The words were put forth simply, with a dignity and an old-fashioned courtliness that reminded Danilo of the knights of an earlier time. The love and reverence in Caladorn’s eyes when he spoke of his lady made Danilo feel vaguely ashamed of his earlier jest After promising Caladorn a match at a later time, he and Morgalla left the tournament field.
“Where to?” the dwarf asked.
“We’re to meet the others at the Broken Lance, a tavern not far from here,” Danilo said, leading the way down a side street “Let’s hope that one of them has fared better than we have!”
While her troublesome houseguest took a midday nap, Lucia Thione slipped away from her villa and hurried to Caladorn’s townhouse in the Castle Ward. To her dismay, she found all the cupboards locked. Her young lover was not at home. His manservant did not have the keys, but he informed her that Caladorn had left early, and that he’d had business with the archmage.
Although society deemed the hour far too early to be making calls, the noblewoman went at once to Blackstaff Tower. She was greeted at the wall by the Lady Arunsun and graciously received. Lucia felt uneasy in the beautiful mage’s presence—the noblewoman often had the feeling that those wicked silver eyes saw far too much—but she entered the tower with Laeral and accepted a goblet of iced pomegranate nectar. After the usual exchange of social amenities, Lucia asked for the archmage.
“He is not here, I’m afraid,” Laeral said, and her bare shoulders—at this time of the day!—lifted in a graceful, apologetic shrug.
Despite the mage’s polite words, Lucia got the distinct impression that Laeral was not at all displeased with the situation. The noblewoman’s tiny chin firmed and lifted to an imperious angle. “Would you be so good as to tell me where I might find him? Or Caladorn, for that matter?”
Silver eyes twinkled, and a dimple flashed briefly on the mage’s face. “I regret that such goodness is beyond me,” Laeral murmured. “Khelben left the tower early this morning, and he did not mention his destination.”
Before the frustrated noblewoman could respond, a young gold elf entered the reception hall, a silver lyre in his arms. He paused when he noted Lady Thione and made her a deep bow. The irrepressible Laeral dimpled and winked at the newcomer.
“Lady Thione, may I present Wyn Ashgrove. He is a minstrel and our guest at the tower. Wyn, Lady Thione is of the old royal family of Tethyr. Perhaps you might honor her with a song from her homeland?”
The elf agreed. He promptly seated himself and began to play a familiar melody on his silver lyre. His voice was high and sweet, and his skill remarkable, yet Lucia Thione had difficulty sitting through the elf’s well-meaning performance. For one thing, she’d had entirely too much to do with bards of late! Even more exasperating was the amused gleam in Laeral’s silver eyes. The mage was clearly aware of Lucia’s eagerness to be off, and she was deliberately detaining her guest in a fashion that the noblewoman could not dismiss without displaying an appalling lack of breeding. Angry at being toyed with in such a fashion, Lucia Thione seethed throughout the elf’s song. Despite Laeral’s power, beauty, charm, and social position as Khelben Arunsun’s lady, the mage remained somewhat of a rogue. With such a base trick, Lucia thought with a touch of malice, Laeral revealed herself as the common wench that she was!
As soon as the last silvery chord faded into silence, Lucia Thione rose to her feet “Thank you for your lovely tribute, Master Ashgrove,” she said, using her most regal tones to hide how flustered she truly felt. “Please accept in return this small tribute to your skills.” She reached into her money purse and selected one of several small coin bags. She handed it to the elf. He rose and accepted it with a polite bow.
The noblewoman’s farewell to the lady mage was as frosty as propriety allowed. Although Laeral did not appear to realize that she had been put in her place, at least she had the decency to escort Lady Thione to the street without further mockery.
Lucia settled into her carriage, deeply troubled by the morning’s events. Bergand would not be leaving for Nimbral until after the Midsummer Faire, and Garnet could not be put off. She would not wait that long for a helm of a Lord of Waterdeep, and the only one Lucia had a hope of procuring was Caladorn’s. Unless she got it quickly, she stood the risk of being unveiled before Garnet and the Knights of the Shield. The helm she must have, right away, and at any cost.
With a deep sigh, she resolved herself to the necessary course of action. Tapping briskly on the carriage glass, she got the driver’s attention and instructed him to take her to Diloontier’s Apothecary. The posh shop, located in the heart of the Castle Ward, catered to the needs of wealthy ladies and dandies who required herbal and magical balms, perfumes, and potions, and it possessed a sterling reputation and a clientele that included many of those whose names were featured on society’s first-choice guest lists. Diloontier also had a startling array of poisons and potions, which he secretly sold to those who had the appropriate credentials and the right amount of gold. Unfortunately for Caladorn, Lucia possessed both.
When Danilo and Morgalla arrived at the Broken Lance, Wyn Ashgrove was waiting for them, looking strangely out of place amid the athletes and fighters who frequented the tavern. The elf waved them over to his table. “Khelben Arunsun could not come. He sends his regrets. Do you have any news?”
“Less than I’d like,” Danilo replied, taking a seat at the large circular table. The Harper ordered wine and sipped at it absently while Wyn told them about the recent events in Waterdeep. The rumored disappearances of the Lords of Waterdeep concerned the Harper deeply, not only for the city, but because his uncle and mentor was among that group. Not that Khelben had ever admitted to these disappearances, but Danilo had no doubt that the rumors at least in this instance were accurate. Wyn’s news also cast a sinister light on the prophecy in the spell scrolclass="underline" the lord to fall on the field of triumph would most likely be one of the Lords of Waterdeep.
“Ready to order?” The serving woman, a former city champion in both jousting and swordplay, gave the question an inflection that suggested the talkative party would be advised to either order immediately, vacate the tavern, or draw weapons.
“Another round of drinks,” Danilo suggested, “some bread and cheese for the table, a bowl of bitter greens with summer herbs, and three servings of the eel pie. You must try it; it’s a house specialty,” he informed Morgalla and Wyn.
“Bring four servings,” corrected Elaith Craulnober, coming to the table with a silent grace that startled everyone there.
“You!” Danilo leaped to his feet. “I don’t believe you actually showed up! You’ve got more nerve than a drunken ogre.”
The moon elf rocked back on his heels, surprised by the Harper’s vehemence. “Have I missed something? We did agree to meet here at highsun.”
“That was before you stole the spell scroll.”
“Wait a minute,” Elaith demanded, taking a step toward the angry Harper. “The spell scroll is gone?”
“What? Is there an echo in here?”
Elaith let out a long hiss of exasperation and sank into a chair. “Vartain!” he said with disgust.
“Vartain?” echoed Morgalla and Wyn, in unison and disbelief.
“You heard me. He’s a better thief than a riddlemaster, although he doesn’t like to advertise the fact By the way, Lord Thann, it was he who separated you from your magic ring.”
“He is good,” Danilo muttered as he resumed his seat.