Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

He turned to the waiting men. “See to it,” he commanded. “As for the maid, kill her and remove her from this place. Our Waterdeep agent will see that the body disappears deep into the harbor.”

Hhune whirled and stalked from the bedchamber, faintly repulsed by the eager gleam in the men’s eyes as they closed on the sobbing courtesan. Torture was not an uncommon weapon for the Knights of the Shield, and these men been chosen for their skill in the art. Hhune had little taste for such things, but he supposed that a man should enjoy his work.

He nearly bumped into Garnet, who awaited him in the hall. The look of blatant disapproval she sent him made Hhune feel defensive of his methods.

“The courtesan is being dealt with,” Hhune said, nodding toward the closed door. “Since you did not succeed in poisoning her last night, we felt another approach was indicated.”

The half-elf’s eyes blazed. “Lady Thione neglected to tell me that all Lords of Waterdeep are immune to poison. Had I known such methods would fail, I would not have wasted the night chatting with her and performing at the party like some common minstrel.”

“Thione said nothing of that, eh? This is most interesting,” Hhune said thoughtfully.

Garnet noted that the southern nobleman was far from displeased to learn of Lady Thione’s omission. Since she had little interest in the internal politics of the Knights of the Shield, she merely shrugged and turned away. She hurried down the hall to an arched doorway and stepped out onto a balcony.

Hhune watched her, his black brows knit together in puzzlement. What did the half-elf expect to do: fly? Curiosity got the better of him, and he crept down the hall with as much stealth as his bulk could manage. He peered around the edge of the drapery, and recoiled in surprise.

A milk-white horse stood on the balcony, two stories above the quiet street As Hhune watched, Garnet hoisted herself onto the animal’s back and gathered up the reins, slapping them sharply against her steed’s neck. The horse hesitated, and Garnet’s face hardened into a mask of concentration and anger. As if in response, the horse dipped its head in a gesture that spoke eloquently of both sadness and resignation. It lifted straight into the air, as lightly as a hummingbird. Then, as quickly as that delicate bird, the horse darted away into the clouds.

“Asperii,” breathed Hhune in an awed tone. He had heard of the rare and magical wind steeds, but never before had he seen one. Like pegasi, these horses could fly, but they had no wings. Their flight came from their natural powers of levitation, and they were uncommonly fast. An asperii formed a telepathic bond with a mage or priest of great power, and would remain with its master for life.

This discovery intrigued Hhune. He had arrived in Waterdeep the day before with a shipment of goods for the Midsummer Faire. Once his duties as a merchant had been discharged, he’d called on Lady Thione expecting a routine report. Instead, he’d discovered that she had made an alliance with a formidable sorceress, and that she had put a plan in action that would come to fruition in a matter of days. She would not tell him the details of this plan. In itself, this did not surprise Hhune, for he was not Lady Thione’s superior, and the Knights of the Shield kept secrets even from their own. He got the impression, however, that Lady Thione herself did not know all that would happen.

To Hhune’s eye, Garnet was firmly in control. The sorceress was using the Knights of the Shield as a personal tool, of that Hhune was fairly certain. He also suspected that she knew something that gave her power over Lady Thione. Hhune would dearly love to know what that was. Perhaps, he mused, a longer stay in Waterdeep would be most rewarding.

Morning light streamed in through the tall, slender windows that encircled the round bedchamber. Lucia Thione stretched, languid as a contented cat, and reached for her young lover. But the bed was empty, and only rumpled silk sheets and a broad depression in the down-filled mattress indicated that the evening before had been more than a pleasant dream.

“Ah, you’re awake. Now it can truly be said that morning has come.” Dressed in leathers and riding boots, Caladorn strode into the room, his auburn hair still damp from the baths. Lucia sat up and raised her face for a kiss. The young man bent over and greeted her tenderly.

“You are off so soon?” she asked, pouting a little. “But you have been working so hard of late. We’ve had so little time together.”

“I have business,” Caladorn said with a fond smile, tracing the delicate arch of her nose with a gloved finger. “Surely a merchant of your acumen knows the importance of that.”

“What sort of business?”

“The city has engaged me to train those who wish to compete in the Midsummer Games. I shall be at the Field of Triumph all day.”

After promising to meet her back at his townhouse that evening, Caladorn took leave of his lady. Left alone, Lucia smiled and flung herself back among the pillows. She waited until she heard the muffled thud of the front door. Although she would have enjoyed Caladorn’s company this morning, she needed the time alone to find a path out of her dilemma.

By pretending to be one of the Lords of Waterdeep, she had placed herself in a favored position with the Knights of the Shield. Their support had allowed her to amass a great fortune, and ail had been well, until Garnet entered her life. The sorceress’s dangerous knowledge had placed Lucia in a position of virtual slavery. The arrival of Lord Hhune from Tethyr worsened matters considerably, for the Knights of the Shield would not be pleased to learn of her alliance with Garnet. This association had started out on a dangerous note: Garnet had assumed control of Hhune, his men, and Lucia’s local agents. Worse, the sorceress had demanded that Lucia reveal the names of the Lords of Waterdeep.

Lucia could hardly admit she did not have this knowledge, so she’d compiled a short list for Garnet: Khelben Arunsun, Larissa Neathal, the moneylender Mirt, Durnan, and Texter the Paladin. These names were whispered in every tavern of Waterdeep, and they would suffice for now. Lucia knew she would have to do better, and soon.

The noblewoman flung aside the covers and left the bedchamber. If Caladorn did have connections to the Lords of Waterdeep, she would find no evidence of it here. She made her way down the spiral stairs to the next level, which held the bathing area and dressing rooms. One room was filled with chests and wardrobes, and it seemed like a good place to begin her search.

Moving quietly so as not to alert Caladorn’s manservant, Lucia systematically went through each chest and every drawer, looking for anything that might link Caladorn to the Lords of Waterdeep. For almost an hour she combed the room, to no avail.

Frustrated but determined to persist, Lucia headed for her own closet. She planned to search the townhouse to the last nail and tile, but she could hardly do so clad in a diaphanous nightdress. Caladorn, who was in all things attentive and romantic, had filled a closet with several changes of clothing for such mornings, all of them in Lucia’s trademark purple. With a deep sigh, Lucia drew a lavender robe from the closet. Perhaps, after a bath and a change of clothes—

Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop. For no reason that she could ascertain, the hem of the robe was stuck to the back of the wooden wardrobe. She gave the garment a sharp tug, but it held fast. She dropped to her knees for a closer look. The grain of the wood around the trapped fabric was even and uninterrupted, and when she ran her fingers over the smooth panel, she felt no ridge or gap. It was as if the lavender silk grew directly out of the wood.