Элейн Каннингем - Elfsong

Clutching the box containing the magical helm, Lucia Thione fled through the quiet street. She had left one of Hhune’s coins beside Caladorn’s body, hoping to place the blame for the murders on the Tethyrian merchant It was important, however, that no one see her out and abroad this night. She made her way quickly to a well-guarded home she owned nearby. Armed servants stood watch at every entrance, and several fierce moor hounds patrolled the walled grounds surrounding the house.

She brushed past one of the silent sentinels and made her way quickly up to her private chamber. She placed the box on her bed and shrugged off her cloak.

“Good evening, Lady Thione.”

The noblewoman screamed and spun around, one hand at her throat. A tall, slender moon elf clad in unrelieved black rose gracefully from a chair. She recognized Elaith Craulnober, and her terror increased fourfold. Backing away, she lunged for the bellpull that would summon her armed servants.

“Don’t bother your servants at this hour on my behalf,” the elf said with a polite smile. “I gave them the night off.”

The echo of words she had recently spoken to Caladorn chilled Lucia, and an image of Antony’s body flashed into her mind. “They are all dead,” she stated in a dull voice.

“Quite,” Elaith agreed pleasantly. He resumed his seat and began to toy with a jeweled dagger. “Sit down, won’t you? We have a shared problem to discuss.”

Lucia sank down onto the edge of her bed. “How did you get past the magical wards around this house?” she demanded.

“Collecting magical toys is a hobby of mine,” the elf said. “I’ve become rather good at identifying and dispatching them. Now, about this problem. We both have allies who have outlived their usefulness. I will remove yours, if you would be so kind as to have your agents tend to a partner of mine.”

“I do not need to make such arrangements. The Lords of Waterdeep will see to Hhune,” she said.

“No doubt. I was speaking of the other, the bard who carries an elven harp.”

The noblewoman stared. “How do you know of this?”

“That is not important. Just tell me where she is—or who she is, for that matter—and I assure you she’ll not trouble you further.”

Lucia’s mind whirled as she considered this possibility. The elf had proven himself capable of dispatching armed men and powerful magic. Perhaps he might be a match for the sorceress. That, however, raised another question.

“If you can do this, why do you not remove this unwanted partner yourself?”

The elf’s smile held a bit of self-mockery. “Let’s just say it’s a matter of honor. Now, have we a deal?”

“Garnet is a half-elf woman of middle years. She is staying at my Sea Ward villa. Kill her, and I will grant you anything in my power to give,” she said in a hard voice.

“I see that we shall get along fine,” Elaith observed. “Now, there is something else you should know. Khelben Arunsun will soon be informed that you are an agent of the Knights of the Shield. All is not lost,” the elf said, holding up a hand at her cry of dismay. “I have a network of safe houses throughout the city. I will be happy to hide you and smuggle you safely out of Waterdeep. I will ensure that an armed escort will see you to an appropriate destination.”

The elf smiled pleasantly. “Of course, I will do all this for you after you have ordered your agents to rid the world of one Danilo Thann.”

Throughout the night, the wall surrounding Blackstaff Tower was ringed by an assortment of unhappy people. Mages from the Watchful Order stood guard, ready with spells and wands to counter another attack of wizard weather. A circle of bards took turns singing the ballads that had changed the respect many Waterdhavians held for Khelben Arunsun into fear and distrust. The bards’ audience, frightened by the strange Midsummer storm and the reputed disappearances of some of the Lords of Waterdeep, feared that the city’s troubles were examples of anarchy to come. Khelben Arunsun was being blamed for events as varied as the attack upon the courtesan Larissa Neathal and the death of a caravan master from Baldur’s Gate by the hands of overeager cut-purses. Several watch patrols stood by the tower in case the crowd’s emotions spilled over into violence.

Inside the tower, Khelben paced his private chamber. “You should try to get some rest, my love,” Laeral told him, laying aside the book she was vainly trying to read. “You have not slept for days now.”

“Who could sleep with all that noise outside?” he retorted, flinging a hand toward the window. Like all the windows and doors of the tower and the surrounding wall, this one was visible only from the inside, and it shifted location constantly, yielding the wizards an ever-changing view of the crowd outside.

“While Piergeiron pondered matters of diplomacy and trade, Lucia Thione went into hiding,” Khelben fumed. “I sent Harper agents to check all the properties she owns in the city. No one has found a trace of her. That was hours ago, and two agents have failed to report back at all.”

In the corner of the room, a large crystal globe began to pulse with light Khelben strode over to the scrying crystal and passed a hand over it. The face of a well-known shopkeeper came into view.

“Well?” the archmage demanded.

“Greetings, Blackstaff. Ariadne and Rix have been found,” the woman said in a voice raw with unshed tears. “They were outside the walls of Lucia Thione’s estate in the Sea Ward. Both died by garotte, and the bodies were left as if in warning.” She stopped and cleared her throat several times before she could proceed. “Their eyes had been closed, and a large gold coin placed on each eyelid.”

“Hhune’s mark?” Khelben asked, his voice low.

“Yes.”

The shopkeeper’s face faded from view, but the archmage did not move or speak. As the minutes ticked by, Laeral studied her love with growing concern. Always he was hard hit by the death of Harpers who acted at his bidding, but this time she feared that Khelben’s broad shoulders could not bear another such burden. He was overextended and exhausted, frustrated by his inability to control this situation or solve the city’s problems.

With a sudden fierce swing, Khelben backhanded the scrying crystal. The globe flew across the room and shattered against the wall. He snatched up a cloak and the black wooden staff for which he was famed and feared. Before Laeral could respond to the uncharacteristic outburst, the archmage vanished.

Khelben materialized in the ballroom where Lucia Thione had recently held her lavish party. The room looked quite different at this hour of the night, almost austere without its crowd of merry revelers. It was lit only by the moonlight that filtered in from the garden beyond, casting silvery shadows upon the pale marble of the floor. The night air was scented by flowering vines that climbed trellises over each window alcove and arched door, and the silence was heavy with the memory of gay laughter and rollicking music. The archmage stood there a long moment, trying to collect his thoughts and to decide how to follow through on his impulsive action.

Like the ghost of a forgotten melody, a thread of silvery harp music reached out to him from the shadows at the far side of the ballroom. The archmage followed the sound, and his footsteps echoed in a somber counterpoint to the lilting little song.

The music seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and as Khelben drifted through the ballroom in search of its source, he felt as if he were moving in a dream, or trying to grasp a shadow. Finally he came to a large arched door that led out into the garden. There sat a small woman, clad in an elegant gown the color of sapphires. Her graying hair was tucked behind slightly pointed ears, and she played a small harp of dark wood.