The Dream Spheres

Eleven

Midnight had not yet come, and already Danilo had borne witness to the death of some twenty barrels of wine and the subsequent birth of two new betrothals, a dozen covert business deals, and three challenges to duels scheduled to be fought upon the morrow. By these measures, Galinda Raventree's annual costume ball was its usual success.

Of course, there was the buzz created by Haedrak's arrival. A city obsessed with nobility could not resist the lure of the young man's claim to royalty. For many years, it had been common belief the royal house of Tethyr had been obliterated in the terrible wars. A few minor rela shy;tives survived, and from time to time one made a dubi shy;ous claim, but Haedrak arrived in Waterdeep with unassailable credentials, not the least of which was the support of Elminster the Sage and the bard Storm Sil shy;verhand. Haedrak had expressed a desire to unite with Zaranda, the mage turned mercenary who had recently been acclaimed queen of the city of Zazesspur, and to join with her in uniting all of Tethyr. He was in Waterdeep gathering support for the Tethyr Reclamation from the wealthy, the bored, and the adventurous.

Danilo supposed Haedrak would do well enough. A dark, thin man with a serious face and a small pointed black beard, he looked more like a scribe than a warrior, but Waterdeep, enamored as she was by royalty, would no doubt flock to his banner. It was almost amusing how the nobles tripped over each other in their eagerness to be seen in Haedrak's shadow.

The most entertaining spectacle, in Dan's opinion, was Arilyn's participation in this frivolous event. The shopkeeper who'd supplied them both with costumes had outfitted Arilyn as Titania, the legendary queen of the faerie realm.

This had proven nothing less than inspired, for it built upon the half-elf's fey heritage, transforming her from somber warrior to a creature of heart-stopping beauty. The costume was a marvel of translucent wings and floating, glimmering silvery skirts, but the shop shy;keeper had not stopped there. She had dressed Arilyn's black hair in clusters of ringlets dusted with silvery glitter. The half-elf's eyes were remarkable to begin with-a deep vivid blue flecked with gold-but cosmet shy;ics made them appear enormous, exotically tilted at the outer corners, and startlingly blue against her white skin. Her face had been buffed with some iridescent powder, and it glowed like moonstone in the soft candle shy;light. In all, Danilo congratulated himself on having had the good sense to lose his heart to this marvelous woman years ago before the general rush began.

That was the second source of his private entertain shy;ment. More than a few of Danilo's peers had started to pay court to the apparent faerie queen, only to recon shy;sider the notion when the half-elf turned upon them a flat, level gaze more appropriate to a battlefield than a ballroom. Faced with a forbidding Arilyn, even the most intrepid or inebriated man suddenly remembered press shy;ing business on the far side of the hall.

This amused Danilo to no end. He supposed that evinced some serious character deficit, but he saw no immediate cure for it. He had always enjoyed Arilyn from their unpromising beginning to the complicated present, and he could not get out of the habit. He gave a nod of mock sympathy to the latest of her spurned suitors, then flicked a nonexistent bit of lint from the ruffle at his cuff.

"You're looking smug," remarked Regnet Amcathra.

Danilo's pleasure in the evening deepened as he turned to face his longtime friend. "Why should I not? Winning that lady's regard was no small accomplish shy;ment. I like to think that sterling personal qualities, which admittedly are well hidden, enabled me to accomplish this feat."

The nobleman chuckled. His amusement stopped abruptly as two men disguised as a centaur thundered past in pursuit of a coyly fleeing nymph.

Danilo studied the strange tableau. The centaur's head was undoubtedly that of Simon Ilzimmer, a black-bearded, broad-chested mage who looked so positively saturnine that Danilo would not have wagered whether or not the hoofs he sported were genuine.

The back end of the centaur was not quite as moti shy;vated toward pursuit, but he stumbled gamely along. Not nimbly enough, however, and the costume's fabric tore as the "creature" broke in half. Simon, nothing daunted, pounded off in pursuit of the nymph. The cen shy;taur's anonymous rump, a role undoubtedly played by a servant or possibly a family member of lesser rank and lighter purse, took a few staggering steps in pursuit of unity. He quickly abandoned the quest and went off in search of a full mug, apparently not overly concerned by the statement his partial costume made.

Regnet shook his head in disgust. "After that spec shy;tacle, I am almost inclined to believe what they are saying about the Ilzimmer clan."

It was on the tip of Danilo's tongue to ask what that might be, but it occurred to him that if he did, Regnet would probably tell him. Dan and Arilyn had attended this evening's affair for the express purpose of gather shy;ing information, but he saw little profit in the sort of salacious talk that Simon Ilzimmer inspired.

"Shame on you for spreading such tales! You have been spending too much time with Myrna," Danilo pointed out.

His friend heaved a heartfelt sigh. "On that, we are in accord. Speaking of the lady, she appears to be searching the crowd for me. You will excuse me while I run shrieking into the streets."

"Certainly," Dan replied. "I would offer to detain her, but the bonds of friendship go only so far."

Regnet snorted with good-natured scorn. "Don't worry, I wouldn't do it for you, either. Farewell, coward."

