Despite the usual smells of tavern cooking and many people in close quarters, the tavern reminded Tsarra of the light woods northeast of the city. Torches on the walls and among the chandeliers glowed with silver-white flames to complement the moonlight streaming through the skylights in the roof. A small bar directly across from their entrance served many of the guests in the greatroom, but Khelben's grip on her elbow moved her to the right side of the room with its main taps.

Khelben seemed not to notice or care that all conversation stopped when he entered. Tsarra still found it unnerving-the only people not stymied by his entrance were the elf harpist in the room's center and the staff. The Blackstaff moved them to the far side of that bar, away from the main entrance to the tavern, and he stood without explanation or apology. Scanning the crowd, he either nodded silently to various elves who met his gaze or dipped the top of his staff to them in salute. After a moment, they were joined by an elf woman with a blue-green faerie dragon as comfortable on her shoulders as Nameless was on Tsarra's. Her skin shone pale copper, as did her hair that reached nearly to the floor, and her color was offset by a simple dress dyed red. Her eyes widened when they fell on Tsarra, but she offered no explanation as she turned to Khelben. "You have a great deal of nerve, Khelben Arunsun, arriving here unheralded." The woman's address was no less sharp than her stare.

28 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) "The time between your visits is long, even as we measure it, Lord Blackstaff," she said in Elvish. "Seeking a return to a measure of your youth, perhaps? Or are you showing this young one what facets of her heritage she neglects? I could show her how to wear her hair in elven style to accentuate her features." She smiled warmly at Tsarra, who remained unsure if she'd been insulted or praised. "That is hardly our pressing concern at present, milady Ilbaereth. We must speak in private, Yaereene." Khelben said in the common tongue, his tone allowing no disagreement. "Pyrith," the elf woman said to the faerie dragon on her shoulder, "watch the room for us. We shall return anon."

The blue-green dragon, only slightly larger than Nameless, hopped off her perch and flapped over to settle onto a large bough in the center of the taproom, whistling a reply only Yaereene understood. As she motioned them to a door behind the bar, she spoke to a nearby maid.

"Nuovis, bring us a bottle of maerlathen, three glasses, and some of the spiced silver fin on fresh biscuits, please." Yaereene smiled as she led them back through a service corridor to her private rooms.

"Pyrith doesn't like the smell of the pipe smoke hanging about you, milord Blackstaff. She insists you should not smoke pipeweed grown from a midden." "Indeed." Khelben said blankly. A few days earlier, Tsarra would not have recognized the slight tone shift that revealed Khelben's amusement, given how stolid his public persona appeared. As a female cat rubbed up against Tsarra's ankle in the passage, Nameless tensed to jump down and pursue it. Tsarra grabbed one of his paws, mentally apologizing for interfering with his love life. The familiar growled openly at her but quickly settled down. They arrived at a small sitting room in the back, its furniture mostly lounging chairs and chaises. Yaereene said, "We shan't be disturbed here, as no staff uses this chamber for Reverie until late tonight. Its magical defenses also prevent any attacks or eavesdropping, as is your usual concern, milord. Now, will you continue to be discourteous, or will you introduce me to the young half-elf on your heels? Her familiar is certainly a handsome one." She chuckled and reached to touch the tressym. Nameless hissed loudly and flew up to the exposed beam overhead, his back was up. "My apologies, milady. He's had a rough day, and he's not very sociable right now." Tsarra said, careful to speak in Elvish in deference to her hostess. "I am-" "Her name,"

Khelben intoned in Common, a touch of irritation in his voice, "as you well know, Yaereene, is Tsarra Chaadren, and she is Malruthiia's daughter, as she appears. We don't have time to dredge up the past, save for this, Tsarra. Yaereene Ilbaereth is your mother's elder half-sister, and the family had a falling out with your mother well past a century ago, over what I choose not to know. Thus, your shared sylvan elf heritage brings you back together for this crisis." "Don't belittle matters you choose to ignore, Blackstaff," Yaereene snapped back at him, "and don't insult my hospitality by being rude. Surely you remember some manners from your elven upbringing, even if you prefer folk to assume you're a far younger namesake. Even my half-human niece shows better etiquette." Elven upbringing? But sir-?

