“Well, I certainly didn’t,” retorted Danilo Thann. “I might not know much, but I do know dead. And he’s it. How do you explain that?”
“I can’t.”
“Me either. We’d better go back to the tavern and alert the local authorities. Let them figure it out.”
“No!”
Her vehemence seemed to surprise the young dandy. “If you didn’t kill him, what do you have to worry about?” he asked reasonably.
Plenty, Arilyn thought. The last thing she needed right now was to leave another body in her wake. Her past invited speculation, and sooner or later someone would put the pieces together and label her the Harper Assassin. That day seemed close at hand, for the news of Rafe’s death was spreading far too quickly. Kymil already knew, so it was possible that the Evereska authorities had also learned of the young Harper’s death.
“Come on,” she said abruptly. She tucked the gold snuff box into her sleeve and set a brisk pace back to the stables. The noblemen fell in beside her.
“Where are we going?”
“The stables.”
“Oh? Why’s that, I wonder?”
Arilyn was in no mood to banter. Under the guise of reclaiming Danilo’s arm she pressed the tip of her dagger to his side. It pierced his silken tunic, but the fool’s slightly amused expression never faltered.
“Do be careful of the fabric, will you?” he admonished her.
Arilyn looked at his vague smile, wondering for the first time if the man were simple. “You’re coming with me.”
“Yes,” he agreed calmly, pausing as Arilyn swung open the door to the stable. “So it would appear.”
Irritated, she prodded him inside. “Just keep walking.”
“Well, really,” he huffed. “There’s no need to be so grim about this. Believe me, I’m a willing victim,” he said, looking her over and smiling.
His calm acceptance of the situation temporarily disconcerted Arilyn. Danilo smirked at the bewildered expression on her face.
“Don’t look so surprised, my dear lady. I will admit that the dagger is a new approach, but I often encounter women who are most eager for my company.”
Arilyn snorted. “We’re here for horses, not a pile of hay.”
Danilo cocked his head and considered the possibilities. “My, my. You are full of innovative ideas, aren’t you?”
Gritting her teeth in annoyance, Arilyn dropped his arm and threw open the door of the first stall. A matched pair of chestnut mares, fine-boned and high-spirited, tossed their heads and whinnied. The horses looked fit and, most important, fast.
“These will do,” Arilyn announced.
“I should say,” he murmured in reply.
She tucked the dagger back into her belt, grabbed a finely wrought saddle from a hook, and thrust it at Danilo. “I assume you can ride.”
He took the saddle from her outstretched hands. “Please! You wound me,” he protested.
“Don’t tempt me.”
Danilo sighed and shook his head. “I can see that setting the proper tone for this moonlight ride will be my responsibility entirely.”
It was time to convince this grinning idiot that matters were serious. In one quick fluid movement, Arilyn drew the dagger and hurled it at him. The weapon streaked past Danilo, sweeping off his hat before imbedding itself in the wooden beam behind him. Arilyn strode past him and plucked the dagger and the hat from the beam, then thrust his hat at him.
He fingered the hole in disbelief. “Really! This was a new hat,” he protested.
“Consider the alternative,” she pointed out with grim humor. “Saddle up.”
Sighing lustily, the dandy stuck the mutilated hat back on his head and did as he was told. To his credit, he worked quickly. Arilyn watched the stable door, but she could detect neither sound or movement. Perhaps she had shaken her shadow, after all.
After years of stopping at the Halfway Inn, Arilyn knew its secrets very well. Although the front of the stable opened onto a busy, well-lit street, a door at the rear of the building would put them directly onto a wooded path that would take them northward through the forest. She’d used that exit on more than one occasion. When both mares were saddled, she motioned for Danilo Thann to follow her. Obligingly he led his horse after her.
