Caledan nodded, but before he could ask another question there was a second fanfare of trumpets. A tall figure clad in dark leather and a cloak of deep crimson rounded the corner and rode down the avenue astride a glossy, jet-black palfrey. Shoulder length hair of pale spun gold shone brightly in the sun.
"Now that," said the merchant, "is City Lord Cutter."
Caledan felt his heart lurch in his chest. A loud rushing sound filled his ears, and he gripped Mista's reins tightly with white-knuckled hands. He couldn't believe his eyes.
The woman called Cutter was beautiful. Her eyes were a dusky blue like the evening sky, and her face was smooth and moon-pale, her strong, fine features better hewn of marble than flesh. But it was not this revelation that made Caledan's heart stop in his chest.
"Ravendas," he hissed through clenched teeth.
"Hey, friend, you'd better bow your head if you don't want the guards to notice you," the merchant whispered hoarsely. "They'll haul you off to the dungeons, they will."
Caledan didn't move. He could only watch as the woman who now called herself Cutter rode with her lord steward through the waiting gates of the tower. The gates swung shut with a sound as vast as thunder. She was gone. As though suddenly released from a spell, Caledan shook his head, trying to swallow the hot bile in his throat. Somehow he had always known he would meet her again. His old enemy. The Zhentarim, Lord Ravendas.
"It looks like we'll be staying a while after all, old friend," Caledan said softly, stroking the gray mare's silky mane. Dusk was drifting down like fine, purple dust among the towers as he rode toward a shadowed section of the Old City. Seeing Ravendas had changed everything. Caledan couldn't leave, not now. He had to find out what his old enemy was up to, and there was an old acquaintance of his on the Street of Jewels who just might be able to help him find out-for the right price, of course.
He had nearly reached his destination when he realized he was being followed.
Caledan had to admit, his dark-cloaked pursuer was skilled, walking down the street after him with a perfect imitation of aimlessness. However, Caledan had played the game enough times himself to know all the tricks.
He rode onward casually, keeping watch on his pursuer out of the corner of his eye. If he remembered this part of the city correctly, he knew of a place where he might be able to arrange a little surprise for his mysterious shadow. He guided the mare down a narrow side street, for the moment cutting off his pursuer's line of sight. He nudged Mista's flanks, and she leaped into a canter, her hooves clattering metallically on the crumbling paving stones.
"Run for a short distance, then wait for me," Caledan whispered into Mista's ear. The horse snorted softly, her ears twitching. Whether it was his words or tone she understood, Caledan could not say, but he knew that she would do his bidding.
As the horse raced on he stood up in the stirrups. He tensed his body and sprang upward. His big hands caught on to a stone ledge jutting from a low bridge that spanned the narrow street. Mista trotted on, disappearing around a corner. Caledan hung for a moment and then heaved himself up onto the bridge with a grunt of effort.
"I am definitely getting too old for this," he groaned, his shoulders throbbing dully. He rolled over to peer down the alleyway. At first he could see nothing. Then out of the murkiness came his pursuer, padding lightly but quickly down the alley, hooded head moving from side to side, searching. When the figure was almost directly below him, Caledan stood up, throwing his cloak back over his shoulders.
"Looking for someone?" he called out. Before his cloaked pursuer could react, Caledan leaped from the low bridge. The two went tumbling to the street. His pursuer was strong and wiry and almost managed to twist out of his grasp, but Caledan had the advantage of size. After a few moments of struggling his shadow was pinned beneath him.
"Let go of me!" his captive shouted, taking a swing at him, but Caledan caught the blow before it landed.
"Not until I find out why you were following me," he said through clenched teeth, holding the person tightly by the wrists. His pursuer was silent for a long moment, then finally spoke in a low, husky voice.
"I am seeking Caledan the Harper."
Caledan grunted, not missing a beat. "What makes you think I know him?"
"Will you let me go?"
"Only if you tell me who you are."
With a curse his captive angrily shook back the cloak's concealing hood. Caledan drew in a sharp breath. His pursuer was a woman. He scrambled quickly to his feet. The woman fought to disentangle herself from the voluminous cloak, then stood to face him. She gazed at him hotly, fire dancing in her dark, smoldering eyes. She angrily brushed her dark auburn hair from her face and planted her hands firmly on her hips.
"I'm Man Al'maren," she said in her low, rich voice, "sent by the Harpers to find Caledan Caldorien. Satisfied?"
Caledan leaned nonchalantly against the brick wall bordering the street. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. What would the Harpers want with him now, after all these years? His face remained impassive. "Really? So why were you following me?"
The Harper woman angrily shed the remains of her tattered cloak. Beneath she was clad in a green velvet jacket and breeches of soft buckskin that matched her boots. A small silver pin, wrought in the shape of a crescent moon encircling a harp, glistened on her collar-the sigil of the Harpers.
"I'm beginning to wonder the same thing myself," she said disgustedly. "I thought there might be a chance you were the one I was searching for."
"This… er… what did you say his name was?" Caledan asked casually.
"Caledan Caldorien," the woman who called herself Man answered, kicking away the cloak and pacing the narrow alleyway in agitation. "Call me crazy, but with the way you dealt with that Zhen-er, that captain on the Street of Lanterns, I thought you might be Caldorien. He's supposed to have been a great hero, you know. At least, that's what all the stories tell."
"Oh, really?" Caledan asked, raising an eyebrow. No doubt they had sent Al'maren here to spy on the Zhents- that would be standard procedure-but Al'maren looked so wet behind the ears he was almost tempted to offer her a handkerchief. "So what makes you think now that I'm not the fellow you're after?" Caledan went on. "Oh, please!" Mari said with a husky laugh, halting for a moment to stare at Caledan. "No offense, friend, but now that I've seen you up close you look more like a vagabond cutpurse than a hero of renown."
Caledan spread out his hands. "No offense taken," he replied amiably.
"Besides, if you really were Caldorien, you'd have a set of reed pipes with you," she continued wearily. "You don't happen to play the pipes, do you, scoundrel?"
"I wouldn't know which end to blow in," Caledan said, lying smoothly.
"I didn't think so," Mari said, sighing. "Caledan Caldorien was supposed to have been the finest piper in the Realms and one of the bravest men as well. We could use his help in dealing with the… the city's new ruler."
Harpers, Caledan thought derisively. They send one agent on what was probably her first mission to counter a city crawling with Zhentarim. That was just like them. They were idealists almost to the point of idiocy Mari Al'maren no doubt thought that a few old, tired ballads and a few lofty, outdated ideals were somehow enough to end all the suffering and darkness in the world. Caledan knew better. He, of all people, knew that music-and the Harpers- would never be enough.
"Well, I'm sorry to have caused you trouble, friend scoundrel," Mari continued, "though you seem to have paid me back for it." She rubbed her shoulder. "I've got to keep searching. This city is supposed to have been Caldorien's last known home, though gods know why anyone would live here." She looked distastefully around the dingy street.