Elfshadow fr-2

by Elaine Cunningham

  Arilyn briefly described the assassin's method and macabre signature. Under Elaith's prompting, she listed the victims, the approximate date of each attack, and the location. Finally she could think of nothing more that she wished the elf to know.

  "Very impressive." Elaith looked up from the parchment, and smiled reassuringly at Arilyn. "That should give me enough to start. I'll get right on it and let you know as soon as I learn anything." He rose and held out his palm to Arilyn.

  Grateful, she laid her hand over his. "I appreciate your help."

  "My dear, be assured that I shall do whatever I can."

  "Why?" demanded Danilo bluntly.

  Elaith withdrew his hand from Arilyn's and looked the noble over, an amused smile on his face. "The etriel and I have much in common. Now, if you will excuse me? I have a great deal to do if the tavern is to open in time for tonight's revelry."

  Arilyn nodded her thanks and dragged Danilo out the back door of the office into the alley.

  "How did you like that last remark? 'Much in common,' indeed," Danilo echoed derisively the moment the door had swung shut behind them. "I don't know how much more proof you need."

  "What are you babbling about?"

  "Proof, that's what. 'Much in common'? Think: you're an assassin, he's an assassin. To my ears, that was as good as a confession," Danilo said. Arilyn threw up her hands in disgust. "I take it you don't agree."

  The half-elf paused, carefully considering her words. "Whatever else Elaith Craulnobur may be, he is a moon elf quessir," she said. "You could not possibly understand what that means."

  "Enlighten me," Danilo returned in a flippant tone.

  "The term quessir means more than a male elf. It is a formal word, with overtones of a certain status and code of behavior. The nearest equivalent in Common is the word 'gentleman,' but that is not very close, either."

  "I would hardly consider him a gentleman," Danilo observed.

  "You've made that very clear," Arilyn said. "By the way, since when did you take up snuff?"

  Danilo grinned. "Ah! You understood my message."

  "It wasn't very subtle," she groused. "What makes you think that the thug in Evereska got the snuffbox from Elaith? He isn't the only elf in Waterdeep, you know."

  "I don't trust him," Danilo said flatly, "and I don't like the fact that you do."

  "Who said I trusted him?" Arilyn retorted. "Although perhaps I should. Moon elves traditionally have a strong sense of loyalty to each other."

  Danilo opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. "On another matter, whyever did you say that the Harper Assassin might be a Harper?"

  "Because it's very likely," Arilyn said shortly. "Harpers are a secret organization, and few advertise their membership in the group. The assassin knows his victims too well for it to be otherwise."

  "Oh."

  Arilyn started off down the alley, and Danilo took off after her. "Where are we going now?"

  "We're going to find the elf who had Perendra's snuffbox."

  * * * * *

  In the tree-lined alley behind the busy tavern, a shadow stirred and prepared to follow Arilyn and Danilo.

  "Come, come, old friend. What's your hurry?"

  The melodious voice struck a chord, a memory of vile deeds that seemed incompatible with the gentle tone of the speaker. An icy chill stiffened Bran Skorlsun's spine, and for the first time in many years he turned to face the Serpent.

  Elaith Craulnobur had changed little over the decades. He was an elven warrior in his prime, an elegant and beautiful living weapon. Slender and sinuous, he leaned gracefully against the alley's wooden fence. A smile of gentle amusement lit Elaith's handsome face, and his amber eyes were deceptively mild.

  Bran knew the elf for what he was. "It's a cold morning for serpents to be about."

  Elaith's brows arched lazily. "Hardly a gracious greeting, considering all the adventures we shared in your distant youth."

  "We share nothing," Bran said flatly. "The Company of the Claw is no more. Many of its members were slain by your hand."

  The elf shifted his shoulders, unmoved. "A commonly held assumption, but one that was never proven. I shall forgive your bad manners. Your years of wandering through parts unknown have obviously dimmed whatever small amount of polish you once possessed."

  "Unlike you, I am what I appear to be."

  The elf's gaze swept over the human. "That's hardly something to boast about," he observed wryly. "Even so, I must admit that I'm consumed with curiosity at your sudden appearance. Whatever could have brought you back to the City of Splendors?"

