Elfshadow - Elaine Cunningham [11]
"If I agree, what will stop you from contacting your old friends at Darkhold?" Arilyn shook her head. "No, the original deal stands. I risk my life on your information, and you risk half your fee on my chance of success."
The old Zhentish assassin considered this, then shrugged. "All right. There's not much call for this information, so I might as well take what I can get for it. Let's get down to work." He fumbled through a stack of papers on his desk and drew out several hand-drawn maps.
Maps! Arilyn leaned closer for a better look, taking care to keep her face impassive. Any sign of excitement would surely raise the man's price. She had not expected to find maps of the fortress. Her secret elation mounted as the man talked. She could see why he commanded such enormous fees. Carefully and in great detail he discussed the layout of the fortress, outlined its defenses, discussed the habits and the timetables of the various factions and leaders. As he talked, Arilyn began to formulate a plan. After an hour with the old man, all that remained to her was figuring a way into the keep's parameters.
As if he read her mind, the informant stopped talking and looked up at her. "Here's your first big problem," he said, tracing a broad oval around the edge of the map with one gnarled finger. "This line here represents the cliffs that surround the Vale of Darkhold. Solid granite, anywhere from sixty to one hundred feet high, and sheer as a city wall. Not an easy climb. To make it worse, slaves keep the cliffs completely clear of bushes, grass, you name it. There's no cover at all.
"Now this," he continued, pointing to a straight line at the western end of the cliffs, "is the perimeter wall, and this mark here is the gate. It's the only safe way into the valley, but don't even bother thinking about it. It's too well-guarded. No one comes over or through that wall unless Sememmon, Master of Darkhold, wants them to. Got that?" He looked at her expectantly.
Arilyn nodded. "Go on."
"The fortress itself sits in the middle of this valley. Nothing much on the valley floor except a few acres of trees over here. There's a stream, but it's full of rocks and none too deep. Can't swim up without getting shredded or spotted. It's not going to be easy to sneak up to the castle." He paused to let his words sink in, then added slyly, "As it turns out, though, I have just the thing. For the right price, of course."
Without waiting for her reply, he hauled himself out of his chair and hunched over a brass-banded chest. He flipped open the lid and, after a few moments of rummaging, he pulled out a glittering black cape. Arilyn caught her breath. It was a piwafwi, a magic cape of invisibility created by the evil drow elves. How did this man get hold of such a rare and ferociously guarded treasure?
"Nice, isn't it?" he said, turning the cape this way and that to catch and reflect the dim lamplight. "Wear this, and you'll have clear sailing right up to the fortress."
"Isn't Darkhold protected by spells that alert the guards to such magic?" she hedged, eyeing the dark cape with a mixture of fascination and repugnance.
The old assassin resumed his seat, draping the cape over his lap. "They have some wards, but nothing that'll spot this. Lord Sememmon doesn't expect any trouble from the drow. This beauty here will get you into the fortress." He smiled evilly. "It got the original owner in, right enough. A drow female. The cape's magic doesn't seem to work inside Darkhold, though. I caught her sneaking around in the arsenal. Whether she was a spy or a thief I didn't bother to ask, but I kept her around for a bit. Hard to kill, those drow. I like an elf, now and then, and this one had real spice to her."
He paused, reflected, then reached across the table for his lantern and turned up the flame to get a better look at his visitor. Twenty