Feeling a surge of guilt, Arilyn led her horse to the river for a drink. She spent a long time rubbing down the animal, then tethered it in the best grazing spot she could find.
Once the mare was comfortably settled, Arilyn built a fire and sat crosslegged in front of it. She had ridden like a demon throughout the day, as much to escape her own thoughts as to elude possible pursuit. Now, in the quiet of the starlit night, she could no longer avoid thinking about Rafe Silverspur's death.
After the ranger's body had been discovered, the merchant captain agreed with Arilyn that she and the caravan should part company. Since the half-elf was a known Harper agent, she was considered a target for the mysterious assassin and therefore a risk to the entire company. No one questioned her innocence. She and Rafe had spent much time together during the trip, and it was widely assumed that the two half-elves were lovers.
Sighing, Arilyn poked restlessly at the fire. She had done nothing to squelch those rumors, for they tended to discourage unwanted advances from other members of the merchant caravan. In truth, she and Rafe had shared only friendship. To the solitary half-elf, friendship was a rare gift indeed.
Arilyn glanced down at the only ring on her left hand. It gleamed faintly in the firelight, and she spread her fingers to look at it more closely. It was a simple ring, just a silver band engraved with the unicorn symbol of the goddess Mielikki, patron of rangers. She'd won the ring from Rafe in a game of dice, and she wore it now in his honor. It was symbolic of the friendship they'd shared, a camaraderie born of a shared road and the good-natured competition of a worthy opponent.
Dismayed at the unaccustomed sense of loneliness that plagued her, Arilyn busied herself with the tasks of setting up her simple camp. She unrolled her blanket and spread it before the fire, then took some dried fruit and travel biscuits from her bag and settled down to eat. As much as she disliked cooking, Arilyn usually ended a day of travel with a hot meal. Tonight, cooking for just one person didn't seem worth the trouble.
For almost a quarter of a century Arilyn had walked alone, well aware that an adventurer should have few ties. It had always seemed unfair to her to encourage someone to care, only to expose them to the dangers and potential heartache inherent in the life she had chosen. Even her friendships were few and cautious.
As Arilyn settled into her bedroll, she considered swearing an oath of solitude and chastity at the foot of Hannali Celanil's statue in Evereska. Or would such an oath be an affront to the elven goddess of beauty and romantic love? In her case, Arilyn noted with a wry grimace, the oath would be redundant. Perhaps she had no business at all being a devotee of that particular goddess.
Arilyn rolled over onto her back, lacing her fingers beneath her head as she pondered the matter.
Close relationships of any kind did not come easily to the half-elven. Their life cycles were out of sync with both humans and elves. Arilyn was nearing her fortieth winter. If she were human, she'd be approaching midlife. A moon elf her age would be barely out of childhood. It seemed to Arilyn that she'd spent her life being neither one thing nor the other, and even her alliance with the Harpers bore this out. Her services were valued, but her past as an "honorable assassin" had kept the secret organization from accepting her as a full-fledged member.
It would seem, however, that the Harper Assassin was not concerned with her lack of credentials. For some time Arilyn had suspected that she was a target. Wherever she turned, she felt unseen eyes upon her. She was skilled in tracking, but she had not been able to discern a trace of her foe. The Harper Assassin constantly dogged her path, and for months she had steeled herself for the confrontation that was sure to come.
As time went on, she'd changed her mind about the assassin's purpose. There had been so many deaths, each one coming closer to her. Arilyn had often expected that the assassin was deliberately and cruelly taunting her. The death of her friend Rafe left no doubt in her mind.
Gritting her teeth, Arilyn let out a long, hissing breath. She'd spent her life settling matters with a sword, and she hated to wait for this invisible assassin to play out his hand. Months of enforced inactivity had left her perpetually on edge. Whoever her foe was, he knew her well.
But who could this assassin be? She'd crossed swords with many over the past twenty-five years, and she had made her share of enemies. Those who had openly come out against her were dead, and although Arilyn racked her brain, she could not think of a live adversary who had the wit or skill to carry out such a drawn-out and devious revenge.
The night passed, and the moon sank toward the horizon, yet no answers came to the weary half-elf. In an effort to court sleep, Arilyn edged her thoughts toward more pleasant things. Soon she would reach Evereska, and home. There she could rest. Rest she needed badly, and not just from the rigors of travel. She was truly exhausted from grief, from the knowledge that a shadowy trail of death lay behind her, from the hidden eyes that watched her every move.
Even now she felt them upon her. There was no sound, no shadow, no indication that someone was watching her camp, but Arilyn felt a presence lurking beyond the reach of the campfire's embers. Her eyes flashed to her moonblade that lay beside her like a constant, vigilant companion. It gave her no sign of warning.
Arilyn had learned early in her career that the magic sword could alert her to danger. Working with her teacher, Kymil Nimesin, she had discovered that the moonblade could warn her in three different ways. It glowed with blue light when danger approached, and when danger was close-at-hand it hummed with a silent energy only she could sense. Even as she slept the sword kept guard. Many times she had awakened from a dream about approaching orcs or trolls to find her dream made reality. The dreamwarning was particularly handy, since she so often traveled alone.
Tonight, however, the sword was dark and silent. There was no danger on the riverbanks. Why, then, did she have such a persistent feeling of eyes upon her?
Four
The festival of Higharvestide was the social highlight of the month of Eleint. Known as The Fading, Eleint was nonetheless far from dull. As summer drew to a close and the days grew short and chill, autumn paid its dividend in the form of longer, revel-filled nights. Harvest festivals crowded the calendar; Waterdeep's economy was based on commerce rather than agriculture, but the wealthy Waterdhavians never overlooked any opportunity to throw a party.
They came out in full force, the noble merchants of Waterdeep. The members of the older generation considered the festival serious business. It was a time to assert their position in society, to upstage business competitors, to gather useful information and start potentially beneficial rumors, and to generally move from deal to deal. The younger set merely gathered to enjoy their unearned wealth with smug high spirits.
The joint effort of several noble families, the Higharvestide Ball was always a lavish affair. It was held in the House of Purple Silks, one of the city's largest and finest festhalls. Several hundred guests gathered in the vast main room, which was ablaze with the light of a thousand tiny lanterns that magically changed colors to match the tempo and mood of the dance music. In the center of the marble floor a large circle of dancers moved through the intricate patterns of a rondellere, and as they laughed and spun, their glittering jewels and silks reflected the colorshifting light like a vast kaleidoscope.
Other revelers enjoyed the buffet tables or helped themselves to the trays of delicacies circulated by a small horde of servants. No expense had been spared; tonight everything was of the finest quality available to the City of Splendors. Vases of rare hothouse flowers scented the air. The musicians were among the best in Faerun, and several small concerts were planned for the evening's entertainment. At the moment a consort of viols and woodwinds played for those who wished to dance, but lutanists and harpists were also scattered in remote corners and alcoves to set the proper mood for trysts. One corner of the room-a corner very near a well-stocked bar-echoed with peal after peal of laughter. A merry group had gathered there around Danilo Thann, a favorite with the younger Waterdeep set.