Elaine Cunningham - Elfshadow

Kymil resisted the urge to fling the useless bits of broken crystal across the room, instead calling for his assistant. Ever attentive, the etriel glided into his room.

"Filauria, send word to the Tel'Quessir Elite." He waved a hand over the pile of charred fragments. "Obviously I can no longer reach them through the crystal. I shall meet them at the academy, and we teleport at once for Evereska."

The etriel bowed and left Kymil alone to fume over the unexpected failure of his plan. He didn't have the wretched sword. According to his sources in the watch, Arilyn Moonblade, Bran Skorlsun, and Blackstaff's nephew still lived and were under arrest in Waterdeep castle. If those three put their resources together, they would be able to discern his goal. His plan had gone fully and truly awry.

He would have to fall back on his contingency plan.

Kymil smiled. He understood his half-breed student well. Skilled though she was, Arilyn believed herself under the shadow of the moonblade. She would take upon herself the guilt of the Harper Assassin, and she would come after him to redeem her name and her sense of honor. No one would be able to talk her out of it. Of that he had no doubt.

And she would bring him the moonblade.

The bright sun of mid-afternoon set the forest ablaze with color as the three riders approached the gate of the Waterdeep Academy of Arms, the prestigious training school that was set several miles to the west of the city's walls. Arilyn, who had been strangely quiet during the ride, dismounted and strode up to the gatehouse. The two students who stood guard eyed the approaching half-elf with interest and presented their best imitation of seasoned warriors.

"State your business," one of the lads growled in an uncertain baritone.

Seeing that Arilyn was prepared to do so at the point of a sword, Danilo came forward and took over. "We are three Harper agents. Our business is with one of your instructors."

The students held a whispered consultation, then the future baritone made a respectful gesture and let them pass. The other lad called for someone to stable the horses, then offered to escort the visitors to the headmaster. Danilo accepted with thanks.

"Three Harpers?" Arilyn muttered to Danilo as they walked. "Three?"

He shrugged. "It got us in, didn't it?"

Arilyn responded with a measured look and lapsed into silence. The student led the unlikely trio of avowed Harper agents through a labyrinth of halls to the office of the academy's headmaster.

Headmaster Quentin was a burly gray-haired cleric who wore the brown robes and hammerhead symbol of Tempus, god of war. Still broad-shouldered and ham-fisted in his early old age, Quentin looked as if he would be much more at home on the battlefield than in an office. At the moment, he was seated behind several piles of parchment, sadly at odds with his sedentary task. He looked up when the trio came to the door, and his face lit up at the offered reprieve.

The student guard spoke up. "Brother Quentin, these Harpers seek audience with you."

"Yes, yes. I'll take over from here," replied Quentin, rising from his desk and striding forward. He dismissed the student with an impatient gesture.

"It has been too long since the Raven flew to these parts," Quentin said heartily, clasping Bran's forearms. Arilyn's head snapped up to look at Bran Skorlsun, and a peculiar expression crossed her face.

"What brings you here, Bran?" continued Quentin. He slapped the Harper on the back with the familiarity of an old comrade. "Can you stay long enough to share our evening meal and perhaps tip a few mugs?"

"Another time, I would be glad to," Bran replied. "My companions and I seek one of your instructors. Kymil Nimesin. Is he here?"

The headmaster's forehead creased. "No, he took a leave of absence. Why?"

"Did he say where he would be going?" Arilyn demanded.

"As a matter of fact, he did," Quentin remembered. "Evereska, I believe."

"Evereska…" Arilyn repeated softly, looking thoroughly puzzled. "Was there anything out of the ordinary about his request for leave?"

Quentin thought that over. "Well, Kymil did take several of our best students with him."

"What can you tell me about them?" Arilyn asked.

The headmaster retrieved one of the piles of parchments from his desk-a large pile-and began to thumb through it.

Arilyn shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. "Ah, here it is," Quentin exclaimed happily, brandishing a piece of parchment. "Kymil's request for leave. He took with him Moor Canterlea, Filauria Ni'Tessine, Caer-Abett Fen, Kizzit Elmshaft, and Kermel Starsinger."

"Some of those are elven names," Danilo commented.

"All of them," Quentin corrected. "All gold elves, come to think of it. Every one of them personally recruited and trained by Kymil Nimesin. An impressive lot, I must say."

"You have personal records on these students, I imagine. May I see one of them?" Arilyn asked.

"Of course. Which student?"

"Ni'Tessine. Filauria."

"Ah, yes," Quentin said. "Fine student. I understand she had a brother in the academy some years back, but that was somewhat before my time."

"It was twenty-five years ago," Arilyn said softly as she accepted the parchment the headmaster offered her. "He and I were classmates."

"Is that so? What did you say your name was?" Quentin asked with friendly interest. Arilyn told him, and his bushy brows lifted. "This is odd. Kymil left a note for you." The headmaster produced a small parchment scroll and handed it to Arilyn.

She quickly scanned the note, then without comment she slipped it into the pocket of her cloak and turned her attention back to the records of Filauria Ni'Tessine. As Arilyn had anticipated, the gold elf had followed custom and listed her family history in some detail. Among Filauria's siblings was Tintagel Ni'Tessine, alumnus of the Academy of Arms, member of the Waterdeep Watch. Her father's name was Fenian Ni'Tessine, deceased as of 2 Ches, 1321 Dalereckoning. Interesting, Arilyn thought, that the elf died on the same day King Zaor of Evermeet was assassinated.

Abruptly Arilyn handed the paper back to the headmaster. "Thank you."

"Always ready to aid the Harper cause," Quentin said heartily. "I don't suppose you could fill me in on what's happening?"

"Gladly, but at a later time," Bran said.

"Just tell me one thing," Quentin pressed, "is Kymil Nimesin in any sort of danger?"

"Count on it," Arilyn promised in a grim tone.

None too gently, she ushered Bran and Danilo out of the room. Once they reached the academy courtyard, she turned to confront the Harper. "Why did the headmaster call you Raven?"

The Harper drew back a step, a little surprised by the intensity of her question. "My given name, Bran, is the word for raven in an ancient language of the Moonshae Isles. Why do you ask?"

"Hearing it just then brought to mind something I'd almost forgotten," Arilyn said slowly. "I trained at the academy with Filauria Ni'Tessine's brother, Tintagel. He carried the broken shaft of an arrow with him like a talisman. A tiny brand-a raven-was burned into the wood of the arrow shaft. Tintagel said it was to remind him of his purpose in life. I learned from one of Tintagel's friends that his father, Fenian Ni'Tessine, was killed by that arrow." Arilyn glanced up at the Harper, her face wary. "Was that arrow yours?"

"I cannot say. The name Fenian Ni'Tessine is not known to me," Bran said quietly. He reached back into his quiver for an arrow and handed it to Arilyn. "Is this the mark?"

She examined the brand and nodded. "Does it help to know that Fenian Ni'Tessine was killed on the second day of Ches, in the year 1321? The year before I was born." She spoke the last statement in a barely audible voice.