  Elaith's tone was gently mocking, and his confident smile implied that the answer was already known to him. Bran had no patience or time for the elf's games, so he simply turned to leave.

  "Going so soon? We've had no time to talk."

  "I've nothing to say to you."

  "Oh, but I've a few things to say that you may find of interest. And you need not hurry. The pair you follow should be easy to track… unless your ranger skills have become as dismally rusted as your social graces."

  "Insults from such as you mean nothing."

  The elf's handsome face twisted with rage. "We are not so very different," he hissed. He quickly regained his composure, but his amber eyes held a malicious gleam. "You've fallen as far as I have, but you just can't bring yourself to admit it. Look at yourself. You've been exiled, to all intents and purposes, to wandering the far and forgotten edges of the world. Now you're reduced to lurking in shadows, trying to disprove your nasty suspicions about Amnestria's daughter."

  Bran's face darkened at the elf's last words. "You do not deserve to speak her name."

  "Don't I?" taunted the elf. "Princess Amnestria and I were friends from our childhood in Evermeet, long before you were even a gleam in your father's eye." He sighed with deep nostalgia. "Such grace, such talent and potential. Arilyn is very like her in those respects. She's got Amnestria's spirit combined with a rather devious mind. Truly a fascinating combination. Amnestria would have been proud of her daughter, as I'm sure you are," he concluded with heavy sarcasm.

  "What is your interest in Arilyn?" Bran demanded.

  A reflective expression crossed the elf's face. "It is rare-even during the long lifetime of an elf-that one is afforded a second chance. By all that is just, Arilyn should have been my daughter." He paused and gave Bran a measuring look. "Not yours."

  The Harper recoiled at the words. Elaith was pleased with the reaction, and an evil smile curved his lips.

  "Yes, your daughter," the elf mocked, openly baiting him toward admission. "Interesting, fate's little twists: the oh-so-righteous Harper sires one of the best assassins in Faerun."

  "Arilyn is not the assassin," Bran asserted.

  "But she is your daughter!" Elaith crowed triumphantly, reading the truth in Bran's face and tone. In his opinion, the only good thing about dealing with Harpers was that the fools were generally too noble-or too stupid-to dissemble. The elf's face darkened suddenly. "Does Arilyn know about you? I should hate to have her learn her father's identity when he provides evidence against her in a Harper court."

  "It is not your concern."

  "We'll see. How is Amnestria?" Elaith asked, changing the subject. "Where has she been these many years?"

  Bran was silent, and a look of deep sadness filled his eyes. "Despite everything, you are her far kinsman, and there is no reason why you should not know. Amnestria went into secret exile before Arilyn's birth. She took the name Z'beryl of Evereska. She has been dead for almost twenty-five years."

  "No."

  "It is true. She was ambushed and overcome by a pair of cutpurses."

  The elf stared at Bran. "It does not seem possible," he murmured, dropping his stricken eyes. "No one could fight like Amnestria. Has nothing has been done to avenge her death?"

  "The murderers were brought to justice."

  "That remains to be seen," Elaith said in a grim tone. When he again raised his
eyes to Bran's, hatred blazed in their amber depths. "Another weapon might have killed Amnestria, but it was you who destroyed her. Keep away from Arilyn. The etriel has her own life."

  Elaith leaned toward the Harper, looking the very picture of a fighter taking an offensive stance. His evil smile openly taunted his foe. "By the way, know you that Arilyn has taken the name Moonblade as her own? Denied family and rank, she made her own name and forged her own code. And she is good. Arilyn has developed skills that would make her Harper sire squirm."

  Elaith paused. "To answer your earlier question, my interest in her is both personal and professional."

  "I've no use for riddles."

  "Nor wit for them, either. In plain words, Arilyn should have been my daughter, but she is not. What a remarkable partner she would make, or-" he smiled maliciously "-what a consort. She and I could accomplish much, side by side."

  Bran's massive hand shot out, grabbing Elaith's shirtfront and jerking the slender elf up to his eye level. "I'll see you dead first," the man thundered.

