps echoed in a somber counterpoint to the lilting little song.

  The music seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and as Khelben drifted through the ballroom in search of its source, he felt as if he were moving in a dream, or trying to grasp a shadow. Finally he came to a large arched door that led out into the garden. There sat a small woman, clad in an elegant gown the color of sapphires. Her graying hair was tucked behind slightly pointed ears, and she played a small harp of dark wood.

  “It has been many years, Iriador,” he said softly.

  The half-elf continued to play. “Much has changed, Khelben, and not for the better,” she said. She looked up at him and smiled. “Attack me,” she suggested. “Or try. If you do, you will not be able to move. Nor will you be able to speak, although there is little you could say that would matter now.”

  Magic, with the full force of the power he had wielded for centuries, welled up within the archmage in response to his silent command. Khelben willed his fingers to shape the spell, but his mortal frame proved to be less obedient than his magic. With astonishment and growing rage, he realized that the former Harper had spoken the truth.

  The air around the archmage might as well have been solid stone, for he could neither move nor speak. The magic he had summoned had no place to go and it coursed through his body like captured lightning.

  Only once before had Khelben known such pain. It circled endlessly through the conduits of power in his mind and body; it burned him as if molten steel filled his veins. With each pulse of anguish, the room dissolved into white light, and even his formidable will began to lose its grip upon consciousness.

  Iriador Wintermist saw this, and triumph flared in her brilliant blue eyes. She rose with the harp in her arms and walked over to the man who was imprisoned by her magic and tortured by his own.

  “You did not recognize the spell in my song, Khelben Arunsun, or you would have fled from this place. Always you have held bardcraft in little regard, and in your ignorance you prepared no defense against the power of spellsong.”

  She moved a step closer. “You deserted the bards, Khelben, and if you do not know your error by now, you soon shall. This I will prove, not by destroying you outright, but by removing you from power through the very force you scorned.”

  The woman spun toward the window. A white horse came galloping from the garden in response to her silent command. Quickly she mounted the asperii, and horse and rider disappeared through the arched doorway into the night.

  A snatch of melody floated back into the room. Khelben fell to the floor, partially released from the powerful song charm. His release set free the remnants of his own spell, and magic exploded like an alchemist’s nightmare. Pulse after pulse of unchanneled magical energy rocked the ballroom, sending multicolored light streaking into the garden beyond.

  From the roof of a nearby mansion, Elaith Craulnober witnessed the light show with growing rage and frustration. He peered down the Street of Whispers. Already, members of the vigilant watch were approaching in response to the disturbance. With a smothered oath, he ran across the roof and leaped into the night, landing lightly on the next building.

  With grace and balance that an acrobat might envy, he ran across a high wooden fence and leaped onto the triangular roof that topped the steam house of the Urmbrusk family’s sybaritic villa. He raced across the roof, then summoned all his strength and threw himself into flight The elf soared over Diamond Street, tucked at the last moment, and rolled onto the roof of a low building across the way. Within minutes he had made his way to Lady Thione’s enclosed villa.

  Elaith dropped over the wall and rushed through the garden. An armed guard came threateningly toward him. The elf tossed a knife into the man’s throat without breaking stride. He followed the curling, glowing wisps of smoke into
the ballroom. The fumes roiled through the room and stung his eyes, but he could see well enough to know that the room was empty but for himself and the man slumped nearby.

  He was too late! The sorceress Garnet had gone, and with her was his hope of restoring his child’s birthright.

  The elf snatched a throwing knife from his sleeve, thinking to vent his frustration by hurling it into the body. At the last moment, he recognized the fallen man and sent his knife skittering harmlessly across the blackened marble floor.

  Elaith knelt beside Khelben Arunsun and turned the wizard onto his back. The man yet lived, but his heart beat faintly. As the elf debated his course, the archmage’s black eyes opened and fixed upon him. The archmage did not speak or move, but he seemed dimly aware of his surroundings.

  “A charm spell,” the elf muttered. He rocked back on his heels and ran his hand through his hair. The best person in the city to tend the wizard would be the mage Laeral. He should take the fallen man to Blackstaff Tower at once. A delay, however, could cost Elaith the harp he had sought for so long.

  The elf decided. He reached into the bag at his belt and took out a plain silver ring. Vartain was not the only skilled thief in Music and Mayhem, and Elaith had once again relieved his Harper partner of the magic ring when they’d met at the Broken Lance tavern. He quickly slipped the ring on his own hand and twisted it as he’d seen Danilo do.

  As the watch patrol burst into the room, they saw the fading outline of a tall slender elf and the archmage of Waterdeep.

  * * * * *

  In the hours before dawn, clerics of Mystra gathered at Blackstaff Tower to pray for the favor of the goddess of magic. Under their care and through the favor of his goddess, Khelben Arunsun’s battered body began to heal. Nothing could touch the charm spell that held him, though, and after several hours the weary and heartsick Laeral made her way down to the reception hall. After bringing Khelben to her, Elaith Craulnober had left the tower. He’d recently returned and sent up word that he wished to see her as soon as circumstances permitted.