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The nobleman raised one eyebrow. "If the guildmasters bring that up, remind them that you were released from the school, and therefore, from any assignments. Barter met is bargain sealed, as they say hereabouts. You'll have gotten the better of them, and they'll probably admire you for it."
Hasheth's delighted laughter rang out over the wasteland. "You think like a southerner: devious and subtle. It would seem that I have misjudged you."
"Everyone does," Arilyn said. "That's why he's such an effective agent."
"Lord Tha
"Even a pasha's son," Arilyn said with a smile. "In time."
Hasheth nodded thoughtfully. "I might like that."
Danilo folded his arms and smiled broadly. "Then perhaps it is time for you and me to barter. Tell your father all that has happened. Tell him that Arilyn and I will seek proof that the guilds threaten his power. Ask him to hear what we say and judge for himself."
"That is your high bid?" scoffed Hasheth.
"You interrupted me too soon," the nobleman said plaintively. "I was going to ask for that ring of yours, as well."
The boy's dark eyes flashed. "That is absurd! This ring is a mark of royalty. Here is my offer: as you ask, I will deliver your warning to my father. You may not have the ring, but I will be your ears and eyes in Tethyr. From this day, I will pass to the Harpers whatever information reaches the pasha's court."
"Throw in a couple of camels, and you have a deal," Danilo offered.
"Done."
The young man concluded the bargain in such solemn fashion that neither Harper had the heart to explain that Danilo had been joking.
"Congratulations, Danilo," Arilyn murmured, struggling to keep the laughter from her voice. "We've done our duty to the Harpers and you finally got your two camels." Published for the first time in this volume.
ELMINSTER'S JEST
Mark Twain wasn't much of an opera fan. He once suggested that Wagner's music "was probably better than it sounded." The same could be said of Danilo Tha
Attributed to (read, "blamed upon") Danilo Tha
CHORUS
The knight espied a lady who admired his staff of oak. They'd scarce begun their gentle joust before the staff had broke. The knight sought out the wizard, who replied when brought to task, "Your wish bespoke how long it was, and not how long 't'would last."
Repeat Chorus if possible, run if necessary… Originally published in Realms of Infamy Edited by James Lowder, December 1994
There's quite a bit of distance between Evermeet, the island realm of Queen Amlaruil, and the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas, but this story started in both places. After the debacle at Waco, I got to thinking about the fragility of an unexamined, all-encompassing world view. Some of the people who died in that fire came from a religious background very like my own. I've seen what can happen to people who were raised to think of their philosophy as Sole Truth, accept without question the "package deal" it presented. All too often, a single crack in this paradigm can bring the whole edifice down like a crystal castle. Strangely enough, many people who experience a break of this nature tend to seize upon the next all-encompassing package that comes along. And there doesn't have to be a religion on either end of the process: some people break free of super-controlling parents only to join a cult, kibbutz, or a corporation that demands eighty-hour work weeks. If the only life you know involves functioning within a strictly defined set of rules and mores, finding your own way isn't easy.
This is not the sort of thing easily translated to fiction-unless, perhaps, you're talking about elves and magic swords.
Elaith Craulnober excelled in the role of elflord of Evermeet, but when his expectations were confounded, his opinion of himself and his understanding of his place in the world shattered. He utterly abandoned the life he knew and the values he held. But the more things change, the more they stay the same; he threw himself with equal fervor into the next role that came along. The distance between elflord and crime lord is shorter than it might appear. Many years passed before Elaith began to understand the dangers inherent in the unexamined life. When he entrusted the training of his daughter Azariah, heir to the Craulnober moonblade, to Arilyn, he gave the half-elf this advice: "Teach her the rules, and then tell her to question them."
THE MORE THINGS CHANGE
Whenever Elaith Craulnober wished to find his future wife, he knew precisely where to look. He knew also what she would be doing. Although he didn't entirely approve, he'd long ago abandoned any notion of taming the fierce elven lass.
The young elflord hurried through the palace gardens and down a path that took him deep into Evermeet's royal forest. He made his way to a grassy clearing shaded by a canopy of ancient trees. As sure as sunrise, Princess Amnestria was there, sword in hand and skirts kilted up around her knees. Her blue eyes blazed with concentration as she faced off against the finest swordmaster in the kingdom, and her pale face shone like a damp pearl. With both hands she clung to her practice sword-a long, broad blade that looked far too heavy for her slender strength. Her knuckles were white and her arms shook from the strain of balancing the oversized weapon.
Elaith's jaw firmed. He strode forward into the glen, determined to have a few words with the princess's instructor.
When Amnestria caught sight of the handsome, silver-haired elf, she dropped her sword and flew into his arms like a delighted child. Elaith caught the elfmaiden and swung her off her feet in an exuberant spin, delighting in the playful mood she always invoked in him. Theirs was an arranged marriage, but in this as in all things, Elaith considered himself the most fortunate of elves. He was extremely fond of the princess, and justly proud of the brilliant match.
Even without her royal lineage, Amnestria was remarkable. She possessed rare spirit and fire, and a pragmatic intelligence. Her beauty was not yet in full flower, but already minstrels had begun comparing her to Hanali Celanil, the elven goddess of love. She had blue eyes flecked with gold, and the rarest hair color among moon elves: a deep, vibrant blue-black that poets likened to spun sapphires. Her features were delicately molded, her form exquisite. Amnestria was the very embodiment of moon elven beauty.