  "Keep your threats, Harper," Elaith said scornfully. "Arilyn Moonblade has nothing to fear from me. I only wish to aid her and to guide her career."

  "Then she is indeed in grave danger," Bran concluded.

  Elaith misunderstood Bran's meaning, and his eyes narrowed in menace. "She is in no danger from me," he hissed. "The same, however, cannot be said for you."

  With the speed of a serpent's strike, a dagger appeared in the elf's hand and flashed toward Bran's throat. The aging Harper ranger was faster still. He tossed the elf to the ground. Elaith twisted and landed crouched on his feet, wrist cocked in readiness to flick the dagger into his old friend and enemy.

  But Bran Skorlsun had vanished. Elaith stood and tucked the dagger back into its hiding place.

  "Not bad," Elaith admitted, brushing a bit of dust from his leg as he admired Bran's skill. "You should watch your back, old friend. Watch your back."

  Elaith turned back to his new establishment. As entertaining as the encounter had been, he had a myriad of details to attend to before the tavern could open. His eye fell upon the large oak sign, just delivered that morning, that leaned against the back wall of the building. This turned out nicely, the elf mused, moving in for a better look. I must have someone hang it immediately.

  He ran his fingers over the raised letters of the sign that would soon grace the front door of the Hidden Blade.

  Twelve

  In early afternoon Virgin's Square was teeming with activity and bright with autumn sunlight and colorful merchandise. Local legend claimed that an altar had once stood on the site, upon which virgins were sacrificed to dragon gods centuries before Waterdeep was a city. On such a day that dark past seemed distant indeed.

  The time for the highsun meal had passed, and delicious scents lingered in the warm autumn air. A large crowd browsed among the stalls of an open air market that offered goods ranging from fresh produce to exotic weapons. On the other side of the square services were sold, and perhaps two hundred persons, representing many races and nationalities, milled up and down the steps of a tiered piazza.

  Those who wished to find work flocked to the square. Newcomers to the city, travelers relieved of their purses by pickpockets and in need of passage home, adventurers, servants, mages, sellswords-all gathered to hire themselves out. Services of many kinds could be purchased in Virgin's Square. There was little overt pandering, but those who made inquiries were assured that discreet introductions were always possible.

  Potential employers were there in large number, as well. Caravan-masters stopped in Virgin's Square to acquire the guards and scouts needed for long trips. Since slavery was illegal in Waterdeep, visiting merchants and dignitaries from the southern and far-eastern lands often went there to find hired servants to replace their slaves. Even adventurers wishing to form parties sought each other out in the square.

  At the center of this activity sat Blazidon One-Eye. He was, perhaps, the best known among his profession, and he ran a brisk trade matching those who would hire with those who wished to work. The grizzled former adventurer was an unlikely businessman. His clothes were dusty and unkempt, and his body seemed to be made of little more than bone and stringy muscle. The graying beard had probably once been bright red; at present it appeared ale-soaked and in dire need of a trim. A dusty eye patch covered his left eye, and a leather vest lay open over his bare chest.

  Blazidon was attended by a clerk and a bodyguard, both of whom were as unlikely as their master. The former was a tallfellow, a rare type of halfling that grew to be somewhat taller and slimmer than most of their kind. A little over four feet in height, the tallfellow maintained thick crops of very blond hair on his head, chin, and bare feet, a color echoed by the lemon shade of his tunic and leggings. His frivolous appearance was greatly at odds with his serious demeanor, for he scribbled laboriously in the book that kept Blazidon's accounts and records, and he counted each fee with the type of intensity that halflings usually reserve for their own treasure. The bodyguard was a tiny but ferocious dwarf whose knotted muscles and keen-edged axe more than made up for his lack of stature.

  Arilyn nudged Danilo's attention away from a display of pastries and pointed at the strange trio. "That's Blazidon. If anyone would know our man, it's him."

  Danilo nodded. "My family often outfits our caravans through him. Why don't you let me do the talking?"

  Arilyn looked doubtful, then she saw the merit in the dandy's suggestion. Dressed as she was, a human lad of common class and limited means, she seemed an unlikely person to be making the type of inquiries that must be made. The well-dressed Danilo could ask questions without raising suspicions. She nodded and fell in behind Danilo, taking the role of servant to a wealthy merchant.

