Silver Shadows (16 page)

Danilo’s name had not been mentioned on the pronouncement, but Arilyn knew that the highly skilled assassins of the guild would not need much time to

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discover his identity. The fact that she had been the first to read the pronouncement did little to ease her mind.

She hurried to her room in the women’s guildhouse, changed into her working clothes, and quickly packed her saddlebags with the things she needed for her mission. It was unlikely she would have an opportunity to return.

Without a backward glance at the complex that had been her home for several months, Arilyn rode as swiftly as she dared down the streets that led into the city’s most fashionable quarter. Even so, she took a few twists and turns to make certain she was not being followed. Each one took her closer to the Purple Minotaur, the finest and most costly inn in all of Zazesspur.

The half-elf reined her mare to a stop several blocks away from her destination, for she could hardly ride up to the white marble walls that surrounded the garden courtyard and present herself at the arched gate. Assassins were heartily respected in this city, but that regard did not extend to social settings. Many of the Minotaur’s guests were wealthy and powerful men— likely recipients of an assassin’s blade. The guards posted at the inn’s gate were about as likely to give Arilyn access to these guests as poultry farmers would be to invite a fox to dine at will among their hens.

And so Arilyn left her horse—and a handful of silver pieces—at a public stable in the care of an enterprising lad who had a talent for averting his eyes at precisely the right moment. While the boy tended to her mare, Arilyn climbed the ladder that led into the stable’s hayloft. A large pile of straw leaned against one wall; this she climbed to the top. The half-elf studied the rough ceiling carefully, then she pulled her sword and used it to push open the nearly invisible trapdoor. She leaped up and grabbed the edge. Quickly she hauled herself up and crawled out onto the flat, tiled roof of the stable.

After replacing the trapdoor, Arilyn stood and surveyed the many levels of the city laid out before heU^The

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rooftops of Zazesspur offered a landscape of their own. Here were paths well-worn by the feet of those who did business in darkness. Although she had been in the city but a few months, Arilyn knew these pathways as well as most of Zazesspur’s citizens knew the streets.

Between her and the soaring palace known as the Purple Minotaur lay a festhall, two taverns, the homes of several shopkeepers, the stables that served the posh inn, and the humble dwellings used for the servants and slaves who tended the pampered guests. With practiced ease, Arilyn made her way from rooftop to rooftop.

As she neared the Purple Minotaur, she glanced toward the upper floors of the inn and noticed that Danilo’s window was flung open to admit the summer night’s breeze—and possibly in the hope of an unexpected visit. Prom the open window wafted the gentle strains of a lute accompanying a well-trained tenor voice.

Arilyn’s first response was relief. Danilo was yet safe. For a moment she paused to listen to the faint song and the carefree singer who seemed far removed from the sordid reality of the squalid streets.

For some reason, this solidified Arilyn’s resolve. What she intended to do this night would not be easy, but it was a needed thing.

A sliver of new moon rose high into the sky as Arilyn crept across the roof of the Purple Minotaur, but its feeble tight was veiled by the thick sea mist that settled in with the coming of night. On the street far below, dim circles of light clung to the street lanterns, and faint light spilled from the windows of the festhalls and gambling parlors on the lower floors of the building. But where she trod, all was darkness. Danilo’s chamber was only two floors down from the roof, a location chosen to allow Arilyn to make her infrequent visits with discretion.

Indeed, her slender figure was barely discernible against the dark sky. The pale skin of her face had been smudged with dark ointment, and she wore the garb of

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an assassin: leggings and a loose shirt of an indistinct dark hue that seemed to absorb shadow. In the mist-laden air her black curls clung to her head in damp tendrils, and her only ornament was the sash of pale gray silk at her waist.

Arilyn took a rope of spider silk from her pack and affixed one end firmly to the nearest chimney. She crept to the roofs edge and counted carefully down the rope’s knotted length. Holding the rope firmly, she backed up, took a few running steps, and flung herself as far out into the darkness as she could.

As she dropped, she braced herself, accepted the jolting tug that came when the rope snapped taut. Then she swung like a pendulum toward the open window, shifting her weight a bit to adjust her course. At the last possible moment, she pulled up into a tight tuck.

