Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

“Subtle or not, Hhune’s tactics are taking a toll, my friend. I am beginning to understand your concern about the changed ballads, for they are also proving to be highly effective. Many of them seem to be aimed at you personally. Does it seem likely that the Knights of the Shield are also responsible for the spell on the bards?”

“If not, they are certainly exploiting it,” Khelben said in a weary voice. “I have a contact who may yield some information. I’ll seek her out at once.”

He murmured the words of a spell. In a moment, the tall archmage was gone, and in his place stood a young man of medium height and build. His features were pleasant, and shaded by a broad-brimmed hat Simple, well-made clothing of dark gray linen would be deemed equally at home in the marketplace or a North Ward parlor. In short, he was unremarkable and could pass unnoticed through most of the city. Thus disguised, Khelben took his leave of Piergeiron and headed toward the nearby Jester’s Court It was time for the archmage of Waterdeep to pay a call on a certain lady of the evening.

Imzeel Coopercan had heard too much in the last several days for his peace of mind. Yet the half-dwarven proprietor of the Mighty Manticore listened carefully to the talk of the early supper crowd, picking out bits from the hum of conversation as he endlessly polished the bar with a rag.

“At the rate you’re going, you’ll wear clear through the wood before moonrise,” teased Ginalee, a plump, merry lass who’d been Imzeel’s barmaid long enough for him to permit such familiarity. She was more than passing fond of her employer, despite his dour personality and barrel-shaped torso, and therefore she tried to distract him from whatever woes now absorbed his attention. Resting her elbows on the shining wood of the bar, she propped her head in her hands and dimpled up at him. This posture yielded Imzeel a view of cleavage that should have rallied a dying man; he gave Ginalee a mere glance and went back to polishing the bar.

The offended barmaid snatched the rag away and draped it from the fang of the stuffed and mounted lion head that hung over the bar. That trophy, with a little creative taxidermy and a great deal of wishful thinking, had inspired the tavern’s imposing name. For a moment, Ginalee toyed with the idea of telling Imzeel his establishment was more commonly known as “the Mangy Manticore.” With a sigh, she decided that it wouldn’t matter to him, as long as business continued to thrive.

And thrive it did. The Mighty Manticore was located in the heart of the Castle Ward, at the busy crossroads of Selduth and Silver streets. Those who spent their days in commerce and diplomacy often stopped by the tavern to share news and to make deals over a no-nonsense supper of thick, flavorful stew, sharp cheese, fresh black bread, and hearty ale. Just as important, the back of the tavern opened into Jester’s Court Something interesting always seemed to be happening there, and therefore those whose business was best conducted in shadows also found their way into the tavern through the back door. The result was a nice blend of information and intrigue that Imzeel found to be as satisfying as profit; the proprietor sought and hoarded knowledge as avidly as his dwarven forebears had mined for mithril.

Yet Imzeel found the day’s talk troubling. He reclaimed his rag from the “manticore” and resumed his endless circling as he listened in. There were the usual complaints about problems with shipping and theft, but such things seemed to be occurring on a larger scale than normal. Entire ships and the full contents of warehouses were vanishing, right under the noses of city officials. Even more distressing were the whispers suggesting that the Lords of Waterdeep were disappearing. Tavern talk made the odds-on culprit Waterdeep’s resident archmage.

It was widely accepted that Khelben Arunsun was one of the secret Lords of Waterdeep. There were some who felt the archmage had a bit too much power of his own without such a position, but most Waterdhavians had nothing against wizard rule. In fact, Ahghairon’s Tower stood nearby, a monument to the powerful mage who’d established the Lords of Waterdeep several centuries past The city had prospered under Ahghairon’s long rule, and the consensus seemed to be that, as long as the Blackstaff could do as well, may the gods be with him! Waterdhavians weren’t inclined to grease a cart until it squeaked. As trouble in the city increased, however, many feared that Khelben Arunsun was spending too much time dispatching his rival Lords, and not enough tending to the city and its concerns.

Imzeel noted with satisfaction that his own business seemed unaffected by the city’s troubles. The supper hour had just started, and already the barkeep was tapping a third keg of ale. The patrons even had music with their dinner, for the Masked Minstrel had wandered in from her customary place in Jester’s Court and was playing a plaintive tune on her lute. Usually the mysterious woman’s appearance engendered much interest and speculation, but this evening other matters took precedence. Few bothered to listen to her songs, and Imzeel was not sorry to see her put aside her lute in response to a whispered invitation. She and a young customer disappeared through the back door into Jester’s Court, no doubt bound for the privacy of the woods that covered the slopes of Waterdeep Mountain. Business as usual, Imzeel repeated silently, taking comfort from the thought.

“The wizards you ordered are here,” Ginalee announced. She plunked a tray of empty mugs down on the counter, and tossed her head in the direction of three newcomers. “Should I tell them to go ahead?”

Imzeel nodded, and relief eased his countenance into something approaching a smile. He was a prudent man of business, and like many others he had contracted the wizards’ guild to place magical wards about his establishment.

The Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors was Waterdeep’s youngest guild, and they tended to matters ranging from policing visiting sorcerers to serving on the fire watch. The guild also sought to influence and—to whatever extent they could—monitor the magical activities of powerful, independent wizards. The bizarre occurrences in the city of late suggested that magic of some sort was at work, and this created an imperative demand for the guild’s services. All over the city guild mages were busy setting up magical wards to detect and dispel magic. This gave Imzeel a sense of security, and his patrons also murmured their approval as they watched the proceedings.

As the guild mage finished the complex gestures of a spell to rid the room of magical illusions, the Masked Minstrel came back into the taproom on the arm of her latest client. A sharp blue light flared around the pair, drawing a startled scream from the woman. The room fell into silence, and every eye was drawn to the magical light As the patrons watched, the young man’s features melted and flowed together, in an instant crystallizing into a new and familiar shape.

Standing next to the mysterious masked woman was a tall, well-muscled man, clad in somber magnificence. His features were sharp, his expression grave, and his usually keen black eyes betrayed a touch of uncertainty. The wedge-shaped streak of silver in the center of his beard confirmed his identity to those who would not have known him from his face alone.

The Masked Minstrel fell away from him, one hand clasped to her painted lips. She backed off several paces, and then turned and fled toward Jester’s Court Whether she was surprised by the transformation, or just unwilling to be linked with Khelben Arunsun under such adverse circumstances, was impossible to say.

“So this is how the archmage of Waterdeep spends a summer evening,” Ginalee murmured to Imzeel. “And the city going down to Cyric in a cistern, and all.”