All of this prompted Danilo to do something he had not done for many years: ask advice.
“What do you suggest?”
Khelben’s gaze shifted to the portrait of Laerel, then back to the young man. “Find Arilyn and set right this matter between you. If things are as you suspect, and the moonblade’s magic has gone unstable, then she will have need of your counsel and aid. But be wary in the use of magic. Perhaps you should devote yourself entirely to bardcraft until this matter is settled.”
“Strange words indeed,” Danilo murmured.
“Not at all. Magic is a great gift, but some things are more important.”
“I am glad to hear you say that, my lord,” said an amused, silvery voice behind them. Both men turned to regard Laerel, who stood listening without shame and who seemed not at all concerned by the fact that she was clad in little more than her own silvery hair. She nodded to Danilo, then turned a smile of such intimacy upon Khelben that the younger man wondered if she had truly seen him at all.
Danilo rose at once. “I must be going.”
Neither of the great wizards of Blackstaff Tower gave any indication that they had heard him. Despite Khelben’s warning, Danilo quickly summoned magic’s silver path and stepped into the weft and warp of it. This time the spell held true, and he emerged in his own study.
A low fire glowed in the hearth, and a tray of breakfast pastries had been arrayed under a glass dome and placed on the table beside his favorite chair. All was as he had come to expect from the capable Monroe.
Danilo sank into the chair and rubbed both hands briskly over his face. His unintentional interview with Khelben had not given him much hope. The archmage
had mentioned that he felt elven magic at work. Arilyn and Elaith had been the only elves in attendance. That left the moonblade as the most likely source.
It was true that Khelben had not advised Danilo to stay away from Arilyn, but he had evoked Laerel to support this reasoning. That was hardly reassuring. Not too many years back, Khelben had given up a considerable amount of his own power in a struggle to wrest Laerel from the Crown of Horns, an evil artifact that held her completely in its sway. Danilo agreed that Laerel was worth any cost in magic lost. So was Arilyn. He would gladly strip his hard-won skill down to the most basic cantrip and count the loss as nothing.
But what of her magic? Elf and moonblade were inseparable, joined in mystic bonds. How could he possibly justify disrupting that, and what would be the cost to Arilyn if he did?
He pondered these questions until the fire burned down to ash and the night sky faded to silver. When all the argument had been made and countered, not once but a dozen times, Danilo merely stared at the eastern window, praying that the coming of dawn might bring illumination.
The rising sun burned through the sea mist that shrouded the port city and curtained the upper windows of The Silken Sylph. Through it all, Isabeau feigned sleepno easy task once Oth Eltorchul awakened and discovered his loss.
She held her false repose while he searched and muttered and cursed and fumed. She lay unmoving until he seized her shoulders and shook her. With a gasp, she sat upright in bed, hoping that her expression was sufficiently dazed and frantic for credulity.
“You are alive,” he said grimly, staring into her wide eyes. “Good. I was beginning to fear that the thief had smothered you in your sleep.”
“Thief?”
Isabeau’s hand flew to her throat, as if seeking her necklace. She lunged for the bedside table where she’d left her jewels, palmed them, and then came up on her knees with both empty hands fisted and flailing.
“How could this happen?” she shrieked as she pummeled the startled mage. “Did you not set wards? Have you no servants to stand guard? My rubies! Gone, all of them!” Her voice rose into a wail, then broke into impassioned weeping.
Oth tossed her aside and began to
“What do you suggest?”
Khelben’s gaze shifted to the portrait of Laerel, then back to the young man. “Find Arilyn and set right this matter between you. If things are as you suspect, and the moonblade’s magic has gone unstable, then she will have need of your counsel and aid. But be wary in the use of magic. Perhaps you should devote yourself entirely to bardcraft until this matter is settled.”
“Strange words indeed,” Danilo murmured.
“Not at all. Magic is a great gift, but some things are more important.”
“I am glad to hear you say that, my lord,” said an amused, silvery voice behind them. Both men turned to regard Laerel, who stood listening without shame and who seemed not at all concerned by the fact that she was clad in little more than her own silvery hair. She nodded to Danilo, then turned a smile of such intimacy upon Khelben that the younger man wondered if she had truly seen him at all.
Danilo rose at once. “I must be going.”
Neither of the great wizards of Blackstaff Tower gave any indication that they had heard him. Despite Khelben’s warning, Danilo quickly summoned magic’s silver path and stepped into the weft and warp of it. This time the spell held true, and he emerged in his own study.
A low fire glowed in the hearth, and a tray of breakfast pastries had been arrayed under a glass dome and placed on the table beside his favorite chair. All was as he had come to expect from the capable Monroe.
Danilo sank into the chair and rubbed both hands briskly over his face. His unintentional interview with Khelben had not given him much hope. The archmage
had mentioned that he felt elven magic at work. Arilyn and Elaith had been the only elves in attendance. That left the moonblade as the most likely source.
It was true that Khelben had not advised Danilo to stay away from Arilyn, but he had evoked Laerel to support this reasoning. That was hardly reassuring. Not too many years back, Khelben had given up a considerable amount of his own power in a struggle to wrest Laerel from the Crown of Horns, an evil artifact that held her completely in its sway. Danilo agreed that Laerel was worth any cost in magic lost. So was Arilyn. He would gladly strip his hard-won skill down to the most basic cantrip and count the loss as nothing.
But what of her magic? Elf and moonblade were inseparable, joined in mystic bonds. How could he possibly justify disrupting that, and what would be the cost to Arilyn if he did?
He pondered these questions until the fire burned down to ash and the night sky faded to silver. When all the argument had been made and countered, not once but a dozen times, Danilo merely stared at the eastern window, praying that the coming of dawn might bring illumination.
The rising sun burned through the sea mist that shrouded the port city and curtained the upper windows of The Silken Sylph. Through it all, Isabeau feigned sleepno easy task once Oth Eltorchul awakened and discovered his loss.
She held her false repose while he searched and muttered and cursed and fumed. She lay unmoving until he seized her shoulders and shook her. With a gasp, she sat upright in bed, hoping that her expression was sufficiently dazed and frantic for credulity.
“You are alive,” he said grimly, staring into her wide eyes. “Good. I was beginning to fear that the thief had smothered you in your sleep.”
“Thief?”
Isabeau’s hand flew to her throat, as if seeking her necklace. She lunged for the bedside table where she’d left her jewels, palmed them, and then came up on her knees with both empty hands fisted and flailing.
“How could this happen?” she shrieked as she pummeled the startled mage. “Did you not set wards? Have you no servants to stand guard? My rubies! Gone, all of them!” Her voice rose into a wail, then broke into impassioned weeping.
Oth tossed her aside and began to
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