As dust and straw showered down from the thatch Danilo remembered his glimpse of the golem, recalled how the iron plates of the arms were arranged. He lunged forward and thrust his weapon into the arm. The magic sword slid between the plates and out the other side. The blade bit deeply into the wooden beam the golem was holding, pinning one arm fast.
Arilyn stepped in and swung again, hitting the golem’s other arm once, then a second time. The elven sword severed the arm at the elbow. The limb fell to the stone floor with a clatter, the illusion dispelled. Its iron fingers flexed and groped, seeking to dig deep into an unwary foot. Arilyn tried to kick the arm aside and swore when her boot met unyielding iron. She sidestepped the twitching limb and struck again and again, chopping at the construct like a deranged woodsman determined to fell a tree one limb at a time. With each piece she knocked or pried loose the construct’s struggle weakened.
But not soon enough. The golem, now plainly visible for what it was, managed to work its impaled arm free. Danilo’s singing sword went skidding across the floor.
At once the half-elf struck, thrusting her own blade back into the same place. She leaned into the sword to hold it in place and shot a look over her shoulder at Danilo. “Melt it,” she commanded.
Danilo hesitated, quickly considering his options. Fire would only restore the golem. Lighting, then. He lifted both hands and deftly summoned the force, holding it between his hands in a crackling ball as he shouted for the Arilyn to stand clear.
Magic flowed from his fingertips like white-hot arrows and Arilyn’s hands fell away from her sword. His aim was true, and an arc of blue-white lightning crashed between his hands and what remained of the golem. The construct wilted like a candle left out in the sun.
Arilyn grabbed her sword and, the muscles in her arms corded so tightly they seemed about to snap, pulled the enchanted blade through the golem’s iron flesh.
The construct sank to the stone floor and the severed roof, arm ceased its twitching.
Arilyn was white-faced, weaving on her feet. Danilo suspected that only an act of will kept her standing. He went to her and brushed a stray curl off her damp forehead. When he gathered her close, her arms went around him instinctively.
“This battle reminds me of something else,” he murmured. “There was a powerful illusion cast on this golem, and Bentley Mirrorshade was a powerful illusionist.”
Arilyn lifted her head from his shoulder. “And?”
“One of the main tenants of the illusionist’s craft is to make people overlook the obvious. What is the most obvious question, and the one that no one thought to ask?”
The half-elf pondered this. A small, wry smile lifted the corner of her lips when the answer came to her, and she eased out of Danilo’s arms. “Give me the amulet of seeking,” she said. “I’ll go after the girl.”
Later that morning, Danilo again stood in the Temple of Wisdom. The body of Bentley Mirrorshade had made it there at last, and it was laid out in the enclosed courtyard in the center of the temple, upon a bier of stacked wood well-soaked with fragrant oil. It was no coincidence, thought Danilo, that the gnomes were preparing so hasty a funeral. Another hour more, and nothing he could do would save Elaith.
He explained his intentions to Gellana Mirrorshade. The gnomish priestess was not happy with his request, but she had pledged her aid to his quest for justice. She sent Garith Hunterstock to the dungeon to retrieve Elaith.
“The accused elf has a right to tell his story,” Danilo said, “but he does not wish to do so before witnesses.”
Gellana shrugged and spoke a few gnomish words to her fellow clerics. All left the temple. When the only sound was the steady dripping of the large Neveren water clock that stood like a monument in the courtyard, Danilo bid the priestess to summon Bentley Mirrorshade. When the ghostly gnome stood before them, Danilo turned to Elaith.
“You were late to the tavern last night. Did you have dinner?”
The elf looked at Danilo as if he had lost his mind. “I ordered, but did not eat. The gnome’s murder was discovered before my meal arrived, and the tavern closed.”
“Ah. And what did you order?”
“Medallions of veal, I believe, with capers and cream. Why?”
Danilo ignored the question. “You were also subjected to a peace bond, of the sort given to mages. Is your magical skill widely known?”
“It is not,” the elf replied. “The best weapon is often a hid- den one.”
“Well said. So it would appear that the gnomes knew more of you than is common. Who tied your thumb in a peace bond?”
The elf shrugged. “A human wench, overblown and under-clad. Dark hair. I did not ask her name.”
“That sounds like Sophie. Is peace bonding her task?” Danilo asked Gellana. The gnomish priestess responded with a cautious nod. The Harper held up a small sack of green-dyed leather. “Is it also her task to relieve guests of their valuables? This coin purse is mine. I lost it in the tavern and found it this morning in Sophie’s chest. But Sophie herself, I could not find. A marvel, considering that the fortress is sealed.”
Gellana scowled. “You had me summon my husband to listen to this nonsense? If you have questions for Bentley Mirrorshade, ask them!”
Danilo nodded agreeably and turned to the specter. “Is Bentley Mirrorshade dead?”
“What kind of question is that?” snapped Gellana.
“A very good one, I should think,” the Harper replied. “It is the one question that no one thought to ask. When presented with a body, everyone’s instinct was to look for the killer. But Bentley Mirrorshade is an illusionist of some skill, and considerable sophistry. Looking back, it strikes me that your questions at the summoning, dear lady, were rather oddly worded. You referred to the spirit by name, but never the body. The elf was responsible for ‘the death,’ and his weapon struck the killing blow-that is all that was said. Elaith would be responsible indeed, if the death in question was that of the veal calf he ordered for his dinner.”
Danilo held out his hands, his palms open and empty “Shall I cast the needed spell?” he asked the priestess. “One that can dispel the effects of others’ spells?”
“Don’t bother,” said a gruff voice from the vicinity of the clock. A door on the pedestal cabinet flew open, and Bentley Mirrorshade, very much alive, strode toward his bier. He snatched the illusionary specter from the air and crumpled it as a frustrated scribe might treat a sheet of blotched parchment. On the bier, as Danilo expected, lay the body of a brindle calf.
The gnome illusionist folded his stubby arms and glared up at the Harper. “All right, then, you got me. What now?”
“That depends upon you.” Dan said. “Tell me, why did you stage your own death?”
Bentley rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Had a responsibility to the girl. She’s trouble-and make no mistake about that-but she don’t deserve the likes of this elf sniffing around. I got no use for those who would use the girl to stir up rebellion-and less for those who would hunt her down to enrich themselves.” He glared at the elf.
“And by leaving behind your own illusionary corpse, you created a diversion that allowed the girl to escape unnoticed, and that condemned Elaith Craulnober to death. Masterfully done,” Danilo complemented him. “But how did you intend to explain your eventual return from the grave? I have my suspicions, mind you, but I’d like hear you tell the tale.”
The gnome had the grace to look sheepish. “I’ve been known to go off fishing now and again. Gives me time alone, time to think. I thought to come back when this was over, act surprised by this rogue’s fate. And yer right in what yen thinking, Harper; I thought to pin the blame for the illusion on you. Yen known for pranks, and for spells gone awry”
Danilo took note of the remarkable change, which came over Elaith during this confession. Understanding, then profound relief, then chilling anger played over his elven features. Danilo sent him a warning look.