whole, a bit more flexible about such things. He had traveled with Elaith when circumstances had enforced a partnership between them, and they had developed a cautious, mutual respect. But Danilo did not trust the elf. There were too many dangerous secrets between them, too many deadly insults exchanged, treacheries barely avoided.
At that moment, they crested the hill and the fortress came suddenly into sight. Nestled in a broad valley just to the east of the trade route, it was a sturdy and defensible holdfast of solid granite. A tall, thick curtain wall enclosed an austere castle and a bailey big enough to house perhaps a score of other buildings. This holdfast, once a wizard’s keep, was now a wayside inn held and operated by a clan of gnomes.
The massive portcullis rose with a whirring of gears-a sure sign of a gnomish devise, noted Danilo. Most of the holdfast’s inhabitants were simple folk mostly occupied with the maintenance of the castle, and in recent years a few gnomes from the island of Lantan had settled at the Friendly Arm, bringing with them the worship of Gond the Wonderbringer and a corresponding fondness for mechanical devices that were often entertaining and occasionally useful.
At that moment the chain raising the portcullis slipped, and the pointed iron bars plunged downward. One of the men approaching the gate shrieked and lunged from his horse. He hit the dirt and rolled aside just as the portcullis came to an abrupt stop, mere inches from its highest point. This brought much laughter and many rough jests from the other members of the caravan, but Danilo noticed that they all rode through the gate with more alacrity than usual.
Inside the fortress wall, chaos reigned. The holdfast was home to perhaps three- or four-score gnomes, hill loving folk small enough to walk comfortably under the belly of Danilo’s tall horse. Most of the gnomes seemed to be out and about, busily loading goods into the ware- houses, tending horses in a long, low stable, directing the wagons into covered sheds, or bustling in and out of the many small buildings, clustered around several narrow alleys, that filled the Friendly Arm’s grass-covered bailey.
Danilo took the opportunity to observe this unusual clan closely. They looked a bit like dwarves, although somewhat shorter and considerably less broad than their mountain-dwelling relatives. The male gnomes wore their beards short and neatly trimmed, and the females’ faces, unlike those of bearded dwarf women, were smooth and rosy-cheeked. All the gnomes had small blue eyes, pointed ears, extremely long noses, and skin that echoed all the browns of the forest, from the gray-brown of the duskwood tree to the deeply weathered hue of old cedar. They favored forest shades in their clothing as well, and the lot of them were dressed in browns and greens-with an adventurous few adding a hint of autumn color.
They were certainly industrious folk. Nearly every pace of the courtyard was occupied by horse or wagon, but the gnomes directed the seeming chaos with the ease of long practice. A northbound caravan had arrived shortly before Elaith’s, and the southerners were still busily securing their goods for the night. Merchants shouted instructions to their servants in a half dozen southern dialects. A few swarthy guards loitered about, leaning against the walls and sizing up the newcomers with an eye toward the evening’s entertainment. In Danilo’s experience, it was always so. The road was long, and travelers were ever on the lookout for a new tale or tune, some competition at darts or dice or weapons, or a bit of dalliance. Most of the guards from both caravans had already gone into the castle’s great-hall-turned-tavern, if the din coming from the open doors was any mdication.
“Shall we join the festivities?” Danilo asked his companion. He handed the reins of his horse to a gnomish lad-along with a handful of coppers-and then slipped an arm around Arilyn’s waist.
She side-stepped his casual embrace and sent him a warning look from beneath her hood. “I am supposed to be your servant, remember?” she warned him. “You learn what you can in the great hail, while I talk to the stable hands.”
The young bard sighed in frustration, but he had no argument to counter Arilyn’s logic. He nodded and turned aside, only to step right into the unsteady path of a stocky, dark-haired man. There was no time to dodge: they collided with a heavy thud.
