'Corinn has told me your tale.' He sighed and sank onto a chair. 'If what you fear is true, my children could also be in danger.'
'I will find the truth and bring you word,' she prom shy;ised. 'I understand Corinn and Corinna are seldom in Waterdeep. Until we have the answers we seek, perhaps it is well to keep them from the public eye.'
'A good thought.' Lord Arlos glanced up at the por shy;trait. 'My first wife was a mage, you know. I had hoped that Sibylanthra's children would take after their mother's art, but so far they both have too much taste for adventure. Now I see the blessing in it.'
He turned to his son. 'Corinn, you may follow that scheme of yours to sail around Chult and seek to estab shy;lish harbors to the south. Corinna may take that com shy;mission she was offered. Better the uncertainties of Tethyr's seas than the proven dangers of this city. Make the arrangements at once.'
The half-elf flashed another of his incandescent smiles. He bowed to his father, then lifted Arilyn's hand to his lips. 'Thank you,' he said softly and fervently. He was gone, like a golden bird in glad flight.
Arilyn spent an hour with the old man, exchanging reminiscences about Evereska, which had been his wife's childhood home. She learned only that Sibylanthra had been found in the garden, inexplicably dead. There were no wounds, no sign of illness or struggle, none of the usual marks of poison. Yet her husband had been con shy;vinced, and was still certain, that this was the work of an assassin. Lord Arlos would have talked until moonrise, but finally Arilyn rose to go. She asked him to show her the kitchen gardens before she left.
The nobleman was surprised but willing. They walked down rows of late cabbages and drying herbs. Arilyn headed for the potting and drying shed and there found what she sought. A large cistern opened into the tunnel below, allowing the kitchen staff to toss husks and par shy;ings into the sewers below.
'I'll leave by this way. An assassin would have,' she explained.
He started, then shook his head in disbelief. 'Why did no one think of this sooner?'
There was an answer, but it was not one Arilyn wished to speak aloud: to find an assassin, you had to think like one. She had spent too many years doing just that. She busied herself with the heavy lid, then raised a hand in farewell and dropped into the dark opening.
She found the small footholds carved into the stone and climbed down into the tunnel. As she expected, the openings continued along the wall, so that it was pos shy;sible to skirt the tunnel floor. Such things were closely held secrets in the guilds that cleaned these tunnels, but Arilyn had long experience with the sort of folk who used these dark passages for other purposes.
It troubled her, how easily she fell back into the mind and the steps of an assassin. The role had always been an uneasy one, but it was doubly so now, after her years as an honored, acclaimed champion of the elves. Per shy;haps this was the only role destiny would permit her to play among the humans.
She thrust aside these thoughts and addressed her shy;self to the task at hand. After a hundred paces or so, the tunnel floor rose at a steep angle. Arilyn leaped from her perch and began to climb.
The tunnel was clean and dry, and it appeared to be relatively new. This was interesting, given the reap shy;pearance of tren in the city. After the Guild Wars, some of the old tunnels had been sealed, barring dangerous underground races from the city. These tunnels had been magically warded, but it was possible that some shy;one determined enough could have made new passages.
As Arilyn considered the matter, certain other pieces fell into place. Watch Alley in North Ward was excep shy;tionally safe but for the fact that single, severed human feet were occasionally found discarded in its shadows. The first such occurrence had been about fifteen years ago-about the time of Lady Dezlentyr's death. Tavern talk claimed that severing feet was an old thieves' guild punishment and perhaps a signal of the guild's return to Waterdeep. Arilyn had heard the bad jests about ' 'de shy;fecting' one's enemy.' In light of recent events, however, it seemed likely that tren, not human thieves, were behind these killings. The question was, who was paying their hire, and if this was a single source, what purpose prompted over fifteen years of costly, clandes shy;tine activity?
Arilyn examined the walls as she walked, searching for the telltale carvings that tren left as signals to each other. The tunnels turned out to be as convoluted as a cow path. The half-elf followed the faint markings for what seemed hours, finding them here and there but never quite able to distinguish a pattern. Finally it occurred to her to follow to its end the one passage that was
This proved to be worth doing. Arilyn found a hidden door in the wall of the unmarked tunnel. Beyond it a ladder rose into what appeared to be a large wooden shed. She climbed it and peered cautiously around.
