How such a reckless fool as Beldar Roaringhorn had managed to acquire a beholder's eye of wounding was bewildering, but whoever was behind that transformation had sent slayers to defend the witless Roaringhorn against the fangs of the Serpent.
That was more than intolerable. Tincheron had gone missing in that battle in Elaith's service, and half-dragons grew not on trees.
Some Craulnobers had been dragon-riders. Matings of dragon and rider brought instant shame, and any offspring were outcast. Elaith had only ever heard of one during his lifetime-the one he'd sought out and befriended, Tincheron. Their long seasons of working together had built Elaith's greatest treasure: trust.
Tincheron would be found, or avenged.
The young noble stood on the city wall gawking down at the Walking Statues like a raw country dullard seeing something larger than his own barn for the very first time.
Marvelous. Not only was young Roaringhorn a fool and a careless waster of magic-really, dispatching an aging halfling with wounding magic when a knife-thrust would do-but, judging by his slack-jawed stupor, he was also a drunkard.
'Lord Beldar,' he snapped.
The human spun around. His uncovered left eye-the remaining human one-stared at Elaith alertly enough.
Good. Not drunk, and judging by his expression, sober enough to be insulted by anyone not a close friend using his title and his first name together.
'I am Lord Beldar Roaringhorn,' the lordling replied with dignity, putting hand to hilt.
Another insult, but at least the lad had sense enough to know when he faced a foe. Elaith smiled. 'Men of your birth are, in Waterdeep, necessarily men of business. I've a shared venture to propose.'
Roaringhorn's visible eye narrowed. 'I think not,' he replied flatly. 'Roaringhorn interests couldn't possibly coincide with your affairs.'
'Words a trifle grand for one five generations removed from reavers and horse thieves, but let it pass. You've a problem, Beldar Roaringhorn, and I a solution. In exchange for it, there's a small service you could do me.'
Remarkably, the noble was managing to school his face into unreadable calm. 'What problem might that be?'
'Dead halflings litter the streets so, don't they?'
Beldar Roaringhorn smiled bitterly. 'And for a price, you'd make one particular corpse disappear?'
Elaith had already made it vanish, but saw no need to say so. 'In return, I ask only for information that might lead to the recovery of a servant of mine you recently met. A half-dragon.'
'You set that ready-slayer on me? To what purpose?'
'Obviously not your demise.' Elaith inspected his nails. 'If I wanted you dead, I'd hardly be standing here enduring this fine weather and the pleasure of your company.'
'I asked you a question!'
'I'd noticed as much,' Elaith said smoothly, 'but you've won time enough to consider my proposal. Have we a bargain?'
'We do not.' Beldar gave Elaith a hard stare, proving he was either braver than most men or far more foolish. 'What's done is done. I'll take responsibility for my deeds, but I'll make no further alliance with evil.'
Elaith didn't bother to hide his amusement. It was rather gratifying to be so clearly and swiftly understood. Mildly entertaining, even, if not quite worth climbing all those steps.
'I did not fail to notice, young Lord Roaringhorn, that you spoke of 'further alliance.' If you should find yourself too deeply mired in whatever evil you now enjoy, do not hesitate to call on me.'
Beldar's mouth set in a thin line. 'I thank you for your offer, Lord Craulnober, but I must decline.'
The Serpent's reply was a small, slightly mocking bow followed by smooth departure.
The wind was rising as he hurried down the mountain. He might yet have use for young Roaringhorn, who seemed to be growing into the sort of human destined for great things-provided, of course, he didn't get himself killed first.
The boy had surprised him. He'd expected insults, and heard none. Nor had Roaringhorn tried to turn aside blame, seeming determined to face the consequences of slaying the halfling. The bleak determination to 'do the right thing' was written across his face. Yes, Beldar Roaringhorn was that annoying collision of nobility and stupidity Elaith knew all too well.
Waterdeep held so human-gods-be-damned much of it.
The Dyres' old red rooster was still lustily greeting the dawn as Lark hurried into the garden. His feathered harem fluttered to greet her, eager for their morningfeast.
Lark frowned as she flapped her skirts to chase them off. Naoni should have fed them and gathered the eggs by now. What had befallen this time?
She hastened into the kitchen to find Naoni on the floor, face in her hands and slender shoulders shaking. Faendra knelt beside her, arms wrapped comfortingly around her weeping sister, and a somber-faced halfling stood over them cradling a tankard of ale. Even in distress, Naoni was ever the hostess.
Faendra looked up at Lark, her blue eyes sharp, almost accusing. 'One of Naoni's hin guards has gone missing. He'd been… following someone. Beldar Roaringhorn.'
'Mother of all gods,' Lark murmured feelingly, going to her knees to clasp Naoni's hands. 'Much as I dislike the man, I didn't think him the sort to do murder! I'm sorry, Mistress, truly. However this unfolds, 'twill be hard on Lord Korvaun.'
'Harder still if Beldar's killed.' Naoni's eyes filled again. 'He shouldn't have struck you, Lark, but surely he doesn't deserve to die for it!'
Lark gaped at both sisters, stunned. 'You think this is my doing?'
Naoni bit her lip. 'I hardly know what to think. Jivin was following us. You told Faen our shadow would be seen to, and he was slain. Taeros hired an elf-maid to follow you, and she disappeared. Now this halfling.'
'You're linking Lord Roaringhorn to me. Why?'
'Because of the charm belonging to Lord Taeros-the missing charm.' Naoni sighed heavily. 'You and Beldar saw it last, and each of you accuses the other of having it. We hired Warrens-folk to follow you both and recover it.'
Lark turned sharply to the halfling. 'The one following me- how fares he?'
'She's not yet attempted to retrieve the charm,' the halfling told her, his voice surprisingly deep. 'As of this foredawn, she's unhurt.'
'Call her off,' Lark said wildly. 'For her life's sake, tell her to stay far from me!'
The halfling looked at Naoni, who nodded. He bowed his head, drained his tankard in one long gulp, and left without another word, hurrying.
Naoni reached for Lark's hand. 'I think you've much to tell us.'
Lark nodded unhappily, and began the story she'd hoped never to have to tell.
'I was born in Luskan, to a tavern wench. I never knew a father, and when I was young, I once asked my mother what he looked like. She said it was hard to know, as there's little to see when your skirts are thrown over your head.'
Faendra winced. 'Your mother was… forced?'
'Paid is more like it,' Lark said bitterly. 'From birth, I was indentured to the tavernmaster. My mother owed him for her keep, as she downed more drink than she served and never won free of her debt. Not that she tried. She was well content with the place and her life, and had grown fond of some of her regular customers.'
'Indentured,' Naoni murmured, understanding dawning.
'In my twelfth winter I was told to take up my mother's debt… and her duties. I'd cleaned and worked in the kitchen, all along, and never minded the work, but this other…'
Lark stared into her memories, then tossed her head and said briskly, 'I had no choice in matters and couldn't
