"But, Lor-"
"You stand in my tower and dare to utter me 'buts'? Are you looking for a swift barefoot tour of the Great Glacier? Or just a month spent as my boot scraper?"
"Ah … uh, yes, Lord Ma-I mean no, Lord Mage! The spell is-aha, there-gone!"
"Good. As your spell is, make yourself so."
"Yes, Lord Mage," the voice agreed hastily. Dauntless heard the receding slap of bare feet hurrying away.
The Blackstaff put out a hand to Dauntless, and said, "Come, handsome Harper. I've a task for you."
"Lord Khelben?"
"Lad, just step into this secret passage sharp like, and refrain from asking foolish questions every second breath and behold. . you'll be twice the apprentice of magic most of these dolts are."
"In a good mood tonight, are we?" Dauntless couldn't help but ask-in the quietest of whispers-as he slipped into the passage after the archmage.
Khelben neither turned nor slowed, but did observe aloud as they began to climb a narrow flight of stairs, "A true Harper! No judgment for his own safety, and far too quick and clever with his tongue. Yes, you'll do nicely." Dauntless sighed then, but took care to make it utterly silent.
"And don't sigh," Khelben said from somewhere above. "We Who Harp are striving for a stoic, even eager image, not resigned acceptance of being manipu shy;lated. Right?"
The Dark Sister stiffened in Laeral's arms. "What are you-?"
"Easy, sister," the Lady Mage of Waterdeep said, stroking Qilue's tense, trembling back. "A little sooth shy;ing spell to go with the healing. Relax. There is no more danger for you here-and never was any treachery or deceit."
Qilue gave a little, shuddering sigh, then slumped against Laeral, who deftly called on a waiting spell to hold them both up. Floating together amid the drifting dust of the shattered chamber, the two sisters held each other like a drowsy, comfortable couple, and talked as Qilue was slowly and gently made whole again.
The shuddering she-drow was jet black of complex shy;ion, but the woman who stroked and soothed her had skin tanned the lightest hint of gold. Her silver hair, tousled earlier in her angry haste, was carefully gath shy;ering itself into tidiness as the two sisters, limbs locked together, gently revolved in midair. The Lady Mage of Waterdeep had large, liquid eyes of a dancing emerald green and an impish nose that drew the eye to her fine features. Her face had a natural beauty that made young male apprentices and men walking in the city streets swallow and-eventually-find the need to vis shy;ibly and reluctantly wrench their own gazes away from. Even barefoot and simply garbed, she radiated high station and gentle authority. Kindness and con shy;cern were the cloaks that enfolded her at every moment.
Laeral was still apologizing earnestly for the appren shy;tices' attack when Qilue fixed her with dark, solemn eyes and interrupted.
"Sister, I have a favor to ask of you, as Dove asked it of me. My kind-dark elves, but not of Eilistraee; rather, cruel folk from the realms below-have for some time been infiltrating the city of Scornubel, taking the places of humans who are sold into slavery or slain. Dove asked me to investigate, and I followed a drow high in the ranks of the Scornubrian impersonators.."
"To here," Laeral realized, nodding grimly. "Whom did she meet with?"
"Do you know an ambitious woman by the name of Mrilla Malsander?" Qilue asked. As the Lady Mage of Waterdeep nodded, she laid a hand on Laeral's arm and added, "This is more than slavery, sister. The slaver I fol shy;lowed here spoke of all the impersonations in Scornubel simply as 'the project,' implying that these two, and the others they work with, deal in other matters."
"Did you not know?" Laeral asked in response, almost bitterly. "Other places grow corn, or barley, but here in hard-paved Waterdeep, we have healthy crops too. We grow conspiracies."
Three heads were bent together over the bright crystal ball. With something approaching awe, Dauntless shifted his eyes to the man on his left-Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun, the Lord Mage of Waterdeep-then to the man on his right-Mirt the Moneylender, widely believed to be one of the secret lords of the city. Both were real, both were very much larger than life, and both were but inches from him. A wineglass was clutched in the fat merchant's large and battered right hand.
"Names, my dear," Khelben muttered, his eyes never leaving the scene in the depths of the crystal. "Don't be shy. Get some names. What slaver? Who in Scornubel is now a disguised drow and not a human? Heh?"
"Hmm," Mirt rumbled. "If this started a few decades back, it might explain some of our trading experiences down there. Yes, get me names, so I'll know who to drop in on next time I'm down that way-so I can ask some persuasive questions."
Khelben nodded and held up a hand for silence.
The three men heard Laeral Silverhand say solemnly, "You have my word, sister. Your task is now mine, though I begin to suspect we may have to turn the delving over to others among our fellow Chosen in time. Darling Mrilla I know-in passing, but still far better than I'd like to-but if this slaver of yours is still in Waterdeep, take me to see her: I always like to have two strings to pluck, and not just one."
Qilue smiled, nodded, and asked, "Now? I'm no longer tired or hurt, but the magic left to me is not what it could be."
Laeral shrugged. "I'm awake now, so why not? I can lug along enough Art for us both to hurl. We'll go openly, to see which rats scurry to their holes, and who decides they're lion enough to meet our challenge. Would you care for something to eat, or drink, or shall we 'went' without tarrying longer?"
Qilue grinned. "Let's 'went.' "
Laeral smiled, nodded, then rolled over in the air to stare straight at her unseen lord and said meaning shy;fully, "And you stay out of this, dear."
As she spoke, her magic restored her sister's hair to its true silver hue. Mirt and Dauntless looked silently at Khelben, not quite daring to smile.
The Lord Mage of Waterdeep nodded calmly, sketched a tiny gesture with two fingers, and replied, "Of course I shall, lady." Without waiting for her reply, he passed his hand over the scrying sphere, which went dark in an instant.
Khelben sat back from it and added, his lips not quite forming a smile as he turned his head from Mirt to Dauntless then back again, "Which is why you two are going to follow the Lady Mage of Waterdeep and her sister, and see what they get up to. If it's needful, give them a helping hand, or at least ensure that the Harpers learn of what's unfolding."
He crooked a finger, and a tiny sphere of light spun itself out of nothing above his head and descended to hang in front of his nose, spinning gently. "This may be nothing more than drow spying, but I have a feeling it's deeper. I don't like it when I get feelings like that. They're too often all too well founded. This glowsphere will guide you out of here and keep you close to my Lady Laeral, If you need to speak to me, touch it. Some say 'fare well,' but that's not good enough. Good sirs, fare better."
With that the Lord Mage of Waterdeep turned away to devote his full attention to what filled the far side of the otherwise dark chamber: the ever-changing scenes in the bright depths of a dozen or more floating, flick shy;ering, keg-sized crystal spheres.
A pale, dead, green-white glow bathed the pillars in a ghostly light. Fresh corpses-human hireswords or adventurers, by their garb-were sprawled along the lowest ramshackle catwalk, arms and legs dangling down to where they almost brushed the lazily-stirring silver tresses of the two strolling women. Neither so much as looked up. Skullport hardens the heart and claws at the throat, as the saying went. . and both of them knew it all too well.