“Maybe, but you’d be the first,” Morgalla announced.
Khelben shrugged and led the way back to the front hall. “Do you have a riddlemaster in mind?” he asked the Harper.
“Vartain of Calimport,” Danilo said firmly. “He’s quite astounding. His services are as much in demand by adventuring parties as they are by those desiring an entertainer. He was in Waterdeep when I left the city several months ago. I’ll check the register at Halambar’s to see if he’s available.”
“Good thinking,” Khelben conceded. Kriios Halambar, widely and secretly known as “Old Leatherlungs,” was the head of Waterdeep’s musicians’ guild. Entertainers of all kinds registered at his shop, and employers in need of these services usually began their search there. If Vartain was available for hire, he would be listed, and if he were already employed, the name of his employer would be there as well. Either way, Danilo could seek the riddlemaster out.
The archmage walked out into the courtyard with Danilo. After a moment’s silence, he placed a hand briefly on the young man’s shoulder. “I know all this has come upon you suddenly, and I realize what you have left behind. I’m sorry that I have to ask this of you.”
For a moment, the two men stood in silence. Although he was touched by his uncle’s concern, Danilo could not bear to acknowledge Khelben’s oblique reference to Arilyn. He sidestepped his own raw pain by deliberately misreading the archmage. “As usual, your confidence sustains and inspires me,” Danilo quipped.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” Khelben snapped. “You can handle this assignment well enough. What you lack as a bard, you more than make up for as a mage.” He withdrew a small, slender volume from a pocket of his coat. “This book is for you. I’ve copied in it spells that will hold you in good stead, should the dragon prove less than cooperative.”
Danilo took the book gratefully and slipped it into the magic bag at his belt. The spellbook disappeared without adding a lump or wrinkle. Promising to return before sunrise, Danilo slipped through the invisible door in the tower’s outer wall and disappeared into the night
Like most of Waterdeep, the affluent district known as the Castle Ward stayed awake throughout most of the night The Street of Swords was crowded with well-to-do Waterdhavians on their way to private parties, or seeking out the taverns, festhalls, and shops that made the city famous throughout Faerûn.
It was often said that one could buy virtually anything in Waterdeep. While this was true, shopping was also a form of entertainment Musicians performed in the streets and courtyards, setting a festive mood. The warmly lit shops and bazaars offered every comfort and inducement. Servants circulated trays laden with delicacies and tiny wine goblets. Beautiful shop attendants, wearing samples of the clothing and jewels available, mingled with the customers, offering advice and flattery. These were skilled in the art of making patrons believe that similar beauty could be theirs, for the price of a few gold coins.
In one of these shops, Rebeleigh’s Elegant Headwear, a tall, silver-haired woman stood before a mirror and considered her reflection with a mixture of wry humor and resignation. As Lady Arunsun, Laeral faced a number of social obligations. With the Midsummer festivities right around the corner, these seemed as persistent and endless as the heads of a hydra.
“This will be perfect for Lady Raventree’s masquerade ball,” gushed the shopkeeper, standing on tiptoe to adjust Laeral’s headdress of delicate links and tiny coral beads. “It’s authentic, you know. It once belonged to a Moonshae princess who died more than two hundred years ago.”
“I can see why,” Laeral quipped. “If she could afford decent chain mail, she’d probably still be alive.”
“Oh, yes, quite,” Rebeleigh said agreeably, whisking off the headdress. The shopkeeper was a slight, middle-aged woman, a weather vane for the winds of fashion and a walking calendar of social events. She knew nothing of Laeral’s years of adventure, intrigue, and combat. All that Rebeleigh gleaned from her customer’s comment was that the headdress was not pleasing, and that was enough. She snatched up a fanciful confection of ice-blue velvet and silver ribbon. “This would suit you well, my lady. Stoop down a bit, if you please.”
Laeral did as she was bid. She glanced at her reflection and burst out laughing.
“You seem to have singularly bad luck with headwear,” commented a sweetly venomous voice to her side.
Laeral turned and look down into the lovely, insincerely smiling face of Lucia Thione. A scion of Tethyrian royalty, Lady Thione was a powerful figure in Waterdeep society. She was a popular hostess and a much-sought-after beauty, and she was widely acclaimed for her business acumen and her charm. She never wasted this charm on Laeral, much to the mage’s secret amusement.
Lucia Thione bristled at the glint of humor in Laeral’s silver eyes. Lady Thione despised the mage, whose birth and early life were swathed in mystery, and she envied her role as Lady Arunsun, a position to which she herself had unsuccessfully applied. The diminutive noblewoman also felt insubstantial next to the six-foot mage and completely eclipsed by Laeral’s unearthly beauty.
“At least that hat is not enchanted,” Lady Thione continued, since Laeral was apparently too dense to recognize a well-bred insult She smiled again. “I suppose you’d hate to go through all that unpleasantness again.”
The noblewoman was finally rewarded with a reaction: Laeral’s face became very still.
“A street musician was just singing about you. Come, hear for yourself,” Lucia said softly. “I’m sure you’ll find it fascinating.”
Without waiting for a response, she glided out of the shop and rejoined the small crowd clustered around a street singer. The minstrel was a jolly-looking man of middle years, and although his voice was mellow and pleasant, the people shifted uneasily as they listened. Lucia made her way over to Caladorn and gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze.
“He is singing that dreadful ballad again?”
“Yes,” Caladorn said through gritted teeth. “I thought all the bards in town had been officially cautioned against singing it.”
Lucia looked sharply at her young lover. Handsome and entertaining he undoubtedly was, but she had never known him to take an interest in political matters. More importantly, this warning had come down from the Lords of Waterdeep just this morning. Lucia knew about such things because she made it her business to know, but how had Caladorn learned of it? She drew him away from the crowd so that they might talk privately. “Surely there is no truth in this ballad?”
“I’m afraid there is. Lady Laeral once traveled with an adventuring group known as the Nine. She discovered a powerful artifact, a crown of some sort, and it twisted her into a madwoman and a menace.”
“This was not widely known, I take it,” she prodded gently, taking great care to hide both her curiosity and her delight
“Until now,” he agreed. “Such things should not be sung on every street corner, for the entertainment of the common people. Laeral’s fall and the intercession of Khelben Arunsun are matters for lords and wizards of power.”
Lucia’s dark eyes narrowed with speculation. That was a strange sentiment for Caladorn, who at a young age had severed ties with his noble family to live a life of adventure. “I agree, my love, but what could you or I do to stop it?”
“Nothing. You’re right.” Caladorn forced a smile onto his face, but his eyes kept drifting back to the gathering crowd. He shifted restlessly, and he absently twisted the silver ring on his left hand. Lucia watched in fascination.