Thornhold - Elaine Cunningham [84]
Her only response was a stony stare. After a moment Danilo nodded a silent farewell and left, unwittingly evading the quick stabbing attack of Shopscat’s beak.
“I could get to like that bird,” Ebenezer observed, eyeing the raven with grim approval.
* * * * *
Danilo strode through the streets toward Blackstaff Tower, hands clasped behind him and brow deeply furrowed in thought. He caught a glimpse of himself in the polished glass of a milliner’s shop window, and the sight pulled him up short. It took him a moment to realize what bothered him about the reflected image. He had seen that stance before, and the expression was a mirror image of that he’d often beheld on the visage of the archmage he served.
“I have been at this business far too long,” Danilo murmured as he took off down the street again, this time at a saunter.
He found the archmage at his table, which did nothing to brighten his mood. Khelben had a perverse fondness for such foods as pottage of lentil, thick oat porridge, and fruit unadorned by pastry or sugar. If that was the secret of the archmage’s long life, Danilo fervently hoped to die when his naturally allotted span was through.
As they exchanged greetings, Danilo selected a ring of dried apple from a tray. He sat down across from the archmage, munching the leathery fruit as he pondered how best to pass along the dire message Bronwyn had hurled at him. Danilo had given his word to Alice, albeit tacitly, that he would not report to Khelben word of Bronwyn’s trip to Thornhold. Nor would he tell the archmage that Bronwyn was back in the city. Khelben would find that out soon enough. Danilo’s days of reporting on his old friends were over.
A simple ruse came to him. Nothing annoyed Khelben more than reference to Danilo’s bardic pursuits. Perhaps that very pique would serve to keep the archmage from examining the tale too closely.
“I heard a most amazing ballad last night at the Howling Moon,” Danilo began, naming a new tavern popular with traveling bards of all stripe. “The singer describea the fall of Thornhold and claimed that this dire event occurred but two days past. I am inclined to believe him, Uncle. I do not wish to criticize a fellow bard, but the song sounded rather hastily composed.”
Khelben stared at him for a long moment. “Wait here,” he commanded.
The archmage rose and swept from the room. In Khelben’s absence, Danilo nibbled away at the plate of dried fruit and studied the dining hall. There was not overmuch to see. Polished wood covered the walls, and the stone floor had been neatly strewn with fresh rushes mingled with sweet-smelling herbs, as was the custom. The room was dim and cool, lit only by the light that filtered in from the ever-shifting windows. The archmage had remarkably simple habits and insisted that there was no need to waste candles unless they were needed for reading.
Khelben returned in moments, his visage even grimmer than the reflection of his own face that Dan had glimpsed in the shop window.
“It is as you say,” the archmage said. “How could such a thing occur without word or warning? How could a siege force of sufficient size march not more than two days’ ride north of this city and no one notice anything amiss? What good are we doing here in Waterdeep?”
The last question was a challenge, leveled at the Harpers in general and Danilo in particular, and delivered with the force of a thrown lance.
“It is possible,” Dan ventured, “that the Zhentarim have been preparing for this attack for a longtime. There would be no time better, given the coming of the spring fairs and the heavy traffic on the High Road. Soldier and horse could easily be disguised as part of a merchant caravan and could pass unnoticed. Small groups could slip away into the hills and mountains and gather at the appointed time.”
Khelben looked at him with surprise. “That is well said.”
“But said too late. We should have