Dan chuckled and turned back to survey the scene before him. He was truly of no mind for festivities, but this would be one of his last chances to study the peer shy;age for signs of enmity deep enough to inspire Oth's assassination. All of Waterdeep society gathered for the costume ball, which was one of the last large parties before many of the merchant nobility left for their coun shy;try estates or southern villas. It was one of the most lavish affairs of the season, and one of Danilo's favorites.

At least, it had been until this year. Usually he en shy;joyed the pageantry and silly excess, but this year there seemed to be a decidedly sylvan flavor to the costumes. In addition to the usual pirates, orcs, Moonshae druids, drow, and such like, there were an inordinate number of revelers dressed as forest elves.

Even Myrna Cassalanter picked up this theme-if only as an excuse to bare vast expanses of the creamy skin that was her best feature. Nearly every exposed inch of the woman was decorated with the swirling brown and green designs that represented some artist's conception of what wild elf tattoos must look like. Myrna had taken the notion of wild greenwood hunters a bit too far, perhaps. She had woven peacock feathers into her bright red hair and hung a necklace of porcelain beads shaped like dragons' teeth around her neck.

All these imitation forest elves served to tweak at Danilo's more painful ruminations. Arilyn's response had been utterly unexpected and no help at all. She had taken one glance at Myrna and excused herself from the room. Danilo had found her in the cloakroom, clutching her sides and rocking with silent laughter.

"Not authentic, I take it," Danilo had observed.

She'd wiped her streaming eyes and subsided to a chuckle. "Not even close." She frowned and plucked at the diaphanous layers of her skirts. "Who am I to talk? When was the last time you saw a six-foot faerie?"

The answer to that, in Dan's opinion, was "not often enough." He and Arilyn had decided to go separate ways for much of the evening, assuming that Danilo's peers might be more forthcoming with gossip if the half-elf were not too close at hand. Her hearing was keener than any human's, so she could gather information in a different fashion.

Apart from talk of Haedrak's claim, most of the gossip Danilo had heard focused upon the party's hostess. He watched Galinda Raventree as she glided about the dance floor, deftly steering compatible guests toward each other and just as skillfully heading off possible confrontations. The woman was a marvel-he had often remarked to his fellow Lords that she would be a re shy;doubtable diplomat.

His fellow Lords, was it? Danilo grimaced as he real shy;ized that he had yet to return the Lord's Helm to Piergeiron. So many other matters demanded his atten shy;tion. He would be glad to get the city and its demands behind him and begin shaping his life in a pattern more to his liking.

This returned his thoughts firmly to Lilly and to the confrontation he intended to have with Lord Rhammas concerning duty to family-all members of that family, regardless of which side of the blanket they happened to be born on.

He handed his empty goblet to a passing servant and took off in search of his father. Not a difficult task-he merely followed the tang of pipe smoke to the room where Lord Rhammas and a dozen or so of his peers waged war with weapons of thick, painted parchment.

Danilo had never been one for cards, but courtesy demanded he wait and watch until Rhammas tired of the game. Finally the older man threw down a losing hand and announced his desire for air.

He did not acknowledge his son's tacit request for conversation, but he fell into step and they walked out to the garden together. Neither man spoke until Danilo was reasonably certain they would not be overheard.

"All has been done as you requested, sir."

The older man nodded. "Good. That's settled, then."

"After a fashion, yes. But I am curious: why has Lilly never come to light before? Did you not know of her?"

Rhammas sent him a quelling glance. "The matter has been handled. There are other, more important con shy;cerns to attend."

More important than a newfound daughter? Danilo did not speak the words, but he saw from the flash of anger in his father's eyes that he had not managed to keep the challenge from his face. Well, now that his opinion was known, he might as well be shorn for a sheep as for a lamb. "I cannot conceive of anything more important," Dan said softly.

"Then apparently you haven't heard of the raid upon the consortium's air caravan."

This was the first time his father had ever mentioned the family business in Danilo's hearing. The shock of this was quickly overtaken by the implication of his father's words. A feel of cold, creeping dread threaded its way through Danilo's irritation.

"The caravan was a joint effort among several of the noble families," Rhammas explained, oblivious to his son's stunned reaction to this news. "Fine cargo-gems, swords, small statues, and the like-were flown to Silverymoon, with the intention of bringing back more of the same."

Danilo's mind raced with dire possibility. Foremost among them was Bronwyn's safety. She had sent him word that she planned to join an air caravan organized by the Ilzimmer and Gundwynd families, in which both Elaith Craulnober and Mizzen Doar, the crystal mer shy;chant, had purchased passage.

"Flown," he repeated.

Rhammas took this single world as a question. "Grif shy;fons, pegasi, large birds. Ingenious notion, but we all warned Lord Gundwynd that he stood to lose a fortune should things go awry. Those beasts were at least as valuable as the cargo they carried."

"Were?"

This time Danilo did intend the question. The attack must have been devastating, if some of these fierce beasts had been lost in the fighting!

His father either missed the question or chose not to dwell upon such unpleasantness. "I must say, this econ shy;omy of response is not your usual custom. Well done. Quite refreshing."

