though some creature of the night leeched away his soul.
With her bronze hair and face, however, Cythara looked more like a creature of the day.
'This was your choice,' she said, speaking in Elvish once more. Her voice was soft, as though the spell drained a bit of her vitality as well. She looked at Marthul for the first time, coldly. ' hope 'tis all you expected.'
Had Marthul been left in the grip of Cythara's slow, draining spell, he might well have stopped breathing and collapsed. However, to Cythara's chagrin-but not to her surprise-Yldar was there, seizing Marthul by the collar.
'Away from my sister, you damned, dirty ape-spawn,' he growled.
Marthul wasn't about to argue. Neither did he resist- if indeed he could have-as Yldar twisted him over his shoulder and sent him tumbling into a game of cards at the next table. Marthul's bulk splintered the table and sent cards, coins, and players scattering.
Angry glares fell upon the sun elf then, but when Yldar drew his long sword with a flourish and sneered, those gazes passed by. Satisfied, the sun elf turned back to his sister.
As soon as his back was turned, a dozen blades snickered quietly out of well-oiled belt, boot, wrist, chest, neck, back, and even bodice and codpiece sheaths. There was a reason the inn was called the Splitskull. Oblivious, Yldar smiled fondly at his sister. Cythara saw the attackers coming and sucked in a breath.
Then a lithe figure stepped between Yldar and the throng of attackers. All eyes snapped to the newcomer, and just as quickly the blades slid away. Before Yldar even sensed something happening behind him, the Splitskull had gone back to a comfortable tranquility.
It was, after all, the Dragon Coast.
'Quite the throw,' the newcomer said.
The sun elf turned, hand on his sword hilt, to find a mischievous smile waiting. Despite his touted inability to be impressed, Yldar stood blinking.
Shifting her weight from one foot to the other sensuously, the moon elf was easily the most beautiful maid he had ever seen-on par with the high nobles of Evermeet, even.
Her laughing eyes were pale, of indeterminate color that seemed to shift with the light. Standing against her pale skin, the raven hair falling to her waist in a loose cascade gleamed like the sky at midnight. She wore tight black breeches, a white tunic, and a gray vest with a half cape of dark scarlet silk that covered her left arm. Only one hand-the right, in a scarlet glove-was visible, perched on a slim hip.
Most significantly, though, she wore certainty and strength of will about her like a cloak. Her gaze unnerved Yldar even as it sent thrills down his spine, and her body… Well.
'Aye?' she said again. Yldar realized he had been staring. 'See something that pleases?'
The sun elf flushed with indignation. 'My thanks, lady,' he said, speaking Elvish without thinking. 'For the-'
At that moment, Marthul-who had recovered in the pause and drawn a twisted knife-roared and leaped at the pair. Yldar cursed and reached for his blade, but the maid did not blink. Her left hand shot out from beneath the cape.
There was a click, and Marthul roared. His wavy dagger clattered to the ground as he clutched at his hand- and the quarrel sticking through it.
Only then, in the midst of Marthul's curses, did the maid look back, along the line of her previously concealed hand crossbow, and flashed a wry smile. Marthul's face went ashen and he dashed out the door of the Splitskull, cursing.
Yldar blinked. She had moved too fast for him to see, much less react. He was starting to see reason behind her self-assured carriage.
If only he knew.
'My thanks again, and well met,' he said in Elvish. ' am Yldar Nathalan and this is my sister, Cythara, of the House of the Crescent Bow.'
Cythara hissed at Yldar, but he was too absorbed in the maid to pay attention.
'Impressive-really,' the moon elf said in Common, shrugging. 'I am called Fox-at-Twilight.' She held out her left, ungloved hand. As he disdained human customs, Yldar did not take it. 'You can call me 'Light, if you wish.'
'I do not,' Yldar said. 'You insult us with the tongue of animals?'
'So that's how you're playing it,' Twilight muttered under her breath.
'You give us disrespect?' Yldar sniffed superciliously. His hand went to his sword hilt.
Twilight raised one brow. 'Quite the temper,' she observed. A short rapier engraved with a weathered, asymmetrical star hung at her waist. 'A duel? That's one way to catch a maid's eye.'
Cythara reached out and caught Yldar's arm, but her eyes never left Twilight. 'Your help was neither solicited nor desired,' she said. 'Begone.'
'Well met to you as well, your Highnesses,' came the reply in the common tongue, perking every ear in the room. Twilight smiled as Yldar and Cythara's eyes nearly popped. She added in Elvish, 'And unless you'd like every cutpurse and cutthroat in the Splitskull visiting your table, I suggest you ease the censure.'
Yldar balked. Cythara's eyes glittered dangerously.
'You know who we are?' Cythara hissed.
'The House of Nathalan is known to me,' said Twilight. Her accent was odd-almost human in its sound, though Yldar heard a trace of Evermeet there. 'Known for its wealth and prestige-enough to rival most dynasties ofFaerun, and to draw the attention of most of her sellswords-though I doubt anyone in Elversult has heard of you. Thus, 'Highness' it shall be-If it please you, Highness.' Her last words were loud enough to carry through the room.
Cythara scowled and hunched down, shutting her mouth.
'What do you want?' Yldar asked.
Twilight grinned. 'Just a friendly chat-in Common,' she said. 'And if it becomes something more, well then. May I?' She gestured to Yldar's seat, and the sun elf winced. Twilight sat heavily. 'Both hands on the table, your Highness.'
Cythara, suppressing a frown, drummed her fingers on the wooden surface to show that she was casting no spells.
Satisfied, Twilight turned to Yldar. 'Buying a lass a drink? My lord, you're too kind.'
Fuming, Yldar waved over the barmaid, who approached the table hesitantly.
'Your best feywine,' Twilight said. They sat in silence until the drink came. Twilight downed it in one go and waved for another.
'What shall we talk about?' Yldar asked.
'Tell me why you're here,' she said. 'I don't see many of the People in the Splitskull, after all-Well, few enough cousins of Queen Amlauril, anyway.'
'Yldar…' Cythara warned.
'No choice, Cyth.' He turned back to Twilight. 'We are looking for something.'
Twilight accepted her second glass from the barmaid and teased the liquid close to her rosy lips. 'We're most of us looking for something, and for those of us who aren't, it's someone,' the rogue said. 'Anything in particular? Anyone, mayhap?'
Yldar bit his lip, and Twilight rolled her eyes.
'Come now, Lord Nathalan-don't be coy. It's not like you suns.'
'Very well,' Yldar said. 'What if I were to tell you we were searching for a certain powerful elven artifact, which we've traced from the ruins of Ascalhorn southeast along trade routes, through the hands of adventurers, and is now somewhere, we believe, along the Dragon Coast, if not in Elversult itself?'
Twilight shrugged in a 'so-it-goes' way. 'Why, is it something you're likely to say any time soon?'
Yldar bit his lip. 'We seek… Ynloeth's Bracer.'
Silence. Twilight's eyes flickered, like the glinting of coins. There it was.
Ynloeth was not a name known to many in Faerun, but most elf children knew the ancient story of Coronal Ynloeth of Shantel Othreier, a hero of the Crown Wars that had split the elf race asunder. And all who knew his name remembered the legend of his shattering swords, upon which he had called to slay a thousand foes in a heartbeat of destructive fury. Legendary, too, was that the power of the blades destroyed its wielder-unless he had