On the way out Arilyn stopped by her own horse’s stall. She retrieved her saddle bags, and for a moment she looked with longing eyes at the gray mare. It pained Arilyn to leave her horse behind, but the mare needed rest badly. Arilyn took a bit of parchment from her saddlebags and scribbled a note to Myrin Silverspear, asking him to care for her horse and to reimburse the owner of the paired chestnuts for their loss. The innkeeper had handled such a transaction for her once before, and he would trust her to pay him back as soon as she returned. Theirs was a strange friendship, but she knew she could rely on him for anything. Arilyn placed the note between two of the boards that formed the wall—the stableboy would know to check there for messages—and then gave her horse a farewell pat.
As she turned to go, Arilyn looked up at the nobleman. His expression was sympathetic, and she felt a wave of irritation. Many killers were tender of their horses, so why did the fool regard her as if she were a new mother cooing over an infant?
“Come on,” she snapped. After leading the way out of the stables and onto the path, she hiked up her flowing skirts and mounted her borrowed horse. When they reached the edge of the forest Arilyn drew a knife from her boot and held it up for Danilo to see.
“If you run, this will find your heart before your horse takes ten paces.”
Danilo smiled and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of running. Now that you have well and thoroughly captured my attention, I can’t wait to find out what all this is about. What a story I’ll have to tell once we get home! We are going to Waterdeep, aren’t we? I mean, eventually? Just imagine, I’ll dine out for a month of tendays on this adventure and …”
The rest of his words drifted mercifully into the winds. Arilyn smacked the rump of his horse, sending it running into the night.
They rode hard, but Arilyn could discern no sign that they were being followed. Dark clouds scuttled across the sky, and the trees twisted and writhed in the rising wind. Finally the storm began, and huge raindrops pelted the travelers. The presence of the garrulous hostage made Arilyn almost grateful for the foul weather. The wind and driving rain made conversation impossible, and their situation worsened when they left the relative shelter of the forest. Arilyn pressed on, following the swiftly flowing river known as Winding Water. A travelers’ hut on the lower branch promised shelter.
Finally she sighted the small barnlike building and urged her horse toward it. She dismounted and lifted the bar from the double door. A gust of wind blew the doors inward, and the travelers led their horses inside. Arilyn swung the doors shut and threw her weight against them, struggling to close them against the wind. At last she succeeded and slid the inside bolt.
Danilo stood with his hands in his pockets, oblivious to her difficulties with the door. Arilyn was annoyed with him for a moment, until she remembered that the human probably could not see in the darkness of the room.
“What is this place?” he asked.
“A clerical outpost, not far from a monastery where priests of Torm train.”
“Oh. Will they mind us using it?”
“No. The students maintain it as a travelers’ shelter. We can leave an offering to Torm in the big stone box over there.”
“Over where? I can’t see a thing. It’s as dark as Cyric’s shorts in here.”
“Right.” Arilyn took flint from her saddlebags and lit a tiny wall lamp to dispel a bit of the blackness. The flickering light revealed a large, square room, divided to accommodate travelers and their mounts. There was little by way of comfort: a wooden floor, a few bales of dusty hay for the horses, and three benches in front of a rough stone fireplace.
“All the comforts of home,” Danilo Thann
remarked lightly, “provided one is accustomed to living in a cave.”
“See to the horses, then we’ll eat,” Arilyn said absently, more concerned with the practical details of their journey than with the dandy’s opinions of their accommodations. She had a little hardtack and a few travel biscuits left in her saddlebags. That would do for tonight, but tomorrow she would have to hunt.
While Danilo stumbled around in the dim light caring for the horses, Arilyn gratefully shed the persona of the Sembian courtesan. Calling upon the moonblade, she dispelled the disguise. After tucking her wet black curls behind her ears, she took a linen square and scrubbed her face clean of the cosmetic unguents. Finally she slipped the green lenses from her eyes and returned them to her bag of disguises. Feeling like herself again, she shook a little of the hay loose from a bale and fashioned a couple of sleeping pallets. She got one of her saddlebags and sank down with it onto her bed, rummaging in the bag for food.
“Those are two happy little horses,” Danilo announced as he joined her. “The way they tore into that hay, they actually made it look good.”
Without speaking, Arilyn handed Danilo a ration of dried meat and hard biscuits. He took it, sniffed it, and held it close to his eyes for inspection. “This makes the hay look good, for that matter.”