The agile half-elf cleared the window. In one smooth move she released the rope and pulled a dagger from her boot, and then landed in a crouch. Her blue eyes swept the room, checking for danger. Satisfied that all was well, she stood and faced her Harper partner.

The young nobleman had apparently expected her, for he stood facing the window, a smile of welcome lighting his gray eyes and a goblet of elverquisst in each hand.

Arilyn had known Danilo Thann for almost three years now, but she had yet to reconcile herself to the disparity between his public persona and the man she had come to know. Few saw him as anything more than the youngest son of a Waterdhavian noble, a dandy and a dilettante who dabbled in magic and music. It took a keen ear to hear the artistry beneath the bawdy little ballads he composed, a sharp eye to note the ease with which he tossed off his “miscast” spells. But few people were inclined to seek deeply, and as a handsome charmer blessed with a noble’s rank and a merchant’s heavy purse, Danilo was welcomed in circles that a half-elven assassin could not hope to enter. Although j^ilyn

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recognized the worth of this disguise, the contrast between Danilo’s appearance and his true nature did not, for one moment, cease to irritate her.

As was his recent custom, he was clad entirely in shades of purple—the traditional color of Tethyr—and bedecked with a small fortune in gold-and-amethyst jewelry. Arilyn had told him more than once that this affectation made him look like a walking grape, but in truth the opulent color suited him well.

Everything about the young man and his setting bespoke wealth, ease, and privilege. The room behind him was vast and luxurious, although a bit cluttered with the trappings of his public and personal endeavors. One long table was heavily laden with goblets and bottles of fine wine—a testament to his current role as a member of Tethyr’s guild of wine merchants. Spellbooks were scattered across a reading table of Chultan teak, and the small crystal scrying globe on the table near the window was but one of many magic devices that protected the room and its occupant. The chamber’s hand-knotted carpet—rendered in shades of purple, of course—was heaped with tapestry pillows. Lying among them was the lute Danilo had set aside, an exquisite instrument inlaid with darker woods and mother-of-pearl. Beside the lute was his swordbelt, which held not only his rapier, but an ancient sword in a bejeweled scabbard. A magic weapon, Arilyn guessed, noting the distinctive curved pommel that marked it as a sword of Halruaan make.

All this she took in with a single sweeping glance. Noted, too, was the sudden intense flash, quickly hidden, that came into the young man’s eyes as his gaze swept over her. Arilyn knew her partner’s perception and attention to detail at least equaled her own, and for a moment she wondered what he saw in a disheveled, too-thin, half-elven assassin that could kindle such a flame.

“Lovely night for second-story work,” Danilo observed

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in a casual tone as he handed her a goblet. “That jump was most impressive. But tell me, have you ever miscalculated the rope’s length?”

Arilyn shook her head, then absently tossed back the contents of her goblet. “We’re leaving Tethyr,” she stated, plunking her empty goblet down on Danilo’s table.

He placed his own goblet beside hers. “Oh?” he asked warily.

“Someone has placed a bounty on your head,” Arilyn said in a grim tone as she handed him the heavy gold coin. “These were given to any assassin willing to take on the job. One hundred more to whoever makes the

km.”

Danilo hefted the coin in a practiced hand and then let out a long, low whistle. The coin was about three times the normal trade weight. The amount Arilyn had named was a substantial sum, one likely to tempt even high-ranking assassins to take on the assignment. But the young Harper did not seem concerned by the danger. He examined the gold piece with the detachment of a coin collector, running admiring fingers over the embossed pattern of runes and symbols.

“It would seem Fm attracting a better class of enemies these days,” he observed wryly.

“Listen to me!” Arilyn snapped, clasping both his forearms and giving him a little shake. “I heard someone singing your ballad about the Harper assassin.”

“Merciful Milil,” he swore softly, and Arilyn saw understanding dawning in his eyes.

