Элейн Каннингем - Elfshadow

Sucking on the offended digit, Danilo nodded avidly. “That goes without saying.”

The half-elf abruptly rose to her feet and swung herself up into the saddle. “Let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t we tend to our wounds first?” Danilo asked, eyeing Arilyn’s torn and bloodied shirt with concern.

She looked down at him with disbelief and disdain, assuming he referred to his finger. “You’ll live,” she said flatly. “Just be thankful you didn’t try to draw the sword.”

“Oh? What would have happened? And how do you keep it from doing that to you?” he asked as he rose to his feet.

Arilyn swore silently. No one had ever touched the moonblade without her permission. Why had she let her guard down now?

“Well?” he prompted.

“Night has fallen,” she said in a tight voice. “You may have noticed that we are still in the Marsh of Chelimber. Would you rather ride out of here, or talk?”

“Can’t we do both?”

“No.”

The dandy gave a resigned shrug and mounted his horse. “I suppose we’ll hunt for supper sometime soon?”

“Your turn to hunt.” Arilyn pressed her heels to her horse’s sides and headed westward out of Chelimber.

Danilo fell in beside her. He cocked his head and asked in a tentative voice, “Have you ever eaten lizard? I hear it tastes a little like chicken.”

Thoroughly appalled, Arilyn twisted in her saddle to level an icy glare at the dandy. “If I thought you were serious, I’d leave you in the marsh.”

“I’ll hunt!” he said hastily. “Really!”

The pair rode in silence until they’d left the marsh behind. As the foul-smelling mists faded, the ground firmed beneath the horses’ hooves. Stars began to twinkle, forming the autumn constellations that had been Arilyn’s friends since childhood: Correlian, Esetar, and the Shard of Selûne. Still far in the distance, a few trees formed dim silhouettes against the night sky. Trees, Arilyn thought with a silent sigh of relief. Trees were a sure sign that Chelimber was no more than a memory. Never had she been so glad to see trees. From deep within her elven soul welled a prayer of thanks, a silent song of welcome to the stars and the forest.

“I say,” Danilo blurted out, “how far is it to Waterdeep?”

Arilyn’s private joy evaporated like dew at highsun. “Too far.”

Dark though the night was, Arilyn’s elven vision took in the dandy’s uncertain smile. “Have I been insulted, or is it just my imagination?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, it’s just my imagination?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The exchange silenced Danilo. Arilyn urged her horse forward, intending to make camp at the stream that lay just beyond the far bank of trees.

They ate well that night, for a couple of plump rabbits inexplicably wandered into Danilo’s snares. He swore roundly that skill, not magic, had been employed in the hunt. Arilyn did not believe him for a moment, but she was too tired and hungry to argue. Danilo even dressed and roasted the rabbits, seasoning them with the herbs and wine his magic sack yielded. The result was surprisingly good, and the travelers ate the greasy, savory meat in silence. Finally they slept, watched over by the vigilant magic of the moonblade. When daybreak came, Arilyn set their course for Waterdeep.

Sunrise colors still stained the sky when a large, shadowy figure slipped from his hiding place among the trees. He watched as the unlikely pair mounted and headed westward. To his way of thinking, with the High Moor to the south and the rugged Greypeak Mountains to the north, the half-elf had only one logical path to Waterdeep. She had surprised him before, of course, in choosing to brave the dangers of Chelimber.

The dark figure doubted that Arilyn Moonblade would take on the moor’s trolls, or the orc tribes and black dragons that roamed the craggy Greypeak range. He’d followed and watched her since she’d left the Vale of Darkhold, and she seemed to know this area as well as he himself did. She must know that only one route offered relative safety. So he waited, allowing the adventurer and her companion a good lead. There had been several times when she had almost seen him, and he would not take any more chances, not until he was ready to make his move.

The morning was half spent when finally he urged his mount forward. Effortlessly he picked up the trail of the two pampered polo horses, and with a sense of reluctance he followed his latest quarry.

The east wind blew in strongly from the sea, carrying with it a chill drizzle. Every now and then a capricious gust extinguished one of the lanterns that lit the Trade Way to Waterdeep.

Despite the weather, the travelers waiting outside of Waterdeep’s South Gate were in a merry mood. The Feast of the Moon would begin early the next morning, and the crowd looked forward to days of revelry and commerce. For the next tenday the streets of Waterdeep would be lined with vendors and enlivened by wandering entertainers. Most of the trade would center around the Market and the adjacent Bazaar Street, but the whole city was prepared for festivity.

It was a mixed group that gathered outside the South Gate. There were the usual market caravans carrying goods from the east and from the southern land routes. Artisans brought carts and wagons laden with goods for the open air markets. Travelers from all walks of life came to Waterdeep to lay in supplies for the winter and to enjoy one last outing before the cold weather settled in and rendered them virtually housebound.

Itinerant musicians and entertainers made good use of the delay to perform, displaying their money pots prominently and taking advantage of their captive audience. A large group gathered to watch a beautiful dancer, who was garbed only in the filmy draperies of a Calimshite harem, sway sinuously to the plaintive music of a wooden horn. The crowd around her grew larger as the rain rendered her costume more and more transparent. Not far away, four male dancers from the jungle of Chult whirled and circled. Their garments were embroidered with exotic flowers, and the bells attached to their bare ankles jingled emphatically as they stamped out a counterpoint to the flowing rhythm of their tawny arms and bodies. Several paces away, a dexterous halfling juggled an assortment of small weapons. A few of the food vendors were doing a brisk, impromptu business, and the clinking of exchanged coins threatened to drown out the sound of the autumn rain.

The South Gate guard had been doubled to deal with the expected crowds, and the officials checked papers and hustled people through the gates with brisk efficiency. The rain picked up, and the chilled and weary guard began to speed up the process even further. One of them, recognizing Lord Thann’s youngest son, merely touched his forehead in respect and waved the young man through, sparing hardly a glance to the slight, dark-cloaked figure that rode beside him.

“Notoriety has its advantages,” Danilo cheerfully told his companion. If Arilyn heard him she made no sign. She followed his horse north onto the High Road, a broad, cobblestoned street that was the main thoroughfare of the South Ward. This area was the point of entry for most of Waterdeep’s inland trade, and it was lined with tidy stables and warehouses, as well as a number of inviting inns and taverns.

Waterdeep was indeed prepared to welcome an influx of travelers. Buildings blazed with light. Stablehands and porters bustled about, taking care of goods and beasts. Innkeepers welcomed their guests with cheery alacrity.

Danilo and Arilyn passed by the first few inns without stopping, for swarms of travelers were already being turned away. As they headed north the housing situation did not improve, and the storm worsened. The once-pampered mares sloshed resignedly through the puddles, their heads lowered against the driving rain. Danilo motioned for Arilyn to follow him, and he steered his mare out of the crowd and onto the first of a series of small, winding side streets.