Elfshadow

The Harper recoiled at the words. Elaith was pleased with the reaction, and an evil smile curved his lips.

"Yes, your daughter," the elf mocked, openly baiting him toward admission. "Interesting, fate's little twists: the oh-so-righteous Harper sires one of the best assassins in Faerun."

"Arilyn is not the assassin," Bran asserted.

"But she is your daughter!" Elaith crowed triumphantly, reading the truth in Bran's face and tone. In his opinion, the only good thing about dealing with Harpers was that the fools were generally too noble-or too stupid-to dissemble. The elf's face darkened suddenly. "Does Arilyn know about you? I should hate to have her learn her father's identity when he provides evidence against her in a Harper court."

"It is not your concern."

"We'll see. How is Amnestria?" Elaith asked, changing the subject. "Where has she been these many years?"

Bran was silent, and a look of deep sadness filled his eyes. "Despite everything, you are her far kinsman, and there is no reason why you should not know. Amnestria went into secret exile before Arilyn's birth. She took the name Z'beryl of Evereska. She has been dead for almost twenty-five years."

"No."

"It is true. She was ambushed and overcome by a pair of cutpurses."

The elf stared at Bran. "It does not seem possible," he murmured, dropping his stricken eyes. "No one could fight like Amnestria. Has nothing has been done to avenge her death?"

"The murderers were brought to justice."

"That remains to be seen," Elaith said in a grim tone. When he again raised his eyes to Bran's, hatred blazed in their amber depths. "Another weapon might have killed Amnestria, but it was you who destroyed her. Keep away from Arilyn. The etriel has her own life."

Elaith leaned toward the Harper, looking the very picture of a fighter taking an offensive stance. His evil smile openly taunted his foe. "By the way, know you that Arilyn has taken the name Moonblade as her own? Denied family and rank, she made her own name and forged her own code. And she is good. Arilyn has developed skills that would make her Harper sire squirm."

Elaith paused. "To answer your earlier question, my interest in her is both personal and professional."

"I've no use for riddles."

"Nor wit for them, either. In plain words, Arilyn should have been my daughter, but she is not. What a remarkable partner she would make, or-" he smiled maliciously "-what a consort. She and I could accomplish much, side by side."

Bran's massive hand shot out, grabbing Elaith's shirtfront and jerking the slender elf up to his eye level. "I'll see you dead first," the man thundered.

"Keep your threats, Harper," Elaith said scornfully. "Arilyn Moonblade has nothing to fear from me. I only wish to aid her and to guide her career."

"Then she is indeed in grave danger," Bran concluded.

Elaith misunderstood Bran's meaning, and his eyes narrowed in menace. "She is in no danger from me," he hissed. "The same, however, ca

With the speed of a serpent's strike, a dagger appeared in the elf's hand and flashed toward Bran's throat. The aging Harper ranger was faster still. He tossed the elf to the ground. Elaith twisted and landed crouched on his feet, wrist cocked in readiness to flick the dagger into his old friend and enemy.

But Bran Skorlsun had vanished. Elaith stood and tucked the dagger back into its hiding place.

"Not bad," Elaith admitted, brushing a bit of dust from his leg as he admired Bran's skill. "You should watch your back, old friend. Watch your back."

Elaith turned back to his new establishment. As entertaining as the encounter had been, he had a myriad of details to attend to before the tavern could open. His eye fell upon the large oak sign, just delivered that morning, that leaned against the back wall of the building. This turned out nicely, the elf mused, moving in for a better look. I must have someone hang it immediately.

He ran his fingers over the raised letters of the sign that would soon grace the front door of the Hidden Blade.

Twelve

In early afternoon Virgin's Square was teeming with activity and bright with autumn sunlight and colorful merchandise. Local legend claimed that an altar had once stood on the site, upon which virgins were sacrificed to dragon gods centuries before Waterdeep was a city. On such a day that dark past seemed distant indeed.

The time for the highsun meal had passed, and delicious scents lingered in the warm autumn air. A large crowd browsed among the stalls of an open air market that offered goods ranging from fresh produce to exotic weapons. On the other side of the square services were sold, and perhaps two hundred persons, representing many races and nationalities, milled up and down the steps of a tiered piazza.

Those who wished to find work flocked to the square. Newcomers to the city, travelers relieved of their purses by pickpockets and in need of passage home, adventurers, servants, mages, sellswords-all gathered to hire themselves out. Services of many kinds could be purchased in Virgin's Square. There was little overt pandering, but those who made inquiries were assured that discreet introductions were always possible.

Potential employers were there in large number, as well. Caravan-masters stopped in Virgin's Square to acquire the guards and scouts needed for long trips. Since slavery was illegal in Waterdeep, visiting merchants and dignitaries from the southern and far-eastern lands often went there to find hired servants to replace their slaves. Even adventurers wishing to form parties sought each other out in the square.

At the center of this activity sat Blazidon One-Eye. He was, perhaps, the best known among his profession, and he ran a brisk trade matching those who would hire with those who wished to work. The grizzled former adventurer was an unlikely businessman. His clothes were dusty and unkempt, and his body seemed to be made of little more than bone and stringy muscle. The graying beard had probably once been bright red; at present it appeared ale-soaked and in dire need of a trim. A dusty eye patch covered his left eye, and a leather vest lay open over his bare chest.

Blazidon was attended by a clerk and a bodyguard, both of whom were as unlikely as their master. The former was a tallfellow, a rare type of halfling that grew to be somewhat taller and slimmer than most of their kind. A little over four feet in height, the tallfellow maintained thick crops of very blond hair on his head, chin, and bare feet, a color echoed by the lemon shade of his tunic and leggings. His frivolous appearance was greatly at odds with his serious demeanor, for he scribbled laboriously in the book that kept Blazidon's accounts and records, and he counted each fee with the type of intensity that halflings usually reserve for their own treasure. The bodyguard was a tiny but ferocious dwarf whose knotted muscles and keen-edged axe more than made up for his lack of stature.

Arilyn nudged Danilo's attention away from a display of pastries and pointed at the strange trio. "That's Blazidon. If anyone would know our man, it's him."

Danilo nodded. "My family often outfits our caravans through him. Why don't you let me do the talking?"

Arilyn looked doubtful, then she saw the merit in the dandy's suggestion. Dressed as she was, a human lad of common class and limited means, she seemed an unlikely person to be making the type of inquiries that must be made. The well-dressed Danilo could ask questions without raising suspicions. She nodded and fell in behind Danilo, taking the role of servant to a wealthy merchant.

Blazidon looked up at their approach. "What'll it be?"

"We were rather hoping you could help us find an employer," Danilo began.