young, not much past twenty, and blessed with an a bun dance of black hair and truly impressive curves. The former was left gloriously unbound, and the later were displayed by a tightly-laced scarlet bodice over a chemise pulled down over her shoulders. Her skirts ended several flirtatious inches above her ankles, and her black eyes scanned the room. They lit up with an avaricious gleam when they settled upon the richly-dressed newcomer.
The barmaid eased her way through the crowd to Danilo’s side. A passing merchant jostled her at a highly opportune moment, sending her bumping into the Harper. She made a laughing apology, then tilted her head and slanted a look at him through lowered lashes.
“And what can I get you, my lord?”
“Killed, most likely,” he said mildly, thinking of the response this flirtation would earn from the half-elf who was prowling the shadows beyond the brightly-lit hail. “Or severely wounded, at the very least.”
The barmaid’s dumbfounded expression brought a smile to his lips. “Wine, if you please,” he amended. “A bottle of your best Halruaan red, and several goblets.”
As she wandered off to relay this order to another bar- maid, Danilo scanned the tables for the captains of the northbound caravan. Before he could make his way over, he found his path barred by a stout, stern-faced, white-bearded gnome whose crimson jerkin was nearly matched in hue by an exceedingly red and bulbous nose.
“Bentley Mirrorshade,” the gnome announced.
Danilo nodded. “Ah, yes-the proprietor of this fine establishment. Allow me to intro-”
“I know who ya are,” Bentley interrupted in a gruff tone. “Word gets around. There’ll be no fighting and no spellcasting. Leave yer weapons at the door. Sophie here will peace bind yer left thumb to yer belt.”
Danilo winced. “It appears I will never live down that incident in the Stalwart Club.”
“Never heard about that one.” The gnome nodded to the barmaid who had greeted Danilo earlier. She fished a thin strip of leather from her pocket and deftly secured the bard’s hand. As she worked, Danilo scanned the room and noticed that he was not the only one subjected to such precautions: all known mages were peace bound, and everyone was required to leave weapons at the door.
Danilo made his way to the merchant captains’ table. After the introductions were made, he poured out the first of several bottles of well-aged wine, and listened as the conversation flowed. Although the merchants talked a great deal, they said little that informed his cause.
As the night wore on, Danilo found his eyes returning with increasing frequency to the door. His fellow travelers trickled in as their duties were completed and the caravan and its goods secured. Elaith was one of the late- corners. Danilo noted with interest that the elf was subjected to peace binding. Few people knew of the Moon elf’s considerable magical abilities. These gnomes apparently didn’t miss much-although Dan suspected that Elaith managed to retain a good many of his hidden weapons. The gnome’s insight was not too surprising. Dan had heard that Bentley Mirrorshade was a highly gifted mage, specializing in the illusionist’s art.
The evening passed and the hall began to empty as the gnomes and their guests sought their beds. When Danilo’s patience reached the end of its tether, he left the hail in search of his partner.
He found Arilyn in the stable, currying her mare. She looked up when he came into the stall. Her face was pale and grim beneath its hood. Fighting came easily to the half-elf-Danilo had never seen anyone who could handle a sword as well-but killing did not. Even so, Danilo sensed at once that something else weighed heavily on her mind.
“That took quite a long time,” he prompted.
“I had to wait until Yoseff was alone,” Arilyn said in a low, furious tone. “He had a meeting. With Elaith Craulnober.” Danilo hissed a curse from between clenched teeth. “Why am I not surprised? Did you hear what was said?”
“No, nothing. He must have cast a spell of silence, or some such thing.”
“Undoubtedly. Now what?” mused Dan, running one hand through his hair in a gesture of pure frustration. He had investigated Elaith’s purpose in this trip, which was allegedly to acquire exotic goods from faraway Maztica in the markets of Amn. The elf would make a fine profit selling coffee, cocoa, and dried vegetables to the merchants of Waterdeep, but he had also arranged to acquire goods that were restricted or forbidden outright: feather magic, enspelled gems, possibly even slaves. Danilo had considered this the extent of Elaith’s planned mischief; apparently, he had been wrong.
