“Before we leave for Candlekeep, I have one more question,” Arilyn said to the archmage. His readiness to help had raised her suspicions. Could it be that the archmage knew something about the moonblade, something that he kept from her? A test came to mind: if a minor mage like Coril could decipher some of the runes on the scabbard, surely Khelben could at least do likewise. Arilyn drew the moonblade and ran her finger along the runes. “Can you read any of these?”
Khelben leaned closer and studied the arcane marks for several moments. “No. I’m sorry.”
“You do know what they say, though,” she stated, her tone posing a question.
The archmage’s face was inscrutable. “How could I know such a thing?” He motioned toward the portal. “Good luck on your trip.”
“Thank you for your good wishes,” she said in an overly sweet voice. “Since we will be traveling in the dark, we certainly have need of them.”
Khelben glowered at the disrespectful and far too perceptive half-elf. She merely raised her eyebrows, took Danilo’s arm, and disappeared into the velvet blackness of the dimensional gate.
The archmage smiled faintly. Arilyn is sharp, he mused as he walked down the stairs to the parlor. A flash of green caught his eye. Danilo had left a scarf behind, draped over a small portrait that rested on a table easel. Even as Khelben reached for the bright silk, it faded from sight.
“An illusion,” he said softly. “That boy’s getting far too good.” Khelben instantly realized why the portrait had been covered. It was a sketch of four friends, one he had drawn from memory many years ago. The archmage picked up the portrait for a closer look. His own face looked back at him from the past, that of a young mage whose hairline had not yet begun its northward migration. The man beside him also had dark hair, curly and full, and implacable stubbornness was written in the set of his jaw and the steadiness of his eyes. Seated before the men were Laeral the mage and Princess Amnestria of Evermeet.
Khelben gripped the portrait. Laeral sat with her hand clasped in that of her friend Amnestria. The archmage could see why Danilo did not wish Arilyn to see the pencil sketch; without the vivid difference in their coloring apparent, Amnestria and Arilyn looked so much alike that the half-elf could not have failed to recognize her mother. If she had seen the picture of the four friends, she would have surely raised questions that Khelben was not prepared to answer.
Laeral. The mage’s gaze returned to the pert, smiling face of the young adventurer. It had been quite some time since he’d seen his lady. She returned to Waterdeep from time to time, and Khelben still kept chambers for her in the top floor of his tower. But Laeral had developed a taste for travel and continued a life of adventuring, and Khelben found himself trapped in Waterdeep more and more often, pursuing politics and diplomacy. Both had become powerful mages, both worked with the Harpers. There was no real quarrel between them. How then, Khelben mused, could it be that they were drifting apart?
The archmage found himself pondering Danilo’s angry words. How much had he himself sacrificed on the altar of a noble cause? Even for a man who strove for self knowledge, it was a disturbing thought.
In his villa not far from Blackstaff Tower, Kymil Nimesin leaned back from his scrying crystal. His angular face showed deep concern. Perhaps he should have heeded Elaith Craulnobur’s warning concerning Danilo Thann.
Even if the young nobleman was indeed the fool he appeared to be, he had led Arilyn to Khelben Arunsun. Of all those connected to the Harpers, the Blackstaff was most likely to know the secrets of Arilyn’s moonblade. Since Kymil could not magically observe the half-elf in Blackstaff Tower, he had no idea what she had learned from the archmage. At least the mage had been foolish enough to mention the pair’s destination outside the tower: Candlekeep. Kymil cursed. He could not spy on her there either. If his plan was to succeed, he needed to move now. Kymil turned to his assistant.
“Filauria, summon the mercenary team.”
The lovely etriel at Kymil’s side went without question to do his bidding. Soon she returned, leading a contingent of human adventurers from the chambers where they had awaited Kymil’s summons, swilling ale and playing dice.
For a long moment, Kymil regarded the men whom Elaith Craulnobur had recommended for the task. They were led by Harvid Beornigarth, an uncouth one-eyed giant of a man. The unfortunate result of a barbarian rampage, Harvid owed his size to his father’s race and his eye patch to Arilyn Moonblade. The fighter’s huge arms were knotted with muscle, and he was known to wield his spike-studded mace with skill. The four men with Harvid were equally strong and unkempt, to all appearances a wild and formidable force. They were precisely what Kymil needed.
“Well, Harvid, it seems that you shall finally have the opportunity to avenge the loss of your eye,” Kymil began, steepling his fingers in a gesture of satisfaction.
The man hefted his mace in anticipation. “Where is the gray wench?” he snarled.
“Let us hope your skills match your enthusiasm,” Kymil said dryly. “Your chance will come before the sun rises again. Behold.”
Kymil waved his fingers over the scrying crystal and an image of a garden courtyard appeared. A few people wandered about, enjoying the bright autumn morning. “This is Jester’s Square. Do you know it? Good. The half-elf and her companion, Danilo Thann, will arrive here before daybreak. There are but two ways to leave the courtyard.” Kymil pointed to a large gap between two buildings. “This would be the mostly likely exit. You are to block it. Use whatever you can find. You will lie in wait for them here, in this alley.”
Kymil looked up at the mercenaries, his face grim. “And you will kill them both.” A gasp of surprise came from the elven female who stood attentively behind the armsmaster’s chair.
Harvid Beornigarth had his own doubts. He grimaced and scratched at his eye patch with a large, grimy finger.
“Is there a problem?” Kymil asked calmly.
“Well, yes,” Harvid admitted. “I know young Lord Thann.”
“Yes? So?”
“I don’t want to kill him.”
“Really,” chided Kymil. “I had thought you beyond such sentiment.”
“It’s not personal. I just don’t like messing with nobility. His family is powerful.”
“Is that all.” Kymil sniffed. “Believe me, the Thann family will recover from the loss. Danilo is a sixth son, a wastrel and a fool by most measures.” The elf’s voice hardened. “You will kill Danilo Thann. That is the price I demand for giving you Arilyn Moonblade’s life.”
The gleam returned to Harvid’s good eye. “I’ll get the gold you promised when I bring you her sword?”
“Of course,” Kymil said smoothly. “Now go.”
Filauria watched the mercenaries clomp from the room. “I have seen the half-elf in battle. Those men are as good as dead.”
Kymil patted her hand. “Of course they are, my dear, but they are nothing if not expendable.”
The etriel looked puzzled. “If Harvid Beornigarth and his men cannot kill the half-elf, why do you send them?”
“I do not want Arilyn dead. I merely wish to restore her sword to its full potential,” Kymil said mildly. “Harvid Beornigarth is the means to that end. At first glance, he looks dangerous, and he and his men should give Arilyn a good fight. Bran Skorlsun will certainly come out of the shadows if his daughter’s life appears to be endangered. With him comes the moonstone.”
The first thing Arilyn noticed about Candlekeep was that the air was considerably warmer than that in Waterdeep. No wonder, she thought dazedly. She and Danilo had materialized several hundred miles to the south of the City of Splendors.