stern tutelage some twenty years earlier. Of late, it seemed to Danilo that the archmage's summons were increasing in frequency, and that the demands he made upon his 'nephew' and former student were growing by the day.
Today he walked openly through the invisible doors that allowed passage through the black stone of the courtyard wall, and again into the tower. This much was expected; he then sauntered in through the wooden door of the archmage's study, not bothering to open the portal and in casual defiance of any wards that might have been placed upon it.
This was a typically arrogant gesture, one that no one else in the city would dare to attempt. Danilo hoped that Khelben perceived these acts as statements of his intention to remain independent of the archmage's plans for him, but he suspected that this very insouciance was in no small measure the reason for his frequent presence in Blackstaff Tower.
He was late, of course, and he found the archmage in an unusually foul state of mind. Khelben 'Blackstaff' Arunsun, the archmage of Waterdeep, did not often pace. Such was his power and his influence that matters usually went as he willed them to go. But at the moment, he roamed the floor of his study like one caged and extremely frustrated panther. Under different circumstances this might have afforded Danilo a bit of wry amusement, but the report he had sent to his mentor was disturbing enough to ruffle his own composure.
Khelben stopped pacing to glower at the man who was his nephew in name only. There was little similarity between them, other than the fact that they were both tall men, and that either of them would kill without hesitation to protect the other. The archmage was solid, dark, and of serious mien. He was clad in somber black garments, whereas Dan was dressed in rich shades of green and gold, bejeweled as if for a midwinter revel, and carrying a small elven harp. He was, much to the archmage's dismay, committed to a bard's life. It was a constant source of conflict between them-a conflict that supported Danilo's suspicion that the archmage still hoped his nephew might be his successor as keeper of Blackstaff Tower. Danilo supposed that Khelben's reasoning was sound enough. If he were forced to tell the whole truth-an event that, fortunately, did not often occur-Danilo would have to admit that he was more skilled with a spell than with harp or lute.
He set the harp on a small table and made a quick, complex gesture with his hands. Immediately the harp began to play of its own accord, a lilting elven air of which Danilo was particularly fond.
This brought a scowl to the archmage's face. 'How many musical toys does one man need?' he grumbled. 'You've been spending too much time at that thrice-bedamned bard school, neglecting your duties!'
The young bard shrugged, unconcerned by the familiar reprimand. Never mind, he thought wryly, that evidence of the archmage's particular artistic outlet stood in every corner of the room. Khelben painted; frequently, passionately, and with no discernible talent. Oddly skewed landscapes, portraits, and seascapes hung on the walls or stood on easels. Half-finished canvases leaned in rows against the far wall. The scent of paint and linseed oil mingled with the more pungent odor of spell components, which wafted in from the adjoining storage chamber.
Danilo walked over to the sideboard that held his favorite painting-an almost-skilled rendition of a beautiful, raven-haired half-elf-and poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter of elven wine he'd given Khelben as a gift.
'New Olamn is my duty,' he reminded the archmage. 'We have had this conversation before. The training and support of Harper bards is an important task. Especially in these days, when the Harpers so badly lack focus and direction. And by the way, you have some paint on your left hand.'
'Hmmph.' The archmage glanced down at his hand and glowered at the green smear, which promptly disappeared. He snatched up the small scroll that lay near the magical harp and tossed it to his nephew.
Danilo deftly caught it, then draped himself over Khelben's favorite chair. The archmage also sat, in a chair with carved legs that ended in griffin's claws gripping balls of amber. In direct reflection of Khelben's mood, the wooden claws drummed like impatient fingers.
'How many magical toys does one man need?' Danilo echoed wryly, and then turned his attention to the information on the scroll.
A few moments passed as he read and translated the coded message. His visage hardened. 'Malchior is a strife-leader, commander of the war-priests in the Zhentish keep known as Darkhold,' he para~ihrased grimly. 'Damn! Bronwyn has done business with suspect characters before, but this is beyond the pale.'
'Malchior cannot have that necklace,' Khelben said firmly. 'You must stop the sale and bring the stones to me.'
The bard's eyebrows rose, and his gaze slid over the severely-clad archmage. Khelben's only ornaments were the silver threads in his black hair, and the distinctive streak of white in the middle of his neatly trimmed beard. 'Since when did you develop a passion for fine antique jewelry?' Danilo asked in a dry tone.
'Think, boy! Even in its humblest form, amber is more than a pretty stone-it is a natural conduit for the Weave. This amber came from Anauroch, from trees that died suddenly and violently. Imagine the power required to transform the ancient Myconid Forest into desert wasteland. If even a trace of that magic lingers in the amber, in any form that can be tapped and focused, that necklace has enormous magical potential. It can also gather and transfer magical energy-' Khelben broke off, looking faintly startled, as if, Dan noted, he was suddenly considering that thought in a new light. The archmage rose and resumed his pacing. 'Apparently we shall have to keep a closer watch on Malchior and his ambitions.'
'In our copious spare time,' Danilo murmured. He lifted one brow. 'Here's a happy thought. When you say 'we,' perhaps you are employing the royal 'we,' and excluding your humble nephew and henchman?'
Khelben almost smiled. 'Keep thinking in that manner,' he said. 'They say that dreams are healthy.'
'Uncle, may I be frank?'
This time, the archmage looked genuinely amused. 'Why stop on my account?'
'I am concerned about Bronwyn. Stop frowning so- nothing is out of the ordinary. All has been done as you requested. I have arranged to have her watched and protected. I have quietly fostered her shop as the right place to acquire gems and oddities, ensured that her acquisitions are seen on those who mold the whims of fashion, made certain that she receives social invitations likely to build her reputation and her client list. In short, I have kept her busy, happy, and here in Waterdeep.
'But may I be damned as a lich if I know why, and damned thrice over if I am proud of my part in the manipulation of a friend and a fellow Harper!'
'Consider it 'management,' then,' Khelben answered, 'if the other word displeases you.'
Danilo shrugged. 'A goblin by any other name is just as green.'
'What a charming bromide. Is that the sort of thing you're teaching in the bard school?'
'Uncle, I will not be distracted.'
The archmage threw up his hands. 'Fine. Then I, too, will be blunt. Your words display far more naivete than I would have expected from you. Of course the Harpers must be managed. The decisions an agent must make are often too important, too far-reaching, to leave entirely in one person's hands.'
'Unless, of course, that person is yourself.'
Khelben stopped his pacing and turned slowly, exuding in condensed form the wrath and power of a dragon rampant. 'Have a care how you speak.' he said in a low, thrumming voice. 'There are limits to what I will endure, even from you.'
Danilo held his ground, though he better understood the true scope of Khelben's power than did most who stood in awe of the great archmage. 'If I offended, I beg pardon, but I only speak the truth as I see it.'
'A dangerous habit,' Khelben grumbled, but he subsided and turned away. He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out a window-a window that shifted position randomly, and that was never visible from the outside of the tower. The current vista, Dan noted, was especially impressive: the luxury of Castle Ward, crowned by the majestic sweep of Mount Waterdeep. A trio of griffons from the aerie at the mountain's summit rose into the sky, their tiny forms silhouetted against sunset clouds of brilliant rose and amethyst. Danilo watched them circle and take off on their appointed patrol as he waited for the archmage to speak.
'You have no doubt wondered why we keep such close watch on Bronwyn, a young Harper whose missions mostly entail carrying messages.'
'No doubt,' Danilo said dryly. He folded his arms and stretched his long legs out before him. 'What was your first portent of this? The many times I demanded to know why I was made a mastiff to herd this particular sheep?'
