Elfshadow - Elaine Cunningham [32]
Having dismissed Arilyn, Kymil's eyes became distant as he focused on some faraway destination. He murmured, "Silver path. Evereska College of Magic."
His body became translucent, then the outline of his form wavered and filled with golden pinpricks of light. These in turn flickered briefly, then disappeared.
Arilyn shuddered. As the wielder of a moonblade, she had of necessity become reconciled to using magic, although she still bore a fighter's distrust of the art. Magic fire and dimensional travel appalled her. Her earliest experiences with teleportation at Kymil's side had left her sick and shaken, and her strong bias against magical travel had been strengthened during the Time of Trouble; she'd seen one mage too many teleport himself into a solid wall. Kymil might not like her attitude, but she simply couldn't change the way she felt. With the elf gone, Arilyn returned her thoughts to the matter at hand. Again she drew the curtain aside, searching for the final piece of her disguise.
She needed a man.
Kymil was right about that much: a courtesan needed a patron. So accustomed was she to traveling alone that she had forgotten this. To properly play her sultry role, she needed to borrow a man as a prop. Arilyn scanned the tavern for a likely prospect. A burst of laughter drew her eye toward the front door.
Several merchants slouched around a table littered with empty ale mugs. One of their number, a young man in bright green finery, was openly flirting with an elven barmaid. Arilyn couldn't hear his words, but they brought a roar of approving, tipsy laughter from his comrades and made the smiling young moon elf blush a bright shade of blue.
Perfect, Arilyn thought, her mouth twisting in a faint smile of derision. She could not have produced a better prospect if she had been capable of conjuring one from thin air. The man was young, less than thirty winters. His flaxen hair was meticulously styled, his richly embroidered cloak was draped over his shoulders with consummate artistry. He lounged indolently in his chair as he ogled the swaying walk of the departing barmaid. His clothes and lazy elegance bespoke wealth and privilege, and his smile indicated supreme self-satisfaction. By all appearances, he was spoiled and shallow and selfish. In short, he was perfect.
She disliked his type, those who were content with a path of ease and luxury. On the other hand, the services of a Sembian courtesan didn't come cheap, and of all the men in the tavern he seemed the most credible-and the most receptive-target for her advances.
Blissfully unaware of Arilyn's scrutiny, the young man made another, presumably witty observation. One of his companions, a rough-looking man in the garb of a mercenary, roared with laughter and swatted the humorist's shoulder with a large, grimy paw. The young man did not seem affronted by the mercenary's familiarity; rather, he winced and clutched at his shoulder, making another remark that set the table to laughter.
Probably not a nobleman, Arilyn concluded, but a wealthy merchant. The men at the table did not appear drunk enough to take such liberties with a noble. The pale-haired dandy did not seem to have been drinking heavily, which was also good. He appeared to have his wits about him.
Arilyn rose and slipped quietly into the room. The back half of the tavern was kept deliberately dark, and she hugged the wall and stayed within the convenient shadows. She wanted no one to connect the airy courtesan with the travel-worn etriel who had entered the tavern earlier. A sudden lull in the various conversations about the room greeted her as she moved into the lighted area. Men and women alike cast speculative glances at Arilyn. She tilted her head at a coquettish angle and moved purposely toward her target.
One of the fop's companions stopped gaping at Arilyn long enough to elbow her intended quarry in his ribs. The young dandy looked up at her, his eyebrows raising in a lazy expression of appreciation. He rose politely as she reached his table, and Arilyn was surprised