flee; my arm was branded with the inn's mark.'
'So you always wear a ribbon,' Faendra murmured.
'Any guardsman of Luskan, any seacaptain anywhere, and every caravan master headed to Luskan could return me for a reward-that'd be added to my indenture. I was determined to earn my way free, but my mother's debt had grown large. She died birthing another twelve-fathered bastard, but lingered long enough to need a healer. I had no love for her, but couldn't let her die untended. By the time they found someone who'd venture those rough streets, she was past healing, and the babe as well. Then there were burial costs…'
Lark dismissed memories with an impatient wave. 'By then the debt was more than I could hope to pay. No matter how hard I worked, I'd never be more than a slave.'
Faendra winced, and Naoni squeezed Lark's hand in silent sympathy.
'One night a young lordling came to the tavern. A half-ogre was with him, a beast dreaded across Luskan-but when coins're on the table, most tavernmasters care little for servants' safety. The wealthy lord paid for his companion's food and entertainment, and watched while the monster dragged me to the stairs.'
Tears glimmered in Faendra's eyes.
Naoni had gone pale. 'You needn't say more.'
'Nay, the story turns brighter: Chance brought a paladin from Waterdeep through the doors just then. He slew the beast, asked the tavernmaster my debt, and handed over coin on the spot. We left that very night for Waterdeep.'
Lark smiled faintly. 'At first I thought he'd bought me for his own pleasure on the road south, but he understood nothing of what my life had been. Doubtless he thought he was rescuing a virtuous maiden.' She frowned, and added wonderingly, 'or perhaps he knew what I was and cared not.'
'Texter!' Faendra exclaimed. 'He you sent a message to, at the Serpent's revel!'
'Yes. I tried to repay him, but he refused my coins. I'll be beholden to no man, not even a good one, and told him so. Seeing I was steadfast in this, he asked me, in lieu of coin, to send him word whenever I saw possible danger to Waterdeep or its people.'
Naoni frowned. 'How does Elaith Craulnober come into this?'
Lark stared at her pleadingly. 'Try to see things as I do, Mistress. I've… known wealthy men, titled men, even a High Captain of Luskan, once. Under their finery, they're little different than the roughest sailor. Like men everywhere, the masked Lords of Waterdeep are-no better than they have to be. Elaith Craulnober went straight to the hiding-place where Texter had told me to hide my message, so I thought…'
'He was a Lord of Waterdeep.' Faendra concluded.
'Yes. I wondered if I'd been mistaken when Jivin was killed, but then, if your father's right, 'twould be a small matter for a Lord to order a man's death. I know Elaith's interested in the New Day; he's asked me about it.'
Naoni caught her breath sharply. 'What did you tell him?'
'Forgive me: That Master Dyre and his friends, like many old men, said much but did little.'
'Words lead to deeds,' Naoni said grimly. 'The riot in the City of the Dead began with those old mens' words.'
Faendra regarded Lark shrewdly. 'You're not so loyal to Waterdeep-nor half so stupid!-that you'd do what the Serpent demands, just because you think he might be a Lord of Waterdeep. He knew your past and threatened to tell the city, losing you your employment here-and everywhere respectable. That's why you took the charm from Lord Taeros: The Serpent demanded it.'
'Yes,' Lark whispered miserably.
'Did you give it to him?' Naoni asked.
Lark pulled up her kirtle, clawed open the small cloth bag sewn to her shift, and handed the charm to her mistress.
Closing her fingers around it, Naoni gave Lark a long, level look. 'You told us Beldar took it from you.'
'He did.'
'You also said you didn't have it!'
'I said it wasn't in my belt-bag, words as true now as when they were spoken.' Lark sighed. 'I beg pardon, Mistress, for deceiving you with… truth untold.'
Naoni shrugged. 'Well, at least you didn't give it to The Serpent.'
'I couldn't, not knowing for certain what it was or why he wanted it, so I had Lord Roaringhorn take me to a mage and pay for her seeking-spells. She found no magic in it at all.'
Faendra frowned. 'But why would he-'
She snapped her fingers. 'Beldar was the wealthy young man in Luskan!'
'I hated him… but have since come to know he never knowingly pandered for that beast. Please, let's speak of this no more. I want nothing more in my life than an end to all this.'
'Gods willing, you'll have it,' Naoni said briskly. 'When the elf asks about this, tell him Taeros no longer has it, nor do you.'
'And if he persists?'
Naoni looked down at what she held. 'Tell him,' she said slowly, 'that the charm was taken from you by a metal worker, who made something else of it.'
'Mistress, his magic will test my words for truth.'
There was steel in Naoni's sudden smile. 'True they will be! Faen, fetch me my spindle!'
Beldar stood in silence, staring at the stone skull. He wasn't sure what the old witch could do for him, but where else could he turn?
One of the teeth shifted. 'Are you alone this time?' the Dathran asked coldly.
He touched his eyepatch. 'No man or monster stands with me or follows me, as far as I know, yet I can't in all honor claim I'm truly alone.'
'More puzzles you bring Dathran? Very well, so long as you also bring gems and gold.'
Beldar shook his bag of gems, and the skull grated open.
Climbing into the room, he was surprised to find the Dathran already at work, settling a large, shallow bronze bowl onto a spiked iron tripod, and pouring dark fluid into it.
She looked up and made the usual demand: 'Blood.'
The Roaringhorn drew his dagger and carefully cut his forearm. As blood dripped into the scrying bowl, its surface began to roil and seethe. When the surface calmed, the Dathran leaned over it to peer intently into its depths.
A gout of steam burst from the bowl, scalding the old woman into staggering retreat. The steam darkened to smoke, and with horrified speed thickened into A pair of long, black tentacles!
One lashed out, snapping around the Dathran's throat with vicious force. She clawed at it, her fingers passing through it to leave bloody furrows in her own skin, and tried in vain to gurgle out a spell.
Beldar flung down his dagger, drew his sword, and swung it high overhead. He brought it down with all his strength behind it-straight through the tentacle as if he'd been slicing empty air, to strike sparks from the stone floor.
The tentacle undulated unharmed, the Dathran gagging.
The imp streaked off a shelf to pounce, shrieking and clawing. Its claws and fangs could find and harm the tentacle, slicing long, bloodless rents in the dark flesh. The imp sprang from the second tentacle to the first, slashing and gnawing in frenzy as the dark suppleness choked the Dathran.
That sinuous limb never slowed, dragging the witch toward the scrying bowl.
The second tentacle stabbed down-not at Beldar, but to flick the imp away. It spun into a hard, wet meeting with a wall and slid to the floor, spasming, to crouch hissing like an angry cat.
That tentacle darted menacingly at Beldar. He sprang aside, hefting his sword, but it swooped aside to dash the bowl off the tripod.
Dark fluid splashed in all directions, and the smoky tentacles thinned to the girth of ropes. Beldar hacked at one, but it curled away from him as the other tentacle hauled at the Dathran, hard. Snatched off her feet, the feebly struggling witch was jerked forward.