The dark, smoky scent of some unfamiliar liqueur rolled off the man in waves. Danilo caught him by the shoulders to steady him, then pushed him out at arm’s length-after all, one could never be too careful. The man was unfamiliar to him: a southerner, certainly, with a beak of a nose under what appeared to be a single long eyebrow, a vast mustache, and skin nearly as brown as a gnome’s. He appeared harmless enough. He carried no apparent weapons, and his rich clothing suggested a bored merchant whose only thought was to wash away the dust of a long road with an abundance of strong spirits.
“Are you quite all right?” Danilo inquired politely. “Shall I summon your manservant to help you to your room?”
The man mumbled something unintelligible and wrenched himself free. Dan watched him stagger off, then glanced back for a final look at Arilyn and did an astonished double take. She had fallen back into the shadows between two small buildings and dropped to one knee. There was a throwing knife in her gloved hand, held by the tip and ready to hurl.
“I know that man,” she said by way of explanation as she tucked the knife back into her boot. “Worse yet, he knows me. He was in the assassin’s guild with me, in Zazesspur.”
Danilo swore fervently and joined Arilyn in the shadows. Together they squeezed back into a narrow, gnome-sized alley. “Well, at least this confirms that we are on the right path,” he said in a low, grim tone. “I suppose it could be mere happenstance that a hired sword from Zazesspur shows up at this particular time, but it’s my observation that true coincidence is a rare thing-except in Selgauntan opera, of course…”
Arilyn nodded her agreement and said, “I’ll find out who sent him.”
Danilo swallowed the protest that was his first instinct. As Harpers, they played very different roles and they worked together well. He might hate the idea of Arilyn going up against a trained killer, but he saw no way around it. She had spent many months posing as an assassin in Tethyr. The competition among those ranks was fierce and deadly at the best of times, and she had not left the guild under good terms. It would be to Arilyn’s advantage to chose the time and place for the inevitable battle. And she was right: they needed to know what had prompted an assassin’s presence in this neutral holdfast. Even if the assassin’s purpose was not the same as the Harpers’, no one would risk violating the peace of the Friendly Arm unless the need was dire, or the potential gain great. To do so would bar the doors of the fortress against the wrongdoers for a gnome’s centuries-long memory. This was a severe penalty in these troubled lands, which for so many years could claim few truly neutral places.
But as to that, change was in the air. The seemingly endless civil war within Tethyr was winding to a close. Zaranda Star had been acclaimed queen in the city of Zazesspur, and was on the way to solidifying her hold on the entire country. To this end, she was preparing for a marriage of convenience to the last known heir to the royal House of Tethyr. There were factions, however, who used controlled chaos to their benefit, and who were not inclined to see peace come to their land. When the Harpers learned that there was a potential challenger to Zaranda’s throne, a distant relative of the soon-to-be- king and thus a potential bride, they foresaw trouble. Danilo and Arilyn had been sent to find the young woman and bring her to safety in the Northlands before someone else made her a pawn in a renewed struggle… someone who might send an assassin to retrieve-or do away with-the unsuspecting girl.
Yes, concluded Dan glumly, Arilyn had no choice but to face the assassin.
“Be careful,” he murmured. Before she could protest, he framed her face in his hands and tipped back her head for a long and thorough kiss.
“You know better than to distract me before battle,” she said in a tone that tried for severity, but did not quite succeed.
Danilo chuckled. “I shall take that as a compliment.”
He turned and strode into the castle, his manner far more insouciant than his mood. The prospect of an evening’s comfort and conversation held little appeal, but this was his role to play and he would attend to his part no less faithfully than did Arilyn.
Since this was his first visit to the Friendly Arm, he looked around with interest. The great hail had been set up as a tavern. Long tables and sturdy wooden chairs were scattered about, some of them gnome-sized, others intended for the comfort of taller travelers. A wild boar roasted on a spit in the enormous hearth, and kettles of steaming, herb-scented vegetable stews kept warm in the embers along either side. The air was thick with the fragrance of fresh bread and good, sour ale. Several young women moved slowly about the room carrying trays and tankards.
Prompted more by habit than inclination, Danilo slid an appraising eye over the nearest barmaid. She was