The shed was permeated by a complex fragrance, a blessed respite from the dank tunnels. Bunches of drying herbs hung from the rafters. Piles of citrus peels and dried flowers stood on raised wooden platforms. Rows of shelves held bottles filled with colored liquid, into which flowers and herbs and vanilla beans and dozens of other fragrant substances yielded their essence.
Arilyn crept through the shed and eased out into the alley. She recognized the street ahead, and the shop that the small shed served: Diloontier Perfumery. Rumor had it that the proprietor also sold more lethal potions, but no one had ever caught him at it. Diloon shy;tier's prices kept out all but the most wealthy patrons- nobles who could afford to put down bags of gold for delicate scents. Who could afford to have new tunnels dug, and to hire reptilian assassins. It seemed to Arilyn that Diloontier's client list could be very informative.
To Arilyn's eye, this path was so clear that she thought it incredible that no one had thought to explore it. However, this was precisely the sort of thing to which this city turned a blind eye. All of Waterdeep loudly pro shy;claimed that assassins held no guild, no power, no num shy;bers, no threat.
Arilyn had reason to know the damage that could be dealt by a single, unseen blade. Perhaps it took someone like her to deal with such matters.
Old habits fell easily into place. Arilyn slipped away into the shadows, as silent as a hunting cat.
* * * * *
Elaith's dismay grew as he surveyed the certain ambush in the valley below. He cursed and drove his heels into the flanks of his winged mare. Leaning low over her neck, he urged her into a plunging dive.
Wind roared in his ears until he feared he might never again hear anything else. Even as the thought formed, an eagle's shriek rent the streaming air, tearing through the deafening noise. This was followed by an even more chilling sound-an undulating elven battle cry. The Eagle Riders had spotted the ambush.
From the four corners of the wind they came, moving in with a perfectly coordinated attack. Their eagle mounts dove in with the instincts of raptors, their golden eyes fierce and their talons outstretched to snatch up their prey. It was a glorious, terrifying sight: a classic elven attack.
It was also the worst possible strategy.
Elaith's cry of protest was swallowed by the wind. He could not hear his own voice. Nor did he hear the whir and thump of the catapults, but he knew in his blood and bones that such weapons lay in wait. After all, these bandits knew the caravan's route, they had found this remote site. They would know what forces they would face and how they might best be defeated.
Golden feathers flew back toward him like giant leaves torn away by a wintry blast. Among the feathers were deadlier missiles: bits of metal and stone hurled as grapeshot.
Elaith instinctively ducked as the spray rose toward them, pulling back hard on the pegasus' reins. The winged horse threw back her head. Elaith caught a glimpse of the steed's wild, white-rimmed eyes-and the ugly metal shape that protruded from her neck.
He leaned forward and eased it out. It was a caltrop, a ball covered with wicked, triangular spikes. Fortu shy;nately the thing had embedded itself more in the har shy;ness than the horse.
The giant eagles had not been so fortunate. They had caught the full force of the deadly volley. Two of the wondrous birds lay on the ground like discarded rags. A third spun down, one shattered wing hanging limp. Elaith heard Garelith Leafbower's furious battle cry as the last of the Eagle Riders dove in for the attack.
The first volley was quickly followed by a second, and a third. Elaith's pegasus strained upward, her wings curved almost to breaking to catch the rising winds. She leveled off and circled, whinnying with what sounded very much like concern. Elaith understood completely, though he did not know what kind of bonds pegasi shared. With senses heightened by battle, the elf felt the death of the young Eagle Riders as keenly as a wound to his own flesh. He urged the frantic beast to circle down so that he might assess the situation.
Utter chaos filled the valley and the sky above it. The tethered pegasus teams frantically fought to be free of their traces. Sky chariots spun out of control, spilling contents and riders to the valley floor. Griffons reared, pawing at the air with their leonine paws as they at shy;tempted to fight their way through the lethal spray. The
