about her.'
The words came out as a reproach, though she had not intended to speak them. Rhammas merely nodded, as if he expected-deserved-this jab.
The bleak acceptance in the man's face disconcerted her more than would a cruel denunciation, or accusa shy;tions of fraud. She had expected both. She had not expected to find this shell of a man, worn down to noth shy;ingness by relentless petty concerns and easy luxury.
This was not the father she had imagined or the life she had dreamed of living. Lilly turned and fled back toward the servants' quarters and the discreet rear exit the steward pointed out for her. For the first time since the theft, she did not regret the loss of her coin. If this was the price of wealth, it was too dearly bought.
* * * * *
Elaith strode into the enclosed garden late that after shy;noon, congratulating himself on his decision to use Greenglade Tower as a meeting place. A group of his mercenary captains awaited him. Some of them had been waiting for hours. It was never wise to have large groups gather all at once, for fear of drawing attention. One or two men at a time, their arrivals spaced over time, were less likely to raise attention.
The remnants of a feast lay scattered on the long table and littered the garden floor. Hounds gnawed at discarded bones, and serving girls cleared away the empty trenchers. A few women-and a couple of hand shy;some youths-had been hired for other tasks. Some were draped across the mercenaries' laps, while others had quit the table entirely for the relative privacy of alcoves once tended by careful elven hands.
'Enough,' snapped Elaith as he strode up to the table. The mercenaries stood like puppets pulled by a single string, some of them spilling their hired companions to the ground along with other discarded memories of their revelry.
This did not seem to bother the escorts. They gath shy;ered up their scattered belongings and the threadbare remnants of their dignity and slipped through the garden gate.
The largest of his captains-a woman of the North shy;lands with hair the color of flame and various passions of similar hue-cast a wistful look toward the departing youth. Elaith settled his ire upon her.
'You, Hildagriff. Your report.'
The woman hauled in her attention. 'This from Castle Ward: Balthorr acquired the big ruby. He wants six hun shy;dred gold.'
This was the news Elaith had been waiting to hear. The dream spheres he had already located, and the kiira gem was the last, vital part of Oth Eltorchul's scheme. The elf gave no sign of the importance of this intelligence, but he rushed his other captains through their reports and sent them on their way.
As soon as he was alone, he set a swift course to the fence Hildagriff had named. This was a task too impor shy;tant to entrust to an underling. No one else could be trusted to handle the Mhaorkiira, the dark gem.
Later that day, Elaith was not certain that he himself could handle the elven gem. It was a beautiful thing-far surpassing the images his mind had painted of it. Its color was clear and flawless, and it had been perfectly cut and faceted to catch light. The kiira was a marvel of elven gemcraft. And elven magic.
He was disturbed by the dark, compelling power in the stone. Not even the dire legends he had heard from his boyhood fully prepared him for the impact of the Mhaorkiira Hadryad. This stone had twisted and ulti shy;mately destroyed an ancient elven clan. Only the last-born, a mage of such utter evil that he might as well have been an orc or a drow or other such abomination, could bend it fully to his will. The gem had been found several times since then, but always slipped back into oblivion with the destruction of the elf who dared to take it up. This was an enormous gamble. Elaith knew he was quite literally putting his life on the line. Was it truly so important that he know his own deepest measure?
'You want it, or don't you?' Balthorr had asked, seeing his reluctance. 'I could sell it easy if you don't. Two, three people looked at it this afternoon.'
That had interested Elaith. 'Any make an offer?'
'No,' the fence had admitted, and Elaith had let the matter go.
The kiira was his. The gem settled into his hand with an inaudible sigh of contentment, as if it had found its proper owner at last. At that moment Elaith's hope died, his heart turned to stone. He had his answer. Nothing elven remained to him but the Mhaorkiira. That would have to be enough-that, and the power it would give him.
So be it. He left the gem in his most secure property, then hurried toward the Dock Ward to meet his waiting contacts. A second group would have gathered by now, brought in through the tunnel that ran between the tower and a nearby warehouse. The members of the two groups would not know each other if they passed on the street. Such precautions, he had learned many long years ago, were necessary to those who lived as he did.
He slipped into the warehouse and made his way through the labyrinth of aisles that wove among the high- stacked crates. Without warning, the pile ahead collapsed, crashing down to seal off the passage.
Elaith spun in a half turn, so that he could see both behind and ahead. A trio of hooded men leaped from the heights as another four closed in from behind. The elf scanned the stacked crates on either side. Several other men knelt in position, nocked crossbows aimed at his heart.
Chagrin poured through the elf as he acknowledged himself trapped. He lifted his hands to show that he held no weapons and turned to face the band behind him. He addressed his remarks to the largest form among the hooded men, knowing that brute physical size was deemed important in the sort of primitive hierarchies common among human thugs.
'If you had wished to kill me, you would have done so by now,' he pointed out. 'Now that you have my atten shy;tion, speak your mind.'
'We bring a message,' intoned a gruff, familiar voice from beneath one of the hoods. 'You have taken too much upon yourself. The elf lord, they call you.'
'So I am, by right of birth and property,' Elaith pointed out. 'My concerns, both in this city and the one below, outstrip that of most of the merchant clans. Yours included,' he added slyly.
The man's sudden jolt of surprise was gratifying-and enlightening. Elaith was not certain until this moment that Rhep, the Ilzimmers' mercenary captain, was beneath that hood. Well enough. At least he knew with whom he dealt.
'This is a city of laws and customs,' the man contin shy;ued, as if determined to put the discussion back on his terms.
'Really.' Elaith smiled blandly. 'I have not heard the law permitting armed trespass. This little visit must therefore fall under the banner of local custom.'
'Mind your tongue, elf,' snarled Rhep. 'Your welcome in Waterdeep is wearing thin. Play tavern keeper if you will, but close up your Skullport trade. This will be your last warning.'
'Good,' returned the elf. 'I find this particular custom rather tiresome. Please, bring my regards to your masters.'
He reached into a pocket sewn into the shoulder seam of his jerkin and drew out a small, silver rod. This he pointed at one of the crates stacked high overhead, which had been marked with a curving rune that none of these louts could read.
A shower of sparks leaped from the tiny staff and coalesced into a single, arrowlike shaft. This sped toward the box and exploded into a second dazzling shower. This explosion was followed by a second, as the contents of the box-smokepowder, highly illegal and as unpredictable as a dryad's romantic fancy-caught flame.
Streams of burning light arced down, spitting and whistling in their descent. The archers dropped their bows and fell to their stomachs in an attempt to hold their perches on the swaying piles of crates.
Elaith drew his sword and ran at the trio guarding the blocked tunnel. He lunged and ran one man through the gut, then shifted his weight onto his back leg and lifted his bloodied sword to meet the second man's attack. A quick twist disengaged his weapon, another deft turn brought the blade slicing across the man's throat. On the backswing he caught the final man's blade. He pushed up, forcing the enjoined blades high, and leveled his silver wand at the man's chest.
Another tiny arrow of light sizzled forth, diving into the man's chest. Elaith dove aside as the magic weapon exploded from within, transforming the man into a crimson mist.
The elf ran up over the spilled crates and raced nimbly down the other side. Quickly he found the second hidden door, one known only to him, and slipped down into the tunnel that led to a tailor's shop two streets down.
