Elfshadow

by Elaine Cunningham

  Danilo sat quietly for a long moment. “One question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Why me?”

  “Secrecy is vital. We can’t send someone obvious.”

  “Oh,” Danilo crossed one knee over the other and flicked a lock of hair over his shoulder in an exaggerated, effeminate gesture. “Is it my imagination, or was I just insulted?”

  Khelben scowled. “Don’t belittle yourself, boy. You’ve proven to be a more than capable agent, and you’re perfect for this job.”

  “Indeed,” Danilo agreed wryly. “Protecting a woman who doesn’t seem to require my protection.”

  “There’s more. We need information about the moonblade. You have proven to be very successful at separating women from their secrets.”

  “It’s a gift,” Danilo modestly agreed. He tapped the portrait and added, “Not that I’m trying to get out of this assignment, mind you, but someone’s got to point out the obvious: why don’t we just ask her about the sword?”

  Khelben faced the young nobleman, his expression grim and earnest. “There’s more to this than meets the eye, although an assassin of this skill, systematically wiping out Harpers, is trouble enough. No one must suspect that you work with me—not the assassin, not the other Harpers, and especially not Arilyn.”

  “Intrigue within the ranks?” Danilo asked mockingly.

  “It is possible,” Khelben answered cryptically.

  “Marvelous,” Danilo muttered, looking genuinely appalled by Khelben’s unexpected response to his jest. “Even so, I don’t see why we need to keep this from Arilyn. If the assassin is after her, shouldn’t she be forewarned? Once she knows I’ve been sent to help her, she may be more prone to work with me.”

  Khelben snorted. “Far from it. For all her talents, Arilyn Moonblade is one of the most stubborn, hotheaded, and unreasonable persons I’ve ever met. She wouldn’t agree to protection, and she wouldn’t take kindly to the notion that she couldn’t handle the assassin alone.” Khelben paused, and a grimace tugged the corners of his mouth down. “She reminds me of her father, come to think of it.”

  Danilo regarded the mage with a skeptical expression. “This is all very interesting, but I sense that you’re skirting the real issue. It’s the sword, isn’t it? You know something about it that you’re not telling me.”

  “Yes,” Khelben agreed simply.

  “Well?” Danilo prompted.

  Khelben shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to trust me. The fewer people who know, the better. I doubt even Arilyn herself knows the full extent of the sword’s power. We need to find out what she knows about the sword, and that’s—”

  “Where I come in,” Danilo finished glumly.

  “Indeed. You have a knack for getting people to talk. A word of caution, however. Until the assassin is identified and captured, you must never let down your facade.”

  “Surely, after she becomes accustomed to my presence, she would—”

  “No,” Khelben broke in. He raised a cautioning finger and paused for emphasis. “There is something you should know. Arilyn Moonblade is very good. She is not easy to follow, yet the assassin keeps cropping up near her. She is obviously being closely observed, probably through magical means. As a charming but ineffectual dandy, you may not seem a threat to whomever is watching Arilyn. If you should ever step out of your role …”

  “Don’t worry,” Danilo said with an insouciant shrug. “I always did perform best for an audience.”

  “I hope so. It could be a long performance. Arilyn is no fool, and you’ve got to stay with her until she leads you to the Harper Assassin.”

  An expression of intense distaste crossed the young nobleman’s face. “I don’t like the idea of using this woman as bait for a trap.”

  “Neither do I,” growled Khelben. “But can you think of a better alternative?”

  “No,” Danilo admitted.

  “Exactly.” Khelben rose abruptly, indicating that the interview was over. “I suggest that you make your apologies to Lady Sheabba. You leave for Evereska in the morning.”

  Five

  The tavern hall of the Halfway Inn was bustling with activity when Arilyn came down from her room. Near the northwestern border of the mountain range that surrounded Evereska, the Halfway Inn was a stopping place for both human and elven trade caravans. There were few inns in the Greycloak Hills, and this one boasted comfortable rooms, vast stables, and warehouses for temporary secure storage of goods. Elves and humans, halflings and dwarves, and an occasional member of one of the other civilized races all commingled in a relaxed, congenial atmosphere.

