“Can we, indeed?” mused Danilo. “Now that I think on it, wouldn’t this be a perfect cover for the girl’s presence?”
“Possibly,” the half-elf countered. “But Bentley is known as an honorable gnome. What purpose would he have in breaking his sworn word?”
“Saving the life of an infant seems purpose enough. For that matter, he could have kept to the letter of his word: he swore not to admit anyone who claimed ties to the royal family. An infant could hardly make such a claim. If indeed Lady Thione’s child was brought here, it is possible that the gnome did not know at the time who the child was.”
“But he learned,” Arilyn surmised. “He probably died to protect that knowledge.”
“Undoubtedly,” Dan agreed, his tone even. He nodded a farewell to Elaith, and he and Arilyn walked toward the stairs.
“You didn’t sound convinced back there,” she said.
“I was thinking. Did you notice the barmaids at the inn? Any one of them could be the woman we seek-they are all about the right age, and by the look of them, any one of them could be kin to Lucia Thione.”
Arilyn considered this. “Their presence in the gnomish stronghold is difficult to explain otherwise. Do you want to take a closer look at them?”
Her partner responded with a smirk. Arilyn bit back a chuckle and tried to glare. “I’ll come looking for you in an hour.”
“I shall bear that in mind,” Danilo murmured.
He made his way back into the tavern and tried to strike up a conversation with the gnome barkeep. All the inhabitants of the fortress were stunned by their leader’s murder, and none of the small folk were inclined to share information with the human who had defended the accused elf. But Dan stringed together a series of grudging, one-word answers and eventually learned that there were a total of eight barmaids, six of whom were on duty.
Since Danilo was more interested in a woman who was not there, he left the castle and went to the barmaid’s house, a stone structure built right against one of the curtain walls. Danilo knocked softly on the wooden door. When there was no answer, he tried the door and found it unlocked.
There was but one large room, simply furnished with straw pallets softened by down-filled mattresses. Two women lay sleeping. Danilo recognized one of them as Sophie, the girl who had administered the peace bonds the night before. A shadow of suspicion edged into his mind. He stooped by her bed and softly called her name. When still she slept, he tapped her shoulder, then shook her. Nothing woke her.
Danilo rose and took a couple of odd items from the bag at his waist, then cast a spell that would dispel any magic in the room. The result was only half what he expected.
“Sophie” was not a woman at all, but a pile of laundry. The other barmaid was not a woman either but an iron golem, a magically-animated construction enspelled to look enough like Sophie to be her cousin. One apparently solid stone wall was breached by a wooden door that was closed but not barred.
The Harper crept closer for a better look. The golem was curled up in mock slumber, but when it stood it would be nearly twice the height of a tall man. The body, shaped roughly like that of a human woman, probably outweighed Danilo’s horse six or seven times over. No wonder so few gnomes held the fortress, Dan realized. An iron golem could stop a war-horse’s charge without get- ting knocked back on its heels, crush an ogre’s skull with one fist, and shrug off blows from all but the most powerful magical weapons. This golem was in need of repair. There was a considerable amount of rust along some of the joints, requiring filing and oils at the very least, and possibly the ministrations of a blacksmith. Danilo guessed that the golem could still do considerable dam age in its current condition. He backed out of the room, grateful that the stone floor, which had no doubt been built to support the construct’s great weight, did not creak.
He bumped into Arilyn at the door. “The barkeep thought I might find you here,” she said.
“Keep your voice down,” he implored, nodding toward the golem.
But his spell had faded, and the figure that rose from the pallet appeared to be nothing more than an angry girl. The illusion-draped construct rushed forward, fist raised for a blow.
Arilyn stepped forward, her forearm raise to block the attack. There was no time for explanation, so Danilo did the only thing he could; he leaped at Arilyn and knocked her out of the golem’s path. Her angry retort was swallowed by the sound of an iron fist smashing into the wall. Jagged fissures raced along the stone, carving a spider-like portrait on the wall.
The half-elf’s eyes widened. “Iron golem,” Danilo said tersely. “Rust on the elbow joints.”
Arilyn nodded in understanding. In one swift movement, she rolled to her feet and drew her sword. Danilo reached for his, then remembered that only magic-rich swords could have any impact. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for a thin, ornamental blade he wore on his right hip-a singing sword with a ringing baritone voice and an extremely bawdy repertoire.
“Softly,” he admonished the sword as he tugged it free of its sheath. “There might be more of these things waiting tables in the castle.” Obligingly, the sword launched into a whispered rendition of ”Sune and the Satyt”.
Arilyn shot him an exasperated, sidelong glance, and then turned her attention to the golem.
The woman-shaped construct turned slowly to face the half-elf, spewing a cloud of roiling gray smoke from its mouth. The golem balled one fist into a deceptively dainty weapon. Arilyn sidestepped attack, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut against the stinging gas. She brought her sword up high and delivered a powerful two-handed blow that would have cleaved an orc’s skull in two. A harsh clang resounded through the room, and Arilyn’s elven sword vibrated visibly in her hands. There was not so much as a scratch on the illusionary barmaid, and as the gas cleared, the golem wrapped its arms around one of the beams that supported the building and began to rock.
As dust and straw showered down from the thatch Danilo remembered his glimpse of the golem, recalled how the iron plates of the arms were arranged. He lunged forward and thrust his weapon into the arm. The magic sword slid between the plates and out the other side. The blade bit deeply into the wooden beam the golem was holding, pinning one arm fast.
Arilyn stepped in and swung again, hitting the golem’s other arm once, then a second time. The elven sword severed the arm at the elbow. The limb fell to the stone floor with a clatter, the illusion dispelled. Its iron fingers flexed and groped, seeking to dig deep into an unwary foot. Arilyn tried to kick the arm aside and swore when her boot met unyielding iron. She sidestepped the twitching limb and struck again and again, chopping at the construct like a deranged woodsman determined to fell a tree one limb at a time. With each piece she knocked or pried loose the construct’s struggle weakened.
But not soon enough. The golem, now plainly visible for what it was, managed to work its impaled arm free. Danilo’s singing sword went skidding across the floor.
At once the half-elf struck, thrusting her own blade back into the same place. She leaned into the sword to hold it in place and shot a look over her shoulder at Danilo. “Melt it,” she commanded.
Danilo hesitated, quickly considering his options. Fire would only restore the golem. Lighting, then. He lifted both hands and deftly summoned the force, holding it between his hands in a crackling ball as he shouted for the Arilyn to stand clear.
Magic flowed from his fingertips like white-hot arrows and Arilyn’s hands fell away from her sword. His aim was true, and an arc of blue-white lightning crashed between his hands and what remained of the golem. The construct wilted like a candle left out in the sun.
Arilyn grabbed her sword and, the muscles in her arms corded so tightly they seemed about to snap, pulled the enchanted blade through the golem’s iron flesh.
The construct sank to the stone floor and the severed roof, arm ceased its twitching.
Arilyn was white-faced, weaving on her feet. Danilo suspected that only an act of will kept her standing. He went to her and brushed a stray curl off her damp forehead. When he gathered her close, her arms went around him instinctively.
“This battle reminds me of something else,” he murmured. “There was a powerful illusion cast on this golem, and Bentley Mirrorshade was a powerful illusionist.”
Arilyn lifted her head from his shoulder. “And?”
“One of the main tenants of the illusionist’s craft is to make people overlook the obvious. What is the most