Nevertheless, he took a hearty bite of the meat and chewed vigorously. “Puts up a fight, doesn’t it?” he observed cheerfully. After another bite, he took a flask from the bag that hung from his belt and took a deep swallow. He offered it to Arilyn, but she shook her head. Danilo shrugged and tipped up the flask again.
“Is there any way we could get more light in here?” he asked. “I can barely see my hand in front of my face.”
“As long as you know it’s there, what’s your worry?”
“Well, I suppose that covers that topic,” he said with a touch of humor. “I suppose we could talk about something else.”
“Must we?”
Her tone quelled him for perhaps two minutes. They ate in a silence interrupted only by the sound of rain pounding at the wooden structure. Just as Arilyn was beginning to relax, the nobleman started in again.
“So,” he said briskly. “What are we running from? From the timing of our exit, my guess would be that pot-bellied giant and his crew. Never overlook the obvious, I always say.”
“No,” she said, her tone curt.
“No, what?”
“No, we’re not running from him.”
“Who, then?”
Arilyn merely took another bite of her travel biscuit. Danilo shrugged and tried again. “I have a friend who makes and trades fine weapons. Nord Gundwynd. Do you know him, by any chance? No? Well, he collects antique weapons. He’d love to get his hands on that dagger you were using earlier.”
“It’s not for sale.” Her tone held little encouragement.
And so it went. Danilo continued undeterred in his efforts to draw Arilyn into conversation. She ate her meal in silence. He downed his between bits of gossip and nosey questions.
Finally he stretched. “Well, that was delightful. I feel positively refreshed. Shall I take the first watch? Not that I could see anything, mind you.”
Arilyn stared at him in open disbelief. “The first watch? You’re a hostage.”
“Well, yes,” he admitted as if that were a matter of small consequence, “but we’ve got a long road ahead, and you’ll have to sleep sometime.”
Arilyn was silent for a long moment as she considered his statement. “Was that a warning?” she asked quietly.
Danilo threw back his head and laughed. “Hardly. No, from where I sit it sounds like a simple statement of reality.”
That was no more than the truth, but it reminded Arilyn that certain precautions were in order. She glanced down at Danilo’s sword, bound to its elaborate scabbard by a peace knot. Many cities required that swords be so bound. It was a precaution that prevented many furtive attacks and impulsive fights, but the law seemed pointless when applied to the dandy beside her. Arilyn had a hard time imagining him becoming carried away by battle lust.
Nevertheless, she insisted, “Your sword, please, as well as any other weapons.”
Danilo shrugged agreeably. He worked the peace knot loose and handed over the sword and scabbard. He then drew a jeweled dagger from one of his boots. “Have a care with the dagger,” he advised her. “Apart from the gems—which really are rather nice, aren’t they?—the weapon has a good deal of sentimental value. I acquired it rather by accident last winter. Actually, it’s quite an interesting story.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she cut in dryly. “What’s in there?” she asked, pointing to the green leather bag that hung at his waist.
Danilo grinned. “Clothing. Jewelry. Dice. Brandy. Rivengut. Even Moonshae Moonshine—and I dare you to say that three times fast. You know,” he concluded, “the essentials.”
“All that?” Arilyn eyed the sack skeptically. It looked big enough to hold a tunic and two changes of wool stockings, no more.
“Ah, but this is a magic bag,” Danilo advised her in a smug tone. “It holds much more than appearances would indicate.”
“Empty it.”
“If you insist.”
Danilo reached into the sack and drew out a neatly rolled shirt of white silk. He placed it lovingly on the hay, then lay several colored shirts beside it. Next came a velvet tunic and some soft, fur-lined gloves. Three pair of trousers followed, then some undergarments and stockings. There was enough jewelry to bedeck the occupants of a brothel, as well as several pair of dice and three ornate silver flasks. He drew out no less than three hats, one with nodding peacock plumes. The pile grew until the place resembled an open-air market.
“That’s enough!” Arilyn finally insisted.
