“I suppose not,” the man conceded. “The only persons who can open the files are Queen Amlauril of Evermeet, Lord Erlan Duirsar of Evereska, Laeral the mage, and Khelben Arunsun of Waterdeep.”
Arilyn’s face darkened. “I knew it. Khelben already has the answers, doesn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got most of them,” Danilo admitted.
“Why send us here?”
“Like everyone else allied to the Harpers, Khelben likes to keep secrets,” the nobleman said. “He also likes to collect them. If there’s one puzzle piece he lacks, he’s probably hoping we’ll find it.”
“Such as?”
“Well, such as who’s behind the assassinations, I imagine.”
“That I know,” Arilyn said sadly.
Danilo sat up straight. “You do?”
“I’m pretty sure. What I don’t know is what the elfgate is or how it could possibly be connected to the assassinations.”
Danilo suddenly became very still. “Bran Skorlsun,” he said quietly. “By every god, that has to be the connection.” He rose abruptly from the table. “Come on. We’ve got to get back to Blackstaff Tower. Immediately.”
Seventeen
By the time the courtyard of Jester’s Square firmed beneath her feet, Arilyn had recovered from her uncharacteristic attack of docility. She stepped out from between the twin black oaks that flanked the invisible dimensional door and turned to face Danilo, blocking his way. “Just before we left Candlekeep, you spoke a name. Who is this Bran Skorlsun, and what does he have to do with me?”
“My dear Arilyn,” Danilo said in his lazy drawl, “it is not yet daybreak, and you wish to stand here and chat? I don’t like being on the streets at this hour.” He cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder at the deserted square. “By the gods, doesn’t Uncle Khelben know of a dimensional door with a tonier address?”
The half-elf blinked, stunned by the sudden and complete change in Danilo’s behavior. “What has come over you?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said lightly, trying to brush past Arilyn into the square.
She would not be budged. “Who are you, Danilo Thann? What manner of man hides beneath those velvets and jewels?”
“A naked one,” he quipped lightly. “But please feel free not to take my word on the matter.”
“Enough!” said Arilyn violently. “Why do you present yourself as you are not? You’ve a quick mind and a strong sword arm; you show promise as both scholar and mage. I will no longer accept that you are a fool, and I will not allow you to treat me as one!”
“I would not,” he said gently.
“Oh no? Then stop this nonsense and answer my question! Who is this Bran Skorlsun?”
“All right.” The noble leaned close and spoke as quietly as he could. “He’s the Harper ranger of whom Elaith Craulnobur spoke, whose business is to track down false and renegade Harpers.”
“Really. How would you come by such information? Perhaps you are also employed by the Harpers?”
“Me, a Harper?” Danilo stepped back and laughed immoderately. “My dear girl, that jest would inspire much mirth in some circles.”
“Then you won’t mind if I read this.” Arilyn deftly plucked from Danilo’s pocket the note Khelben Arunsun had written. She read aloud. “Candlekeep is protected from magical observation. You need only maintain your facade enough to convince Arilyn.”
The eyes the half-elf raised to Danilo’s face were blazing with anger and accusation. “Sing me a song, bard, a song of a man with two faces.”
Before Danilo could parry her demand, a cat’s squall erupted from the alley behind them, followed by a muffled oath. Danilo cast an uneasy look toward the dim alley and glanced down at the moonblade. It glowed with a faint blue light. He grasped Arilyn’s shoulders and firmly turned her around, urging her forward.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he said in a low voice. “I think someone’s following us.”
Arilyn laughed derisively. “That, Lord Thann, is old news indeed.”
“So are you, gray elf,” growled a voice from the alley.
Her anger forgotten, Arilyn whirled toward the alley, sword in hand. Harvid Beornigarth stepped out of the shadows, closely followed by a pair of his thugs. The lamplight reflected off his bald pate and rusty armor; were it not for the lout’s vast size and his confident air, his appearance would have been more comic than threatening. He folded his arms across his rusty chain mail shirt and leered down at the half-elf with malevolent satisfaction.
“See? I told you so,” Danilo murmured. “Does anyone ever listen to me? Of course they don’t.”
Arilyn glared at the huge adventurer. “Haven’t you had enough?” she asked, her voice edged with contempt. “You should have learned by now that you can’t win.”
Rage washed over the man’s face, and he raised one hand to his eye patch. “You’ll not get the best of me this time,” he vowed, shaking a spiked mace at her.
“Apparently he’s a slow learner,” Danilo remarked.
Harvid Beornigarth’s scowl deepened. He barked a command, and two more ruffians stepped out of the alley.
Danilo let out a long, slow whistle. “Five-to-two. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything?”
The half-elf merely shrugged. “Coward’s odds.”
Her insult swept away the last of Harvid Beornigarth’s restraint. With a roar, he charged at her like a maddened bull, swinging his mace wildly. Arilyn nimbly dodged the swing, and the battle was on.
Fury gave speed and power to Harvid’s mace. Cursing and roaring, he swung at the half-elf again and again. His slender opponent was forced into a defensive position, putting all her strength into dodging and blocking the onslaught.
As soon as she could, she cast a glance toward Danilo. The nobleman was not faring well. Harvid’s four thugs had surrounded him; apparently Harvid had instructed them to leave Arilyn to him.
Dread chilled the half-elf. She knew that Danilo, although skilled in the ways of classic swordplay, could not hold off four streetwise fighters for long. She would have to come to his aid, and quickly.
Even as the thought was being formed in her mind, one of the men slipped through Danilo’s guard. A blade glanced off the jeweled hilt of the nobleman’s sword and cut a deep gash in his forearm. Danilo’s sword fell from his hand with a clatter, and a bright stain of blood blossomed on the yellow silk of his shirt. One of the thugs grinned and kicked the fallen weapon out of reach.
A cold fury swept through Arilyn, and in an instant she transformed into an elven berserker. She broke free of her battle with Harvid Beornigarth and turned on Danilo’s attackers. Her moonblade cut down the nearest man with gory efficiency. The half-elf hurled herself over the body, violently shoving Danilo into the small space between the twin oak trees. She whirled, placing herself between the three fighters and the unarmed and wounded nobleman. They advanced, and Arilyn’s flashing sword caught the first rays of morning as she held off the three ruffians.
Abandoned by his quarry and cheated of battle, Harvid Beornigarth stood alone and unnoticed. His mace dangled at his side, and his jaw hung slack over both of his chins. He watched the fight for a long moment, a stupefied expression on his face. His one good eye narrowed, and he hefted his mace and moved in for the kill. It took but a moment for him to realize he could not get at the half-elf without knocking his own men out of the way. He wasn’t averse to killing his men, if the situation demanded, but if he did so he’d have to face the elven berserker alone.
Damn the wench! Harvid sank down on a handy crate, sucking in a long, angry breath. Then his wits—such as they were—returned to him. He exhaled in a leisurely fashion and settled himself comfortably on the crate. He might as well sit back and enjoy the show. Truth be told, Harvid Beornigarth had little desire to join his men in the Realm of the Dead. Let the elf wench spend herself and her berserker rage on the destruction of his faithful army. All he cared about was seeing her killed. If his men couldn’t manage the job, at least they could tire her out. Once again Harvid Beornigarth’s hand rose to his eye patch, and he sat, biding his time.