  The Halfway Inn was much more than an inn. Among other things, it was a trading center for the elven colony of Evereska. Set in a valley of fertile farmland and surrounded on all sides by mountains, Evereska was a beautiful and heavily fortified elven city. It was protected by an impressive arsenal of elven magic and military might. The Evereska Valley had been inhabited by elves longer than anyone could reckon, but the city itself was young by elven standards. As was the case with most elven settlements, little was known about Evereska other than its reputation for impregnability and the calibre of elven mages and fighters trained at its College of Magic and Arms. To most of those who traveled through the Greycloak Hills, the Halfway Inn was Evereska. Few persons got any closer to the city.

  Myrin Silverspear, the inn’s proprietor, was a dour, silent moon elf whose silver eyes missed nothing. He kept his own council better than anyone Arilyn had ever met, and his cozy establishment seemed designed especially with discretion in mind. As a result, the Halfway Inn was ever abuzz with intrigue, dealmaking, and clandestine meetings.

  Arilyn always stopped here on her way into Evereska, to receive assignments or to meet contacts. For no reason that she could fathom, Myrin Silverspear had taken a special interest in her and her career. Whenever she stayed at the inn, he looked after her as if she were elven royalty.

  As usual, he met her at the foot of the stairs with a low bow. “Your presence honors this house, Arilyn Moonblade. Is there anything that you require this evening, quex etriel?”

  As usual, Arilyn winced at the extreme deference of his greeting. “Just to be seen.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Arilyn grinned. “Let’s just say that I’d like to be seen coming into the inn, but not going out.”

  “Ah. Of course.” As usual, that was explanation enough for the discrete innkeeper. He took her arm and escorted her with grave ceremony to the large bar. She took one of the most conspicuous barstools, and Myrin made a show of going behind the bar and serving her himself.

  Arilyn sipped at the elven spirits he’d poured her and fought back a surge of laughter. “Thank you, Myrin. I’ve definitely been seen.”

  “Not at all. Anything else?”

  “Do I have any messages?”

  Myrin produced a small scroll and handed it to her. “This came just this afternoon.”

  She glanced at the seal, and her mood darkened. With a sigh, she took the scroll from the innkeeper, opened it, and scanned the fine, precise elven runes. Kymil wanted to meet her here, tonight. That would most likely mean that the Harpers had given him another assignment for her, just when she was so looking forward to getting back home to Evereska. Another unconscious sigh escaped her.

  “Good news, I trust?”

  Arilyn looked up into Myrin’s concerned silver eyes. “You might not think so. Kymil Nimesin is meeting me here tonight, at the usual place.”

  The moon elf received her announcement without blinking. “I’ll see that your usual booth is cleared.”

  “You’re a diplomat, Myrin,” Arilyn murmured. Little love was lost between the prowl innkeeper and the patrician armsmaster, but Myrin Silverspear always received Kymil with the utmost courtesy. To Arilyn’s puzzlement, Kymil treated the innkeeper with considerably less respect.

  “So I have been told,” Myrin said. With another bow, he excused himself to se
e to Arilyn’s booth. She went upstairs to get the artifacts she’d retrieved from Darkhold, then returned to the tavern and made her way to the back of the large room where she dipped inside a heavily curtained booth.

  Almost immediately tiny motes of light flickered over the bench opposite her. The golden pinpricks broadened, expanded, and finally coalesced into the form of her longtime friend and mentor, Kymil Nimesin.

  “Your mode of entering a room never ceases to unnerve me,” Arilyn murmured with a smile of welcome for her teacher.

  The elf dismissed her comment absently. “A simple matter. Your last venture went well, I trust?”

  “If it didn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here.” She handed him the sack containing the artifacts. “Will you return these to Sune’s people and see that our informant gets the rest of his money?”

  “Of course.” After a brief silence Kymil attended to the amenities. “I heard of Rafe Silverspur’s death. A shame. He was a good ranger, and the Harpers’ cause will miss him.”