  Blazidon looked up at their approach. "What'll it be?"

  "We were rather hoping you could help us find an employer," Danilo began.

  The man's one good eye swept over the nobleman and his "servant," and his lips pursed. "Got work for the boy, no problem, if he knows how to use that weapon he carries. Gem merchant needs a couple of hireswords. As for you," Blazidon said, eyeing Danilo speculatively, "I hear there's a lady from Thay what wants a local escort for the festival. Mind you, I usually don't do this sort of hiring, but I can tell you where to find the lady."

  Arilyn smirked, but Danilo fell back a step, aghast. "Sir, you misunderstand. I don't seek employment for myself. Rather, we need to ascertain the identity of-"

  Arilyn pushed past Danilo and held out a charcoal sketch she'd made of the man who had had Perendra's snuffbox. She was no artist, but depicting a one-eared man with a twisted nose and a lightning-bolt scar was not difficult.

  "Do you know this man?" she asked, her voice low.

  Blazidon squinted at the picture. "That's got to be Barth. Haven't seen him around for some time." The man's eyes shifted from the picture to Danilo and then Arilyn. "Who am I doing business with, lad? You or your master?"

  "Me," Arilyn said firmly.

  The man nodded. "Good."

  "Can you tell me anything about him?" Arilyn asked.

  "No, can't say as I know much to tell. Hamit, his partner, is a whole 'nother story. We go way back."

  "Where can I find this Hamit?"

  "In the City," the man said bluntly, using the Waterdhavian slang for the City of the Dead, the large cemetery on the northwestern side of Waterdeep. "He must have crossed someone. They found him with a dagger in his back." The man shrugged. "It happens."

  "Do you have any idea who might have hired Barth and Hamit recently?"

  "That's precisely what I was trying to say," Danilo explained plaintively. No one paid him any notice.

  "I might," Blazidon said, glancing at the dwarf.

  The dwarf stuck out his square hand, palm up. "Fee," he rumbled. Danilo obligingly dropped a gold coin into the upturned paw. The dwarf examined it, bit it, and gave a curt nod to the tallfellow. Blazidon's clerk turned several pages.
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  "That pair worked for anyone who had money," the tallfellow said, his voice that of a human boychild. "Bodyguard, strongarms, second-story, even an assassination or two, although no one of pith and moment. Barth liked to work on his own, as well. His specialty was sleight-of-hand theft. He worked with one fence in particular."

  "The name'll cost you extra," added the dwarf. Danilo dumped a handful of coppers into the dwarf's hand. The bodyguard regarded Danilo so balefully that the nobleman hastily added a gold coin to the pile.

  "Jannaxil Serpentil," said the tallfellow. "A merchant and scholar of Turmish descent who runs a folio shop on Book Street. Rather stuck on himself, but if you've got good merchandise, that's the place to go."

  "Need anything else?" Blazidon asked.

  "I don't think so," Arilyn said. She tucked the sketch of Barth into her sleeve. Unable to resist, she cocked an eyebrow at Danilo and added, "Unless you want to reconsider the offer from the Thayvian woman?"

  By now Danilo had regained his equilibrium. "She couldn't afford me," he said grandly.

  * * * * *

  Clad in a sober dress of deep burgundy silk, Loene laced her fingers in her lap and looked across the parlor at her old friend, the mage Nain Keenwhistler. Times had changed. Once they both had shared adventures as members of the Company of Crazed Venturers. Now they primly discussed trade and politics. "Your plan sounds good, Nain. I'm in."

  The man smiled with satisfaction. "You won't regret your investment, Loene. Not only is there a growing market for Chultan teak and mahogany, but our venture will help establish Waterdeep's ties to the island of Lantan. Piracy along the coasts is worsening, and Lantan offers us a port in exchange for some additional protection for their fishing waters."

  "You've become quite the politician, Nain," Loene said, deftly cutting him off with a compliment. Tales she enjoyed, but Nain's recital of political matters held little interest. "You've been here since before highsun. Have you eaten? No? Nor I. We can talk over lunch."