Tsarra asked mentally. Khelben didn't even look at her, his glower saved for Yaereene. "Scant few know more than a smattering of truths about me, dear lady. Do not be so blithe with entrusted secrets."

Khelben said, his whisper angry enough to stun those listening. Tsarra could feel his ire through the link they shared, and it seemed to spread to Nameless, who began hissing up above them and darting around, looking for something to hunt. "Can we all please just calm down?" Tsarra pleaded. Her head swam from Khelben's revelation. She reclined on the nearest divan, trying not to smile as she luxuriated in its overstuffed comforts. "I am pleased to meet you, Lady Ilbaereth, but now isn't the time for family matters. We have other issues at hand, even if milord Arunsun has not told me of them either, correct?" The seats were all arranged around a low table, and Khelben settled into one so all three of them could see each other while talking. They remained silent, questions lingering in the air. The only sounds were those of a moon elf maid bringing them wine and food and the tressym's scratching and marking of the roof beams. Nameless only halted his vandalism when Tsarra tossed him a shred of silverfin.

Khelben cleared his throat and said, "True enough. My apologies to you both. Like the tressym, the past day sits unwell with me. I hope you too can later learn more of each other, for your family's sake, as reunion and healing old wounds was my reason for coming here." "I was not aware you and I had wounds between us, Blackstaff." Yaereene said.

"We do not, personally, but the debts and wounds run older than us both. I call to account the blood debts of House Maerdrym, as I need the help of the elves on matters that affect us all." As Khelben spoke, he withdrew a heavy metal badge from his cloak and held it in his left palm, his right hand casting over the object. The metal badge multiplied in his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, Khelben floated one into Yaereene's lap and eight others landed in an arc on the table between them. Tsarra saw that all the badges carried a seal of four roses entwined around three staves-the mark of the elven House Maerdrym. Yaereene flipped the badge over in her fingers. "I am hardly the elder or heir of my House, Blackstaff. Why bring this to me?" "I have neither the patience nor the time to politic with your uncle in Neverwinter Woods, nor could Malchor Harpell deliver these in my stead. Besides, it was long between meetings for us, as you said."

"Even so, I find it odd. If rumors are true, you have a gate to the Fair Isle in your tower, Lord Arunsun. Why not ask these favors of Queen Amlauril?" "Evermeet cannot know of our work here until done is done. This matter must be handled discreetly outside the notice of its irresponsibly political noble Houses." "No doubt they think as highly of your approaches to matters of import, Blackstaff." Khelben shrugged off the veiled barb and leveled his stare at Yaereene. "Your own family's debt came in the Year of the Dusty Shelf, when my parents rescued Ryul Ilbaereth and his followers from ignominy and death on the shores of Lake Eredruie. I trust I need not reveal to Tsarra the secrets that bind our names and honor?" Yaereene's face paled and she gripped her gown in a fierce fist, then she relaxed and cast her eyes down. "No, Lord Blackstaff. I am at your beckons, last Maerdrym. How may my House serve yours?" Khelben kneeled by her and put his hands over hers, the elf's eyes widening at the supplicating gesture. "I need you to assemble a company-yourself included-and travel to Manth'ehl'nar Malavar before Selune is full in the sky in three nights. Relay these same biddings to the Houses on the other badges, an easy task as highly placed scions of all of them frequent your establishment and the City of Splendors. Request their utter discretion and that each family send one or two wizards bearing each of their family's long-dead or long-dormant moonblades." Tsarra gasped, and Yaereene stood up sharply. "You dare much, archmage, and even more to ask the People to move with such haste. I'll need more than oaths and honor debts to a nigh-dead House to goad them to action and to part with fabled House heirlooms." "None in twenty elven generations have wielded those blades among those Houses. They simply hold them as holy relics, as if they mean more than failure." Khelben sighed then swept his hair back from his face. "Tell them those heirlooms shall soon bless them with use and honor in the coming days.