  “As will I,” she replied softly. Kymil’s words were a polite formula required by convention; hers revealed genuine emotion. She looked up sharply. “How did you hear about Rafe’s death so quickly?”

  “I was concerned about you, so I made inquiries.”

  “Oh?”

  Kymil regarded his pupil keenly. “You know, of course, that the assassin was looking for you.”

  Arilyn stared down at her clenched hands. “I’ve come to that conclusion, yes,” she said evenly. “Now, if you don’t mind, could we please speak of other matters? Have you another assignment for me?”

  “No, I called the meeting to discuss the assassinations,” Kymil said. He leaned forward to emphasize his words. “I’m concerned about your safety, child. You must take steps to protect yourself from this assassin.”

  Her head jerked up, and anger flooded her face. “What would you have me do? Hide?”

  “Far from it,” Kymil corrected her sternly. “You must seek out this assassin.”

  “Many seek him.”

  “Ah, but perhaps they are looking in the wrong places. As a Harper agent, you can succeed where others fail. In my opinion, the assassin hides within the ranks of the Harpers.”

  Arilyn drew in a sharp breath. “The assassin, a Harper?” she demanded, incredulous.

  “Yes,” Kymil noted. “Or a Harper agent.”

  She considered her teacher’s words and nodded slowly. It was an appalling possibility, but it made sense. The Harpers were a confederation of individuals, not a highly structured organization. Harper agents—those like Arilyn who were not official members of the group, but worked on particular assignments—tended to operate alone, and many of the members kept their affiliation secret. It seemed incredible to Arilyn that this veil of secrecy could be turned against the Harpers, cloaking an assassin in their very midst. On the other hand, she had grown to trust Kymil Nimesin’s judgment. He had been allied with the Harpers since she was an infant, and if he thought that the Harper Assassin was within the ranks she was inclined to believe him.

  Kymil’s urgent voice broke into her reflections. “You must find this assassin, and soon. The common people hold Harpers in high regard. If we cannot find and stop the murderer, it will damage the Harpers’ honor and reputation.”

  The gold elf paused. “Have you any idea of the implications of this? Why, the Balance itself could be disrupted! The Harpers serve a vital function in fighting against evil, in particular the encroachments of the Zhentarim—”

  “I know what the Harpers stand for,” Arilyn said with a touch of impatience. Kymil had lectured her on the need for Balance since she was fifteen, and she knew his arguments by heart. “Have you a plan?”

  “Yes. I would suggest that you go among the Harpers, in disguise if necessary, to ferret out the assassin.”

  Arilyn nodded. “Yes, you might be right.” A slight, humorless smile flickered across her face. “At any rate, it is better than doing nothing. Just waiting for the assassin to strike is intolerable. I can’t keep at it much longer.”

  “Why is it that you seem so unnerved by this threat? Your life has been in danger many times.” Kymil paused and eyed her keenly. “Or is there something else?”

  “There is,” she admitted reluctantly. “For some time now—several months, actually—I’ve had the sense that I’m being followed. Try as I might, I can find no trace of pursuit.”

  “Yes?”

  She’d expected him to reproach her, or at least to question her regarding her inability to lay hands upon her shadowy pursuer. “You don’t seem surprised by this,” she ventured.

  “Many Harpers are highly accomplished rangers and trackers,” Kymil responded evenly. “It’s not inconceivable that this assassin, especially if he or she is from the Harper ranks, is skilled enough to avoid detection—even by someone as skilled as you. All the more reason, I believe, for you to take the offensive. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “That is all I have to say this evening. I would be happy to teleport you to Waterdeep—”

  “No, thank you,” Arilyn cut in hastily.

  Kymil’s eyebrows rose. “You do not intend to go to Waterdeep? It would seem a likely place to begin your search.”

  “I agree, and I do plan to go to Waterdeep. I just prefer to get there on horseback.”

  Exasperation flooded Kymil’s face. “My dear etriel, I will never understand your aversion to magic, especially considering that you’ve been carrying a magic sword since childhood.”

  “That’s bad enough,” Arilyn said with a rare hint of bitterness. “Where magic is concerned, I draw the line where the moonblade ends.”

