But all of that had been before Lord Ravendas, before Caledan had buried hope and music in the hard earth and had left the Harpers behind him. Seven years ago the Fellowship had disbanded, and all Caledan had tried to do since was forget the past.

"But you didn't forget," Estah had said, placing her hand on Caledan's. "And now you've come home."

Caledan sighed. Home to what? Estah married Jolle a few years after the Fellowship had disbanded. Now the two of them spent their time struggling to keep the city guards from harrowing the inn, not an easy task in these difficult times. They did their best to foster the illusion that they obeyed Cutter's rules, all the while secretly maintaining the inn as a refuge for the cityfolk, a place where they could still find a pleasant hint of the days when Bron had ruled in the tower. "I'll choke on her rules before I take a single word of them to heart," Estah had said, her eyes flashing.

Ravendas and her Zhentarim servants had taken over Iriaebor about a year ago and had been steadily sapping the life out of the city ever since. If Ravendas caught sight of Estah, the Zhentarim lord was bound to recognize the halfling healer from her encounter with the Fellowship seven years ago. That would spell the end of the Dreaming Dragon.

"But not if I can help it," Caledan growled to no one in particular. Then he laughed grimly at himself. That sounded like something Caledan the Harper would have said. He had always been so ready to play the hero. Fool was more like it.

He pulled on his black leather breeches and the matching jerkin over his white shirt. He jammed his feet into his boots, checking to make sure his dagger was in its sheath. He was about to head downstairs when the door to his room burst open.

Two very small people bounded through the doorway, laughing and giggling. They were Estah's children, Pog and Nog. Caledan had been surprised when Estah had introduced him to them the night before.

"It's time for breakfast, Uncle Caledan," said Pog. She _Was the elder of the two, pretty yet impish.

"Eth, geckfebst!" echoed Nog. He was the younger, a tiny, round-cheeked boy who spoke in a language only Estah and Jolle seemed capable of deciphering.

Caledan let Pog and Nog lead him down the back stairway that led to a private chamber situated behind the common room. Neither one of them stood higher than his knee, and he felt like a great behemoth towering above them. Deciding Estah would be angry if he stepped on one of them, he grabbed both children and stuffed one under each arm. They squirmed and squealed a great deal, but he let them go when he reached the foot of the stairs. They promptly forgot their big new friend-much to his relief- and scampered off, probably to torture each other, or whatever it was children did. This uncle business was going to take some getting used to.

Jolle had suggested that both he and the Harper keep to the back room in the wing of the inn that jutted out over the edge of the Tor. Given yesterday's incident, it seemed best for Caledan and Mari to keep a low profile.

Caledan saw that the Harper was sitting in a chair pulled close to a small fireplace. She was wrapped in a patchwork quilt, and still seemed a bit pale, but otherwise looked little the worse for wear. Estah was with her, and Caledan found himself slightly perturbed to see the two talking animatedly. He ambled over and sat next to them. The Harper's smile quickly vanished as Estah looked at him worriedly.

"You might have told me, scoundrel," Mari said sullenly.

"Would you have believed me?" Caledan asked her with a ^wry expression. He winked at Estah. "I seem to remember someone saying I looked more like, let's see… what was it? Ah yes, more like a Vagabond cutpurse than a hero of renown.'"

Mari frowned at this, but after a moment she began to laugh. "It's true, you know. Though you are looking a bit more presentable today. I see you actually have a face beneath those mangy bristles."

Estah smiled hopefully at Caledan and then left them alone to discuss their "Harpery business" as she had always called it.

"You still look more like a highwayman than a hero," Mari added stingingly after the halfling was gone.

"Listen," Caledan said, anger suddenly flaring in his chest. "I'm sorry that I'm not the storybook knight you were expecting, but let me set one thing straight. I am not a Harper anymore. Nor do I wish to have dealings with them. When I left the order seven years ago, it was final. Is that understood?"

"Really?" she asked archly. "If you cared so little, why didn't you simply leave me there in the alley, Caldorien? It would have saved you some trouble."

"Gods, woman. I saved your life, and all you can do is mock me for it?"

She lifted her square chin defiantly. "For that I thank you," she said stiffly, "but from now on you needn't concern yourself about me. Next time you may be the one who needs rescuing."

"Is that so?" Caledan sneered. 'Well, maybe you wouldn't find yourself on the wrong end of a wizard's magic if you tried to be a little less conspicuous. Didn't the Harpers have the sense to teach you to keep that blasted sigil under cover? Or did you think that if you wore it in plain view all the Zhentarim agents would simply flee in terror? Who is your prime master, anyway?"

Mari's eyes smoldered, but she did not flinch beneath his harsh words. "Belhuar Thantarth, Master of Twilight Hall, gave me this mission."

Caledan grunted. He remembered Thantarth. Seven years ago Thantarth had been a journeyman Harper, but even then he had the kind of ambition and staunch-if overly idealistic-values the Harpers treasured so much. No wonder Thantarth had risen to the highest seat in Twilight Hall in the city of Berdusk, to the west of Iriaebor. It didn't surprise Caledan that Mari had been sent by Twilight Hall. That bunch believed in giving their new agents a trial by fire. The Harpers of Shadowdale were a more impromptu and secretive lot. They would never have let someone as green as Al'maren journey alone to a city crawling with Zhentarim.

"Let me guess," Caledan said flatly. "This is your first mission." Mari said nothing, her hands clenched into fists. Both of them knew he was right "You know," Caledan went on a bit smugly, "you still haven't told me why you were searching for me in the first place."

The Harper looked away, gazing out a window into the morning light. On the plains below the Tor sprawled the New City like the shining but deadly web of some vast spider. "It's simple enough," she explained, turning to regard Caledan once more. "You don't think that the Harpers would simply stand by idly while the Zhentarim enslaved the richest trade city between the Sword Coast and the Moonsea, do you?"

"No, I suppose that would be too much for a bunch of meddlers like the Harpers." Caledan laughed grimly.

Mari shot him a fiery look. "These 'meddlers,' as you call them, are all that stand between the Zhentarim and the Realms. If not for the Harpers, the Black Network would not stop until it ruled every land. Would you be a slave to the Zhentarim, Caldorien?"

He had no reply to that.

"Anyway," Mari went on, "the Harpers sent me here to spy on Lord Cutter-that is, Lord Ravendas-and the Zhentarim. We need to learn how their operations work here, discover what their weaknesses are, and devise a way to help the people of Iriaebor drive them from the city. At the same time, I was supposed to search for the legendary Caledan Caldorien, even though he had not been heard from in seven years." She eyed his frayed and road-worn clothes disapprovingly. "But it seems I've failed in that part of the mission."

"Why? You found me, didn't you?"

"Really?" Mari scoffed. "I was searching for a Harper, Caldorien. What I found was a worn-out drifter who doesn't seem to care about anything, least of all himself."