In the corner of the room, a large crystal globe began to pulse with light Khelben strode over to the scrying crystal and passed a hand over it. The face of a well-known shopkeeper came into view.
“Well?” the archmage demanded.
“Greetings, Blackstaff. Ariadne and Rix have been found,” the woman said in a voice raw with unshed tears. “They were outside the walls of Lucia Thione’s estate in the Sea Ward. Both died by garotte, and the bodies were left as if in warning.” She stopped and cleared her throat several times before she could proceed. “Their eyes had been closed, and a large gold coin placed on each eyelid.”
“Hhune’s mark?” Khelben asked, his voice low.
“Yes.”
The shopkeeper’s face faded from view, but the archmage did not move or speak. As the minutes ticked by, Laeral studied her love with growing concern. Always he was hard hit by the death of Harpers who acted at his bidding, but this time she feared that Khelben’s broad shoulders could not bear another such burden. He was overextended and exhausted, frustrated by his inability to control this situation or solve the city’s problems.
With a sudden fierce swing, Khelben backhanded the scrying crystal. The globe flew across the room and shattered against the wall. He snatched up a cloak and the black wooden staff for which he was famed and feared. Before Laeral could respond to the uncharacteristic outburst, the archmage vanished.
Khelben materialized in the ballroom where Lucia Thione had recently held her lavish party. The room looked quite different at this hour of the night, almost austere without its crowd of merry revelers. It was lit only by the moonlight that filtered in from the garden beyond, casting silvery shadows upon the pale marble of the floor. The night air was scented by flowering vines that climbed trellises over each window alcove and arched door, and the silence was heavy with the memory of gay laughter and rollicking music. The archmage stood there a long moment, trying to collect his thoughts and to decide how to follow through on his impulsive action.
Like the ghost of a forgotten melody, a thread of silvery harp music reached out to him from the shadows at the far side of the ballroom. The archmage followed the sound, and his footsteps echoed in a somber counterpoint to the lilting little song.
The music seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and as Khelben drifted through the ballroom in search of its source, he felt as if he were moving in a dream, or trying to grasp a shadow. Finally he came to a large arched door that led out into the garden. There sat a small woman, clad in an elegant gown the color of sapphires. Her graying hair was tucked behind slightly pointed ears, and she played a small harp of dark wood.
“It has been many years, Iriador,” he said softly.
The half-elf continued to play. “Much has changed, Khelben, and not for the better,” she said. She looked up at him and smiled. “Attack me,” she suggested. “Or try. If you do, you will not be able to move. Nor will you be able to speak, although there is little you could say that would matter now.”
Magic, with the full force of the power he had wielded for centuries, welled up within the archmage in response to his silent command. Khelben willed his fingers to shape the spell, but his mortal frame proved to be less obedient than his magic. With astonishment and growing rage, he realized that the former Harper had spoken the truth.
The air around the archmage might as well have been solid stone, for he could neither move nor speak. The magic he had summoned had no place to go and it coursed through his body like captured lightning.
Only once before had Khelben known such pain. It circled endlessly through the conduits of power in his mind and body; it burned him as if molten steel filled his veins. With each pulse of anguish, the room dissolved into white light, and even his formidable will began to lose its grip upon consciousness.
Iriador Wintermist saw this, and triumph flared in her brilliant blue eyes. She rose with the harp in her arms and walked over to the man who was imprisoned by her magic and tortured by his own.
“You did not recognize the spell in my song, Khelben Arunsun, or you would have fled from this place. Always you have held bardcraft in little regard, and in your ignorance you prepared no defense against the power of spellsong.”
She moved a step closer. “You deserted the bards, Khelben, and if you do not know your error by now, you soon shall. This I will prove, not by destroying you outright, but by removing you from power through the very force you scorned.”
The woman spun toward the window. A white horse came galloping from the garden in response to her silent command. Quickly she mounted the asperii, and horse and rider disappeared through the arched doorway into the night.
A snatch of melody floated back into the room. Khelben fell to the floor, partially released from the powerful song charm. His release set free the remnants of his own spell, and magic exploded like an alchemist’s nightmare. Pulse after pulse of unchanneled magical energy rocked the ballroom, sending multicolored light streaking into the garden beyond.
From the roof of a nearby mansion, Elaith Craulnober witnessed the light show with growing rage and frustration. He peered down the Street of Whispers. Already, members of the vigilant watch were approaching in response to the disturbance. With a smothered oath, he ran across the roof and leaped into the night, landing lightly on the next building.
With grace and balance that an acrobat might envy, he ran across a high wooden fence and leaped onto the triangular roof that topped the steam house of the Urmbrusk family’s sybaritic villa. He raced across the roof, then summoned all his strength and threw himself into flight The elf soared over Diamond Street, tucked at the last moment, and rolled onto the roof of a low building across the way. Within minutes he had made his way to Lady Thione’s enclosed villa.
Elaith dropped over the wall and rushed through the garden. An armed guard came threateningly toward him. The elf tossed a knife into the man’s throat without breaking stride. He followed the curling, glowing wisps of smoke into the ballroom. The fumes roiled through the room and stung his eyes, but he could see well enough to know that the room was empty but for himself and the man slumped nearby.
He was too late! The sorceress Garnet had gone, and with her was his hope of restoring his child’s birthright.
The elf snatched a throwing knife from his sleeve, thinking to vent his frustration by hurling it into the body. At the last moment, he recognized the fallen man and sent his knife skittering harmlessly across the blackened marble floor.
Elaith knelt beside Khelben Arunsun and turned the wizard onto his back. The man yet lived, but his heart beat faintly. As the elf debated his course, the archmage’s black eyes opened and fixed upon him. The archmage did not speak or move, but he seemed dimly aware of his surroundings.
“A charm spell,” the elf muttered. He rocked back on his heels and ran his hand through his hair. The best person in the city to tend the wizard would be the mage Laeral. He should take the fallen man to Blackstaff Tower at once. A delay, however, could cost Elaith the harp he had sought for so long.
The elf decided. He reached into the bag at his belt and took out a plain silver ring. Vartain was not the only skilled thief in Music and Mayhem, and Elaith had once again relieved his Harper partner of the magic ring when they’d met at the Broken Lance tavern. He quickly slipped the ring on his own hand and twisted it as he’d seen Danilo do.
As the watch patrol burst into the room, they saw the fading outline of a tall slender elf and the archmage of Waterdeep.
In the hours before dawn, clerics of Mystra gathered at Blackstaff Tower to pray for the favor of the goddess of magic. Under their care and through the favor of his goddess, Khelben Arunsun’s battered body began to heal. Nothing could touch the charm spell that held him, though, and after several hours the weary and heartsick Laeral made her way down to the reception hall. After bringing Khelben to her, Elaith Craulnober had left the tower. He’d recently returned and sent up word that he wished to see her as soon as circumstances permitted.