“I’m almost done,” he said, rummaging in the bottom of the sack. “Best for last, and all that. Ah! Here it is.” He fished out a large flat object and waved it triumphantly.
Arilyn groaned. The fool had produced a spellbook from the bowels of that Beshaba-blasted sack. Of all the things the goddess of bad luck could have sent to torment her! She’d abducted a would-be mage.
“Please tell me you don’t casts spells,” she pleaded.
“I dabble,” he admitted modestly.
Before Arilyn could discern his intent, he took a bit of flint and pointed it at the wood neatly stacked in the fireplace. “Dragonbreath,” he muttered.
There was a spark. The flint disappeared from his hand, and a cozy fire filled the room with warmth and light. He turned to Arilyn with a triumphant smirk, then froze. “Nine hells!” he blurted out. “You’re an elf.”
She banked down the rising flame of her anger. “So I’ve been told. Put out that fire.”
“Why?” he argued in a reasonable tone. “It’s dark, and it’s cold, and that’s a particularly lovely fire, if I may say so.”
How could she explain to this pampered dandy her aversion to magical fire? He hadn’t seen the miscast fireball; he hadn’t heard the screams of his comrades, or smelled their burning flesh as they died in flames that refused to consume him. As she formulated a half-truth, Arilyn struggled to push away the memory of the Hammerfell Seven’s death. With great effort, she kept her voice calm, her words objective.
“As you guessed earlier, we were being followed. I believe we’ve eluded pursuit, but I don’t wish to risk making a fire while we’re still so close to Evereska.”
Danilo studied her, then as if he hadn’t heard anything she’d just said, he repeated, “An elf. You’re an elf. And your eyes aren’t really green, after all.”
He made the last observation in such a mournful tone that Arilyn blinked in surprise. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“No,” he said slowly. “It’s just that, well, I am highly partial to green. By Mystra, you’re definitely not what you appeared to be at first glance.”
“Who is?” she asked with asperity. She glanced at Danilo’s waterlogged finery and added in an
arch tone, “Except perhaps you.”
“Thanks,” he murmured absently.
Arilyn cast her eyes upward in disbelief. Still absorbed in his intent study of her, Danilo was oblivious to the insult.
“Wait! I’ve got it!” he crowed triumphantly, jabbing a finger in Arilyn’s direction. “I knew you looked familiar. You’re the person that the oaf in the bar was seeking. Ariel Moonsomething, right?”
So he wasn’t a complete fool. “Close enough,” she admitted grudgingly. She rose, feeling a need to walk about.
“How interesting! So what’s your story?” Danilo asked, settling comfortably down for the evening’s entertainment. He lay on his side, crossing his ankles and propping himself up on one elbow. Arilyn cast him a dismissing look and walked to the fireplace.
“No, leave it alone,” he insisted, as Arilyn began to poke at the burning logs with a stick. “We’re both wet and cold, and the fire will do us good. Just forget about it and sit down.” He noisily patted the straw beside him in invitation. “Come on. Relax. You had them moonswaggled back at the inn with that fancy getup. That thug didn’t follow us.”
“I told you, I’m not worried about him,” she said.
“If not him, who? We are being followed, you said.”
“Were,” she stressed, looking over her shoulder at him with a quelling glance.
Danilo Thann was not easily quelled. He rolled his eyes in comic disgust. “Were. Well, that clears everything right up.”
Arilyn turned away, ignoring his friendly sarcasm.
“Look,” Danilo said to the back of her head, “since I’m along for the ride, so to speak, don’t you think I should have some idea who or what I’m up against? And where we’re going, for that matter?”
Why not? Arilyn thought. Maybe the truth would frighten him into holding his tongue. She sank down in the straw beside Danilo, drawing her knees up tight against her chest.
“All right, then, here it is. Since you seem to be current on most of the gossip in the area, you may have heard that someone is systematically assassinating Harpers.”
“Ghastly business,” Danilo said with a shudder. His eyes widened. “Oh gods. I’m not sure I like where this is leading. You’re saying that the Harper Assassin is after you?”
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