Danilo had written the ballad about their first adventure together. He hadn’t performed it in over two years and certainly had the sense not to sing it in Tethyr. Although the song did not identify him as a Harper, even a mention of those “meddling Northern barbarians” could create a good deal of resentment and suspicion in this troubled land. Woven into the ballad were hints concerning Danilo’s identity, and the careful listener could soon ascertain that the hero and the

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poser were one. He had written the song to convince Arilyn that he was a vain and vapid courtier, and it had effectively served its purpose. But the fact that it was being sung here in Tethyr would force a rapid end to their mission. The young Harper contemplated the loss of all this work with a rueful smile.

“The locals express their musical preferences rather forcefully, wouldn’t you say?” he commented lightly.

Before Arilyn could draw breath for an exasperated rejoinder, Danilo silenced her with an apologetic smile and an uplifted hand. Tin sorry, my dear. Force of habit. You’re right, of course. We must ride north at once.”

“No.”

She reached out and touched one of Danilo’s rings—a magical gift from his uncle, Khelben Arunsun, that could teleport up to three people back to the safety of BlackstafF Tower, or elsewhere if the wielder so chose.

Arilyn hated magical travel; in her mind, it was a choice of last resort. The knowledge of this was written clearly in Danilo’s eyes. Understanding her urgency, he quickly donned his swordbelt and affixed to it the magic bag that held his wardrobe and travel supplies. He added three spellbooks to the bag and then absently dropped in the assassin’s coin. With one hand he snatched up his lute; with the other he reached out to Arilyn.

She took a step backward and shook her head. “I’m not coming with you.”

“Arilyn, this is no time to be squeamish!”

“It’s not that.” She took a deep breath, for the words were harder to say than she had imagined possible. “Word came from Waterdeep. IVe been assigned another mission. I leave in the morning.”

Danilo’s eyes widened. For a moment, Arilyn glimpsed in them the poignant longing that he was so careful to hide from her. Then, deftly, his expression changed to portray the pique of a spoiled nobleman who was unaccustomed to events that strayed from the path

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of his preference. His eyes betrayed nothing but incredulity that the Master Harpers would presume to separate them. It was a fine performance. Arilyn, however, was not fooled.

But before she could speak, the alarm on Danilo’s magical scrying globe began to pulse again. The half-elf snatched up the crystal and peered into it. The scene within showed three shadowy figures moving toward the edge of the rooŁ just two stories above them. Some of Arilyn’s colleagues were coming to collect their prize.

She tossed the alarm aside and cast a glace toward the open window and the nearly invisible rope outside. “There’s no time to explain,” she told him. “Go!”

But Danilo, who had also taken a good look into the crystal, shook his head. “And leave you to face them alone? Not bloody likely.”

Arilyn attempted a smile and touched the gray silk sash that proclaimed her rank among Tethyr’s assassins. “I’m one of them, remember? Til say that you were gone. No one will challenge me.”

“Of course they will,” he snapped, for he well knew how Tethyr’s assassins rose through the ranks. Arilyn was aware that her partner had paid out large sums to keep apprised of her dark and solitary path. She’d been able to keep news of many of her adventures from him, but he knew she’d been forced more than once to defend her reluctantly worn sash from ambitious fellow assassins. There were three of them now, and if she was alone, they would almost certainly seize the opportunity to attack her. Which of them would eventually possess her Shadow Sash would be a matter they’d settle among themselves at a later time.

The rope she’d left hanging outside Danilo’s window began to sway as someone inched down it toward his room. “Go,” Arilyn pleaded.

“Come with me,” he demanded in an implacable tone.

The half-elf shook her head, cursing the streak of steel that hid behind Dauilo’s foppish persona* She

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knew it well, and knew also that there was little chance of reasoning with him once his mind was set.

Predictably enough, the Harper tossed aside his priceless lute without thought or care, and pulled her into his arms.

“If you think I’d leave you, you’re a bigger fool than I am,” he said quickly, angrily, his words racing against the approaching danger. “This is hardly the moment I’d have chosen to mention this, but damn it, woman, I love you.”

“I know,” Arilyn replied softly, clinging to him in turn. For a single, intense second, she let her eyes speak her heart. Then she eased out of his arms and lifted one hand to stroke his cheek. It was the first such acknowledgment, the first caressing gesture, she had ever offered him. His eyes darkened as he cupped her hand in both of his and pressed her fingers to his lips in a fervent kiss.