Элейн Каннингем - Elfshadow

“I’m sorry,” she said with regret, “but it’s been many years since I’ve heard that dialect.”

“Of course,” the handsome quessir replied, switching smoothly to Common. “An old tongue, and spoken all too seldom. Forgive me, but there are too few of our race in these parts, and I was momentarily overcome by nostalgia.” The elf’s smile was both wistful and charming.

Arilyn accepted his explanation with a nod. “What did you call me just then?”

The elf responded with a short bow. “Again, I must apologize. For a moment, you reminded me of someone I once knew.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh, I am certain you could never do that,” he swore. “Even as we speak, I’ve grown to realize how fortunate an error I made.”

Arilyn’s rarely seen dimples flashed briefly. “Are you always this gallant with chance-met strangers?”

“Always,” he responded in kind. “Seldom, however, does chance deliver me such lovely strangers. Would you do me the honor of joining me? This is one of the few places in Waterdeep were one can find Elverquisst, and I’ve just ordered a bottle. Not many can appreciate the nuances or the tradition.”

Arilyn’s face relaxed in a genuine smile. The surprise of meeting a moon elf in this place—and of hearing him speak the language Arilyn associated with her mother—had lowered her natural reserve. The elf’s avowed homesickness reminded her that it had indeed been too long since she’d been to Evereska.

“A gracious offer, most gratefully accepted,” she replied, using the formal polite response. She extended her left hand, palm up. “I am Arilyn Moonblade of Evereska.”

The quessir placed his palm over hers and bowed low over their joined hands. “Your name is known to me. I am indeed honored,” he murmured in a respectful tone.

The tread of approaching footsteps interrupted the elves.

“I’ve got good news and bad news, Arilyn,” Danilo announced gaily as he sauntered up. “Hello! Who’s your fr—” The young man stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the moon elf.

Danilo’s face darkened, and, to Arilyn’s horror, his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword in unmistakable challenge. What was the fool doing? she thought with dismay.

The patrons of the House of Good Spirits were, for the most part, hard-drinking folk, many of them veterans of countless tavern battles. They could sense a fight in the making as surely as a sea captain could smell a coming storm. Conversations trailed off, and glasses clinked busily as the patrons drained their spirits while conditions permitted.

As quickly as it came, the threat passed. Looking faintly surprised at himself, Danilo released his sword and fished an embroidered handkerchief from his breast pocket. He wiped his fingers as if they had somehow been sullied by the touch of a weapon, and his vaguely apologetic smile took in both Arilyn and the elf. “Someone you know, I take it?” he said into the inn’s sudden silence, gazing down at the elves’ joined hands.

Self-consciously, Arilyn snatched her hand away and stuffed both balled fists into her trouser pockets. Before she could issue a scathing rejoinder, her new acquaintance spoke up.

“For a moment, I mistook the etriel for an old friend.”

Danilo’s eyebrows flew up. “By the gods, an original ploy!” he said with great admiration. “I shall have to try that myself next time I see a lady whose acquaintance I should like to make.”

The quessir’s eyes narrowed at the implication, but Danilo’s bland, smiling face betrayed not a hint of sarcasm. For a moment the three stood, unmoving. The moon elf made a curt bow of dismissal to Danilo, then, turning his back on the dandy as if he were of no further consequence or concern, the elf took Arilyn’s arm and escorted her toward a table near the fireplace. The inn’s patrons sensed that the crisis was past, and the clink and murmur of resumed drinking and conversation filled the inn.

Still aghast at Danilo’s rude behavior, Arilyn felt a flood of relief that a fight had been avoided. In the Marsh of Chelimber Danilo had proven himself a remarkably good fighter, but Arilyn did not want to see him take his chances against this elf. As the quessir led her to his table, she shot an angry look over her shoulder mouthed Go away! at Danilo. She glared at him and silently willed him to leave well enough alone.

If Danilo understood her warning, he stupidly refused to take it. Casually the dandy followed the elves to their table. It was a corner table, big enough only for two to share a bottle and conversation, but Danilo dragged a third chair up and dropped comfortably into it. His smile was arrogantly complacent, as if his presence there had been commissioned by royalty.

“Danilo, what has come over you?” Arilyn snapped.

“What has come over you?” he countered languidly, gesturing across the table at the quessir . “Really, my dear, accepting an invitation from this, er, gentleman—or would the term be gentle elf?—without benefit of a proper introduction.” The dandy shook his head and tsk-tsked. “At this rate, how shall I ever induct you into Waterdhavian society?”

Enraged by Danilo’s presumption, Arilyn drew in a long, slow breath. Before she could expel it in a barrage of much-deserved abuse, something in Danilo’s meanderings struck home. Come to think of it, she realized, the elf had not given her his name. She turned her eyes toward the quessir . He was observing the exchange with an alert expression in his amber eyes.

“I make no secret of my identity,” the elf said, speaking only to Arilyn. “We were merely interrupted before I could complete the introduction. I am Elaith Craulnobur, at your service.”

“Well, damn my eyes!” Danilo interjected in a jovial tone. “I’ve heard of you! Aren’t you known as ‘the Serpent?’ ”

“In certain objectionable circles, yes,” the elf admitted coolly.

Elaith “the Serpent” Craulnobur. With an effort, Arilyn kept her face expressionless. She had also heard of the elven adventurer. His reputation for cruelty and treachery was legendary, and Kymil had issued strict and repeated orders for her to stay far away from the moon elf. Her mentor emphasized that Arilyn’s reputation, damaged by the unfortunate label of assassin, would be further tainted by association with such as Elaith Craulnobur.

Arilyn, however, refused to be prejudiced by the dark rumors or by Kymil’s old-lady fussing. After all, tales of some of her own exploits had come back to her, twisted beyond all recognition. It could be so with this elf. Arilyn turned to face her host, keeping her voice and face carefully neutral. She would judge for herself.

“Well met, Elaith Craulnobur. Please accept my apologies for my companion’s unfortunate remark.”

“Your companion?” Elaith regarded Danilo with the first sign of interest.

“Thank you very much, Arilyn, but I can speak for myself,” Danilo protested cheerfully.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered. “Really, Danilo, I know that seats are scarce, but would you please excuse us? I have accepted Elaith Craulnobur’s invitation for a drink. I will join you later, if you like.”

“What? You want me to leave? And miss the opportunity to meet such a legend? Not likely. What kind of amateur bard do you think me?” Danilo folded both arms on the table and leaned toward Elaith Craulnobur, smiling confidingly. “Did you know that songs are sung about your exploits?”

“I did not.” The quessir’s tone did not invite more discussion on the matter.

Danilo missed the unspoken message entirely. “You mean that you’ve never heard ‘Silent Strikes the Serpent?’ It’s quite a catchy tune. Shall I sing it for you?”