“And the assassin? What had he to say for himself?”
“Yoseff was never one for conversation,” Arilyn said shortly.
“Ah. And he is dead, I suppose?”
“Very. He carried a few things that might help, though.” Arilyn reached into the bag that hung from her belt and took several glittering objects from it. The first to catch Danilo’s eye was a finely wrought gold locket on a heavy gold chain. A very nice amethyst-brilliant cut, thumb-sized, and deep purple in hue-was set into the front of the locket and a wisp of fine, black hair was nestled within.
“An amulet of seeking,” he surmised, fingering the soft curl. “Hair so soft could only have belonged to an elf or a baby. I’m guessing the latter. So we not only have a fair idea who the assassin came to find, but also who sent him-may all the gods damn the woman who would so use her own child!”
Before he could elaborate, a female voice, raised in a keening wail, cut through the night. It was a chilling sound, an ages old, wordless song of mourning. It spoke of death more clearly than any cleric’s eulogy, and far more poignantly.
Arilyn bolted from the stable with Danilo close behind her. They dashed through the nearly empty hail, toward the babble of gnomish voices in a side chamber. A thick-chested gnome barred their way. He was an odd- looking fellow with hair and skin of nearly matching shades of slate gray. Danilo recognized him from descriptions as Garith Hunterstock, Bentley’s second-in-command, Though the gnomish commander was determined to keep them out, the Harpers were tall enough to see over the heads of the crowd.
In the room beyond, Bentley Mirrorshade lay in a spreading pool of blood. The hilt of a jeweled dagger rose from his chest.
“No one in, no one out,” the gnome gritted out. He raised his voice and began to bellow orders. “Lower the portcullis and bar the gates! Archers, to the walls! Shoot down anyone who tries to leave the fortress before the murderer is found.”
Later that night, Danilo and his “servant” attended a grim gathering in the castle’s hall. The body of Bentley Mirrorshade lay in state upon a black-draped table. Candles lined the walls, casting a somber, golden light.
The crowd parted to allow a green-robed gnome woman to pass. Respectful silence filled the room as Gellana Mirrorshade, the high priestess of Garl Glittergold and the widow of Bentley Mirrorshade, made her way to her husband’s bier. She carried herself with admirable dignity. Her pale brown face was set in rigid lines, but her eyes were steady and dry.
The priestess spoke into the silence. “You are gathered here to see justice done. It is no small thing to speak with the dead, but an evil deed must not go unpunished.”
Gellana began the words and gestures of a complicated ritual. Danilo watched closely; nothing about the spell was familiar to him. He had studied magic since his twelfth year with no less a teacher than the archmage Khelben Arunsun, but the magic of a wizard and that of a priest were very different things. Apparently, the priestess was stifled and devout, for a translucent image of Bentley Mirrorshade slowly took form in the air above the pall.
“The dead must speak truth,” Gellana said softly, “and in life or in death, Bentley Mirrorshade would tell no direct lie. Tell us, my husband, who is responsible for this death.”
The specter’s eyes swept the assemblage. His stubby, translucent finger lifted, swept to the left, and leveled at Elaith Craulnober with a sharp, accusing stab.
For the first time in their acquaintance, Danilo saw the elf’s composure utterly forsake him. Elaith’s face went slack and ashen, and his amber-hued eyes widened in stunned disbelief.
“What nonsense is this?” the elf protested as soon as he could gather enough of his wits to fuel speech. “I am innocent of this thing!”
“Silence!” Gellana demanded. She held a jeweled dagger up for the ghostly gnome’s inspection. “Was this the weapon used?”
The spectral head rose and fell once, slowly, in a nod of confirmation. Despite the gravity of the occasion,
