“Evereska …” Arilyn repeated softly, looking thoroughly puzzled. “Was there anything out of the ordinary about his request for leave?”
Quentin thought that over. “Well, Kymil did take several of our best students with him.”
“What can you tell me about them?” Arilyn asked.
The headmaster retrieved one of the piles of parchments from his desk—a large pile—and began to thumb through it.
Arilyn shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. “Ah, here it is,” Quentin exclaimed happily, brandishing a piece of parchment. “Kymil’s request for leave. He took with him Moor Canterlea, Filauria Ni’Tessine, Caer-Abett Fen, Kizzit Elmshaft, and Kermel Starsinger.”
“Some of those are elven names,” Danilo commented.
“All of them,” Quentin corrected. “All gold elves, come to think of it. Every one of them personally recruited and trained by Kymil Nimesin. An impressive lot, I must say.”
“You have personal records on these students, I imagine. May I see one of them?” Arilyn asked.
“Of course. Which student?”
“Ni’Tessine. Filauria.”
“Ah, yes,” Quentin said. “Fine student. I understand she had a brother in the academy some years back, but that was somewhat before my time.”
“It was twenty-five years ago,” Arilyn said softly as she accepted the parchment the headmaster offered her. “He and I were classmates.”
“Is that so? What did you say your name was?” Quentin asked with friendly interest. Arilyn told him, and his bushy brows lifted. “This is odd. Kymil left a note for you.” The headmaster produced a small parchment scroll and handed it to Arilyn.
She quickly scanned the note, then without comment she slipped it into the pocket of her cloak and turned her attention back to the records of Filauria Ni’Tessine. As Arilyn had anticipated, the gold elf had followed custom and listed her family history in some detail. Among Filauria’s siblings was Tintagel Ni’Tessine, alumnus of the Academy of Arms, member of the Waterdeep Watch. Her father’s name was Fenian Ni’Tessine, deceased as of 2 Ches, 1321 Dalereckoning. Interesting, Arilyn thought, that the elf died on the same day King Zaor of Evermeet was assassinated.
Abruptly Arilyn handed the paper back to the headmaster. “Thank you.”
“Always ready to aid the Harper cause,” Quentin said heartily. “I don’t suppose you could fill me in on what’s happening?”
“Gladly, but at a later time,” Bran said.
“Just tell me one thing,” Quentin pressed, “is Kymil Nimesin in any sort of danger?”
“Count on it,” Arilyn promised in a grim tone.
None too gently, she ushered Bran and Danilo out of the room. Once they reached the academy courtyard, she turned to confront the Harper. “Why did the headmaster call you Raven?”
The Harper drew back a step, a little surprised by the intensity of her question. “My given name, Bran, is the word for raven in an ancient language of the Moonshae Isles. Why do you ask?”
“Hearing it just then brought to mind something I’d almost forgotten,” Arilyn said slowly. “I trained at the academy with Filauria Ni’Tessine’s brother, Tintagel. He carried the broken shaft of an arrow with him like a talisman. A tiny brand—a raven—was burned into the wood of the arrow shaft. Tintagel said it was to remind him of his purpose in life. I learned from one of Tintagel’s friends that his father, Fenian Ni’Tessine, was killed by that arrow.” Arilyn glanced up at the Harper, her face wary. “Was that arrow yours?”
“I cannot say. The name Fenian Ni’Tessine is not known to me,” Bran said quietly. He reached back into his quiver for an arrow and handed it to Arilyn. “Is this the mark?”
She examined the brand and nodded. “Does it help to know that Fenian Ni’Tessine was killed on the second day of Ches, in the year 1321? The year before I was born.” She spoke the last statement in a barely audible voice.
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Perhaps this will help you remember: King Zaor was assassinated that day by a gold elf, who was in turn shot by my mother’s human lover.” She lifted her guarded eyes to the Harper’s. “Moonstones are not commonly worn by humans, and the gem you carried fit my mother’s sword. Am I wrong in thinking that you are the one who killed Fenian Ni’Tessine?”
“I did not know his name, but it would seem that you are right,” Bran admitted. The lines of pain and regret that creased the Harper’s face answered Arilyn’s unspoken question, as well. Their gazes clung for a moment in silent acknowledgement. She handed Bran back his arrow, then turned away, deeply shaken.
Danilo, who had followed this exchange in silence, let out a long, slow whistle. “That means Bran Skorlsun is—”
“Arilyn’s father.” Bran said quietly. He turned to the half-elf. “I would have told you in time.”
“You waited a bit too long,” Arilyn observed in a faint voice. Her face hardened and she said, “But you can tell me why you had the moonstone.”
“In truth, I cannot,” Bran admitted.
“More Harper secrets?” Danilo said with a touch of sarcasm.
“Not on my part, at least,” the Harper said. “A tribunal of elves from Evermeet and Master Harpers decreed that I must carry the moonstone until the day of my death, but I was never told why.”
“Then let’s get back to Blackstaff Tower and find out,” Arilyn said flatly. She turned on her heel and headed for the academy’s stables.
“A woman of action, your daughter,” Danilo observed to Bran as the men fell in behind her. The Harper nodded absently.
A chatty family, Danilo thought wryly. A hint of a smile lit the young man’s face as he contemplated the murderous expression he’d seen in the half-elf’s eyes. To his way of thinking, Uncle Khelben had it coming.
They rode back into the city in virtual silence. “You wait here,” Danilo instructed Arilyn and Bran when they reached the wall around Blackstaff Tower. “It’s well past sunset, and Uncle Khelben expected us hours ago. It’s probably been quite some time since someone kept the archmage waiting, and he’s sure to be frantic. Give me a moment to calm him down.” So saying, the young nobleman walked through the courtyard and disappeared into the solid granite wall of the tower.
After a few moments Arilyn moved to follow him, but Bran put a restraining hand on her arm. “Wait. It is difficult to use invisible doors without the guidance of a mage.”
Arilyn shook off his hand. “I can see faint outlines. Secret doors are difficult to hide from an elf.”
“A half-elf,” he corrected quietly and pointedly.
His words were meant to bring about confrontation. Arilyn tensed. She was not yet ready to acknowledge the relationship that bound them, and she struggled against the strength of her anger.
“All of my life, my mother grieved for you,” she said finally. “I never had a father and I feel no need of one now, but how could you—how could anyone!—turn away from Z’beryl?”
“He had no choice.”
Startled, Arilyn and Bran looked up. Standing before them was Khelben Arunsun, with Danilo close behind.
“Well, it would seem that the wandering Harper has returned,” the archmage observed coldly. “Bringing trouble, as usual.”
Bran returned Khelben’s glare with a calm, steady look. “Many years have passed. We cannot go back and relive our youth, but must we discard the friends who shared it? Laeral and I have come to an understanding. Cannot we do the same?”
The wizard’s face darkened at the mention of his lover. “What has Laeral to do with this?”
“Not enough, it would seem,” Bran said sadly. “Our paths crossed shortly before I left the Moonshaes. She was on her way to Evermeet.” Bran’s brow furrowed suddenly, and he glanced at Arilyn. “Laeral is my friend, but it seems not right that she should be accepted by the elves when their half-elven kin are not.”
“Your concern is belated, but touching,” Arilyn observed with cold scorn.