"It is remarkable how ambition manages to keep apace of one's success,1* the lethyrian mused aloud. "On such a day, all things seem possible."

A firm knock at his door pulled the lord from his comfortable thoughts. A frown dented Hhune's brow for a moment as he considered the possible source of this interruption. Then he remembered, and a slow smile lifted the corners of his vast mustache. His new apprentice was to report to him today, bearing gifts, as was the custom. Hhune was very interested to learn what gifts a son of Pasha Balik might deem worthy of his new master.

"Come," he commanded, and in response the door was flung open with a force that sent it thudding against the far wall.

Two armed men, clad in the purple tunics and leggings of the Balik house guard, strode into the room. They held between them a slender, golden-haired woman whose slightly pointed ears proclaimed her a half-elf. She was simply clad in a gown and kirtle, but the small silvery lyre she clutched to her chest was both old and valuable. It was clear she had not come of her own will. Her lovely race was frozen, her eyes so dilated with terror as to appear almost black.

Before Hhune could speak, young Prince Hasheth pushed past the trio and made his bow. There was a haughtiness about his manner that bordered on disdain; this insolence was not lost upon Hhune. With difficulty the lord swallowed his first, angry response. Hhune was low-born, and he bitterly resented anything that might be construed as a slight. But with him, profit ever came before pride.

"You see before you my gift," the young man began, gesturing toward the half-elven musician. He lifted a hand in a quick, peremptory gesture. "I do not offer you the woman. Those you no doubt have in plenty. My gift to you is something far more valuable: information.''

"Go on," the lord said in an even voice. Despite the young man's lapse of judgment-it was never wise to anger or mistreat a bard of any sort-this struck Hhune as a promising beginning, for he dealt in many commodities, not the least of which was information.

"Just last night, I heard this woman singing a song recently brought down from the Northlands. It seemed important to me that you hear it," Hasheth proclaimed.

Hhune nodded to the men, who released their hold on the woman's arms. She stumbled a bit. The lord leaped forward, catching her before she could fall. With a solicitous air that would have done honor to a countess, he helped her into a nearby chair.

"My sincere apologies, my dear lady, for the ungracious manner in which you were brought to me. By all means, I would hear the song of which my too-eager apprentice speaks. But first, I pray you, rest and enjoy a bit of refreshment. The ride from Zazesspur can be very tiring, can it not?"

The lord chatted on as he reached for an embroidered bellpull, speaking lightly of inconsequential things. The balm of social amenities had the desired effect. The tension began to dram from the half-elf s face, slowly to be replaced by pleasure, even pride, as she came to understand that she was not a prisoner, but an honored guest.

In moments a servant appeared, bearing a tray laden with wine, fruit, and sweet breads. Lord Hhune waved the servant away and served the refreshments himself. He then offered brief and perfunctory prayers to Silvanus and Sune and Ilmater-the preferred deities of the land-and proposed a toast to the health of Pasha Balik, Hhune might not have been born into the nobility, but he had made a point to learn the proprieties and, like many newmade nobles, he adhered to them with a near-religious zeal. It would not be said of him that he was unmannered and common!

The half-elven bard warmed to Hhune's courteous treatment, even flirting a bit between sips of her spiced wine. Through it all, Hasheth bore himself with the patience of one well accustomed to courtly manners. But as soon as propriety allowed, the young prince turned to business.

"Might we now hear this song?" he asked.

Hhune bit back an impatient retort and turned to the woman. "If you feel ready to sing, we would be most honored to listen."

With a coy smile, the half-elf reached for her lyre and checked the tuning on the strings. She played a few silvery notes and then began to sing.

The song was a ballad, and as the story unfolded Hhune began to understand why his new apprentice was so eager for him to hear it. It was a story of betrayal and treachery, and of a heroic young bard who uncovered a plot to destroy the Harpers from within.

The Harpers. The very mention of this secret organization of meddling northerners was enough to set Hhune's teeth on edge. There had been rumors that the Harpers were courting Pasha Balik, but the city's ruler had spurned their advances, as he did those of any northern courtier.

Or had he?

Hhune often wondered how and why the guilds' plan to oust Pasha Balik had failed. It had been so carefully planned, so flawlessly executed. Yet the main conspirators had been found slain, and the pasha himself had sponsored laws that severely limited the powers of the guilds. Clearly, word of the plot had reached his ears, yet try as they might, no one could learn who might have turned traitor.

Hhune settled back in his chair and regarded the half-elven bard thoughtfully. Harpers, at work in his Zazesspur! He shuddered at the thought of adding this canny society to the ever-growing list of those who sought to seize power or influence events in Tethyr. Their agent must be removed at once, before more of Hhune's long-laid plans were discovered and brought down.

When the last silvery notes of the lyre shimmered into silence, the lord turned a smile upon the bard. "Thank you for this song, my dear lady. My steward will compensate you for your performance and for the troubles of your journey. But first, can you tell me where you heard this most interesting story?"

‹‹In a tavern, my lord, just as did your young apprentice," the half-elf said. It is widely sung. But it is said that the ballad was brought to Tethyr by the Harper bard who wrote it."

"And can you name this Harper?"

|”I cannot, my lord. But they say that in his song, he has named himself."

Understanding jolted through Hhune like a dagger's thrust. Indeed, now that he considered the ballad, the identity of this "bard" became achingly clear. Surely the composer and the hero were one-the ballad was too self-congratulatory for it to be otherwise! And the description of the hero was very like someone Hhune-knew, not well, but far too well for his liking.

The lord carefully hid his response. Again he summoned his capable servant and placed the half-elf into the man's care, instructing him to treat their guest with all courtesy and have her escorted back to the city.

That settled, Hhune shut the door and took a chair directly across from his watchful apprentice. The lord knew, of course, who the Harper agent was. It was someone whose identity should have been apparent all along. A newcomer, a northerner, a wealthy young man nobly born into one of Waterdeep's powerful merchant clans- all of these things were ample grounds for suspicion. But with an audacious nerve worthy of master thieves, the Harpers had hidden their agent in plain sight. Who would have suspected that the frivolous young man who'd composed this ballad-to all appearances a fop and a fool- was in reality a viper disguised by a jester's motley?

In short, who would have suspected Danilo Thann?

What Hhune wanted to know now was how this knowledge had come to Hasheth.

"The pasha will be interested to learn that these meddlesome northerners are at work in his kingdom," Hhune began, feeling his way a step at a time.

"He knows already," the young man stated coldly. "This so-called bard sings his tales directly into my father's ear. Word of it came to me. I do not approve."