  “I don’t understand you.” Kymil shook his head. “Granted, there was an unfortunate incident during the Time of Troubles—”

  “Unfortunate?” Arilyn broke in, her voice incredulous. “I wouldn’t exactly call the accidental disintegration of an entire adventuring party a ‘misfortune.’ ”

  “The Hammerfell Seven,” Kymil said, his tone dismissing the human adventurers as inconsequential. “You yourself had little need for concern from magic fire.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  For an instant Kymil looked disconcerted, then he smiled faintly. “Ever the demanding student. Elves and elven magic were not as severely affected as humans by that interlude.”

  He settled back and steepled his fingers, the very picture of an erudite professor. Knowing what was coming, Arilyn groaned silently. Kymil was currently guest-teaching a seminar at the Evereska College of Magic and Arms on the effect on elven magic by the Time of Troubles. Not a scholar in the best of times, Arilyn was of no mind to sit through the inevitable lecture. And she did not care to relive the Time of Troubles, the disastrous interlude when gods walked Faerun in the form of mortal avatars, creating havoc and immense destruction.

  “It is thus,” Kymil began, his voice taking on a pedantic tone. “In layman’s terms, humans use the weave to work magic. Elves are, in a sense, part of the weave. Tel’Quessir are inherently magic, by our very nature, and …”

  Arilyn abruptly lifted one hand, again cutting him off. “Many would consider me N’Tel’Quess: not-people. I am half-human, remember? I have little inherent magical ability.”

  Kymil paused, then inclined his head in a gesture of apology. “Forgive me, child. Your superior gifts often lead me to forget the unfortunate circumstances of your birth.”

  Arilyn had known Kymil for too long to be insulted by his patrician airs. “Unfortunate circumstances? I am a half-elf, Kymil, not a bastard.” She grinned fleetingly. “Of course, there are those who would disagree.”

  As if on cue, a hoarse voice roared her name. Arilyn edged aside the curtain for a look. She shook her head and swore softly in a mixture of Elvish and Common.

  Arilyn’s bilingual curse brought a startled gasp from Kymil Nimesin. She shot a quick glance at him and bit her lip to keep from laughing at his outraged expression. “Sorry.”<
br />
  He started to speak, undoubtedly to chide her about her undignified use of Elvish. His words were drowned out by a racket that sounded like a minor barbarian invasion.

  A small horde of ruffians had stormed into the tavern. They stomped around in a rather aimless fashion, overturning empty tables, emitting an assortment of whoops and shouts. The leader of the band was a uncouth giant of a man, an almost comic caricature of a thug. The man’s appearance was sinister enough: an eyepatch covered one eye, a mace studded with iron spikes hung from his belt, and a shirt of rusty chain mail more or less covered his belly. Yet something about him tended to inspire covert smiles. Perhaps it was a pate as bald as a new-laid egg, framed by a wispy blond fringe that had been gathered into two long, skinny yellow braids.

  The blond-and-bald man stalked over to Myrin Silverspear. Grabbing the slender innkeeper, the lout hoisted him up to eye level.

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me, elf. I asked if Arilyn Moonblade was here tonight. If you don’t answer me, my men here—” He jerked his head at the group of toughs clustered behind him. “My men will take to questioning your patrons. Not good for business.”

  Not many men, human or elven, could maintain dignity while their feet dangled several inches from the floor, but Myrin Silverspear returned the huge oaf’s threatening glare with a calm, measured look. Something in the innkeeper’s expression took the bluster out of the ruffian’s face, and he lowered the elf to the floor.

  “Wasting my time,” he announced to his men, his voice loud enough to carry throughout the room. It was an obvious and transparent exercise at saving face. “This elf don’t know anything. Spread out. If that gray wench is within a mile, we’ll find her!”

  Kymil dropped the curtain and turned to Arilyn. “Do you know this man?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said wryly, still watching the drama unfold in the main tavern area. “That’s Harvid Beornigarth, a third-rate adventurer. Some months ago we sought the same prize. He lost.”