The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [123]
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Do I know you?"
"Ezriel Seawind, my lord," she replied respectfully, "and no, we've never met."
Elaith stood absolutely still. He knew that name. The Seawinds were one of the clans of fisherfolk who lived on his ancestral lands, in the shadow of the scorched shell of Castle Craulnober.
How inconvenient. He'd told Lark he'd deal with those following her. Human liege lords slaughtered their peasants from time to time, but such things were considered bad manners on Evermeet. However…
"We're not on Evermeet," he said quietly.
The young warrior rose, obviously assuming that he was dispensing with elven formalities.
"I started training the year before you resigned as captain of the king's guard, but I heard all the tales about you," she said, hero worship bright in her eyes, "so I came to the mainland to seek adventure, as you did."
Her words both pained and amused him. So that was the tale told to explain away his sudden departure! It was, he supposed, as good as any.
"Yet I've heard many troubling things about you since I came to this city," Ezriel added softly. Her eyes searched his, almost pleading with him to deny them.
"Humans say many strange things," he replied lightly. "I'll give you my hand on that."
Ezriel Seawind read the answer she sought in his words, and took his offered hand eagerly.
Elaith's grip tightened. Ezriel's face went slack… and she slid to the street like a prance-puppet whose strings had been cut.
He held up his hand, palm out, to show her the small pin protruding from one of his rings. A tiny, glistening drop fell from its hollow point as it slid back, disappearing into the thick band.
"Statha. The Bane of Elves. A poison no rarer than it should be," he told her matter-of-factly.
Those trembling lips couldn't reply, of course, but her eyes, oh, her eyes…
He wasn't prepared for the hurt he saw there or his own reaction to it. He'd been betraying allies for decades, but for some reason this doomed young warrior's silent accusation struck him like a blow to the heart.
He could see her tremendous struggle against muscles that could no longer obey her. Green eyes darted this way and that, their flicker slowing as the statha halted even that last fading freedom.
Suddenly Elaith understood what she wanted, what she was fighting to say. Her gaze went repeatedly to the sword on his hip, then back to herself, and then to the sword again.
Of course. This painless, bloodless death was no fitting end for a warrior of Evermeet. She had lived by the sword and wished to die the same way.
She lived as he once had lived and desired the death he no longer deserved.
Elaith thrust his half-drawn weapon back into its scabbard and made a sharp, impatient gesture over a bag at his belt. Its strings flew open, and a small vial soared up into his waiting hand.
Serpent-swift, he unstoppered it and dropped to one knee beside the dying elf. Taking her hand, he poured a few drops of shimmering fluid onto the tiny wound.
Faint motes of light seemed to dance under her pale skin, racing away through her. After a moment she twitched once then sat up, face uncertain but leaving her hand in his.
"What's said of me is true," Elaith said quietly. "Having heard the tales, you were a fool to trust me."
"And yet I live," she breathed, waiting for his explanation.
"Things in Waterdeep are seldom what they seem."
At this, Ezriel did tug her hand free. She rose to her feet, and he rose with her.
"So by poisoning me, you were cautioning me to walk with care?" Her voice was low but incredulous. "Forgive me, Lord Craulnober, but that was a stern lesson. I am neither child nor fool, incapable of learning through the hearing of words."
"Then hear these: An elf lord of Evermeet might rule nothing more than