“Where is Antony?” Caladorn asked, looked over her dark head toward the kitchens. The lower level of the townhouse was unusually chill and unwelcoming, not at all what he had come to expect from his competent manservant. Caladorn was tired and hungry and disgruntled with life; in short, he was in no mood to endure domestic incompetence.
“Oh, I gave him the night off,” the noblewoman said airily. “Tonight I will see to all your wants personally.” After giving him another kiss, she drifted off toward the kitchen to see to dinner.
As Caladorn watched her go, Danilo Thann’s accusations rang in his head. He did not want to believe this of Lucia—he did not believe!—but neither could he dismiss the notion entirely. It occurred to him, suddenly, that there were no cooking odors emanating from the kitchen. The lower hall was usually redolent with the scent of roasts, steaming vegetables, and fresh bread.
Caladorn looked down at the goblet in his hand. After a moment of indecision, he poured the wine into a potted plant.
Following a decent interval in the cold darkness of the kitchen, Lucia returned to the front hall to find Caladorn lying on the floor, facedown. Quickly she picked up the goblet It had been drained. Antony had died from half the dose, and the twisted, tormented posture in which her lover lay suggested that he had suffered from the corrosive acid as painfully as had his manservant. Regrettable, but it could not be helped. This was the quickest acting of all Diloontier’s poisons, and Lucia was painfully short of time.
With quick, expert movements she patted Caladorn down for his keys. When she found the small ring of keys, she turned and ran lightly up two flights of stairs. After a few moments, she hurried back down to the front hall, a large square box in her arms and a dark, hooded traveling coat obscuring her face and form. Thus garbed, Lucia Thione left her lover’s home for the last time without a backward glance.
So intent was she on her purpose that she did not notice the quickly withering plant beside the body of her lover.
Silence filled the hall for a long moment. When he was certain that Lucia was gone, Caladorn rose to his feet The pain in his heart and the bleak emptiness in his soul dimmed the memory of any battle wound he’d ever received.
What, then, was he to do? His heart and his hopes were not the only casualties of Lucia’s treachery. Should he treat her like a wily trout, and give her enough line to maneuver, so that she would give proof to her evil intentions? Or should he bring her to instant and immediate justice? As a spy, she would no doubt be tried and executed. Caladorn doubted he had the strength to bring his lady to her death regardless of what she had tried to do to him, or her reasons for doing it.
With a ragged sigh, Caladorn turned and mounted the stairs toward the third floor. If he was to uncover Lucia’s plot, he would have to know what object she considered worth the price of his life.
Clutching the box containing the magical helm, Lucia Thione fled through the quiet street. She had left one of Hhune’s coins beside Caladorn’s body, hoping to place the blame for the murders on the Tethyrian merchant It was important, however, that no one see her out and abroad this night. She made her way quickly to a well-guarded home she owned nearby. Armed servants stood watch at every entrance, and several fierce moor hounds patrolled the walled grounds surrounding the house.
She brushed past one of the silent sentinels and made her way quickly up to her private chamber. She placed the box on her bed and shrugged off her cloak.
“Good evening, Lady Thione.”
The noblewoman screamed and spun around, one hand at her throat. A tall, slender moon elf clad in unrelieved black rose gracefully from a chair. She recognized Elaith Craulnober, and her terror increased fourfold. Backing away, she lunged for the bellpull that would summon her armed servants.
“Don’t bother your servants at this hour on my behalf,” the elf said with a polite smile. “I gave them the night off.”
The echo of words she had recently spoken to Caladorn chilled Lucia, and an image of Antony’s body flashed into her mind. “They are all dead,” she stated in a dull voice.
“Quite,” Elaith agreed pleasantly. He resumed his seat and began to toy with a jeweled dagger. “Sit down, won’t you? We have a shared problem to discuss.”
Lucia sank down onto the edge of her bed. “How did you get past the magical wards around this house?” she demanded.
“Collecting magical toys is a hobby of mine,” the elf said. “I’ve become rather good at identifying and dispatching them. Now, about this problem. We both have allies who have outlived their usefulness. I will remove yours, if you would be so kind as to have your agents tend to a partner of mine.”
“I do not need to make such arrangements. The Lords of Waterdeep will see to Hhune,” she said.
“No doubt. I was speaking of the other, the bard who carries an elven harp.”
The noblewoman stared. “How do you know of this?”
“That is not important. Just tell me where she is—or who she is, for that matter—and I assure you she’ll not trouble you further.”
Lucia’s mind whirled as she considered this possibility. The elf had proven himself capable of dispatching armed men and powerful magic. Perhaps he might be a match for the sorceress. That, however, raised another question.
“If you can do this, why do you not remove this unwanted partner yourself?”
The elf’s smile held a bit of self-mockery. “Let’s just say it’s a matter of honor. Now, have we a deal?”
“Garnet is a half-elf woman of middle years. She is staying at my Sea Ward villa. Kill her, and I will grant you anything in my power to give,” she said in a hard voice.
“I see that we shall get along fine,” Elaith observed. “Now, there is something else you should know. Khelben Arunsun will soon be informed that you are an agent of the Knights of the Shield. All is not lost,” the elf said, holding up a hand at her cry of dismay. “I have a network of safe houses throughout the city. I will be happy to hide you and smuggle you safely out of Waterdeep. I will ensure that an armed escort will see you to an appropriate destination.”
The elf smiled pleasantly. “Of course, I will do all this for you after you have ordered your agents to rid the world of one Danilo Thann.”
Sixteen
Throughout the night, the wall surrounding Blackstaff Tower was ringed by an assortment of unhappy people. Mages from the Watchful Order stood guard, ready with spells and wands to counter another attack of wizard weather. A circle of bards took turns singing the ballads that had changed the respect many Waterdhavians held for Khelben Arunsun into fear and distrust. The bards’ audience, frightened by the strange Midsummer storm and the reputed disappearances of some of the Lords of Waterdeep, feared that the city’s troubles were examples of anarchy to come. Khelben Arunsun was being blamed for events as varied as the attack upon the courtesan Larissa Neathal and the death of a caravan master from Baldur’s Gate by the hands of overeager cut-purses. Several watch patrols stood by the tower in case the crowd’s emotions spilled over into violence.
Inside the tower, Khelben paced his private chamber. “You should try to get some rest, my love,” Laeral told him, laying aside the book she was vainly trying to read. “You have not slept for days now.”
“Who could sleep with all that noise outside?” he retorted, flinging a hand toward the window. Like all the windows and doors of the tower and the surrounding wall, this one was visible only from the inside, and it shifted location constantly, yielding the wizards an ever-changing view of the crowd outside.
“While Piergeiron pondered matters of diplomacy and trade, Lucia Thione went into hiding,” Khelben fumed. “I sent Harper agents to check all the properties she owns in the city. No one has found a trace of her. That was hours ago, and two agents have failed to report back at all.”