Danilo shook off what might have been either com shy;pliment or insult. If Bronwyn had traveled in that car shy;avan, and Elaith as well, either or both might be dead.

"Were there survivors?"

"Oh, Lord Gundwynd came through just fine. Tough old bird-couldn't kill that man with a meat axe. So did some of the mercenaries, and most of the merchants. The caravan lost a few guards and some hired hands. And the cargo, of course. Bad business all around."

It was an unusually long speech. Lord Rhammas lifted his pipe in a gesture of unmistakable finality. He took a draw, frowned, and then held it out for inspection. The wisp of smoke had vanished. He murmured something unintelligible, then wandered off in search of fire.

Danilo scanned the room for a likely source of further information. Nearby, Myrna Cassalanter was busily plying her family trade. The gossipmonger spoke in low, hurried tones to a pair of young women-an incongru shy;ous pair, since one was clad as shepherdess complete with be-ribboned crook, and the other was wearing a fur wrap and carrying a wolf mask on a stick. The protector and the ravager of sheep listened with identical expressions of shocked delight, and the glances they slid toward their hostess left little doubt as to the subject of Myrna's spiteful tale. Nonetheless, Danilo moved closer. Myrna might be annoying, but she served a purpose.

"Our Galinda has debts, you see," explained the gos shy;sipmonger, "but to maintain appearances, she has been replacing her gems with false stones."

"Her jewelry looks the same as ever," observed one of the women, eyeing the emerald pendant that nestled in the hollow of Galinda's throat.

"What would you expect? Even the faux pieces are fine work-if you consider counterfeiting an art." Myrna paused to give weight to her next words. "Apparently the Ilzimmer family does."

She glanced up at Dan's approach, and a shimmer of malicious delight crossed her face. "Lord Thann. You've heard about the air caravan, no doubt? But of course you have, since your family had an investment in its success."

The emphasis she gave to the final word held a nasty insinuation. Of what, Danilo was not certain. He pasted a bland smile on his face. "Actually, I have come to inquire on that very matter. What more do you know than is commonly spoken?"

The woman cocked her bright head and considered him as a horse trader might size up a plow nag for pos shy;sible resale. "I hear that this year's spiced winterfest wine will be extraordinary. Ten bottles would be a rea shy;sonable exchange."

Myrna's companions frowned, clearly displeased by this blatant display of commerce at a social event. They withdrew with frosty little bows and flittered off to spread tales of their own.

"Strange that you should be seeking answers from me," Myrna purred, clearly enjoying herself. "There are others who could tell you for a smaller fee, or none at all. I do not complain, mind you."

Danilo was in no mood to spar. "For a simple answer, speedily delivered, you might expect an extra bottle."

The woman pouted. "Oh, very well. The favored rumors suggest that the theft was the work of insiders. The ban shy;dits were too well and cannily armed, and they lay hidden in wait in the very place the caravan used as a rest stop on the way north. Most are suspicious of Elaith Craulnober, of course. He traveled to Silverymoon with the caravan but not back. Yet many saw him take part in the battle. He disappeared soon after, riding a Gund shy;wynd pegasus."

This news was disturbing but not entirely unex shy;pected. Whether the elf had a part in the theft or not, he would be suspected. "And Bronwyn?"

"Who?"

"The young woman who keeps The Curious Past. You have been in her shop at least a dozen times. Small woman, long brown hair, big eyes."

"Oh, her." The noblewoman's tone was dismissive, almost disdainful.

"Do you know how she fared?" Dan persisted.

Myrna shrugged, looking none too pleased to be pre shy;sented with questions for which she had no answers-even if the subject of inquiry was nothing but a common little shopkeeper. "Ask the elf. He was there."

She pointed to the far side of the room. Danilo's eyes widened as they settled on a tall, slender figure clad in deep purple and silver. Elaith had chosen an elaborate costume of an era long past, worn by elves and humans alike in the ancient courts of Tethyr. Either the elf was being unusually diplomatic or his costume was the equivalent of a green cloak in the forest-an attempt to blend in. Many wore the purple of Tethyr in Haedrak's honor.

Danilo made his way across to the elf as quickly as he could navigate the crowd. "You have had an eventful trip, I hear," he began.

The elf gave him a faint, mocking smile. "Let us dis shy;pense with the usual pleasantries and get to the meat of the matter. When I left Bronwyn, she was in good health, if poor company. She is a most resourceful young woman. Most resourceful," he added with rueful empha shy;sis.

Danilo was beginning to see the shape of things. He also felt more than a little guilty about agreeing to have Elaith watched and followed. "I am always glad to hear word of Bronwyn," he said carefully. "She is an old friend."

"And a new Harper," the elf said. "Spare me the sophistry. I am watched by the Harpers and others. This is nothing new. Whether you had a hand in Bronwyn's task or not, I neither know nor care. Either way, I'm sure you are interested in the outcome."

"Well, now that you mention it."

"Both Bronwyn and I lost treasure in the raid-for which, I assure you, I was not responsible."

These statements set Danilo back on his heels. "Well, so much for the deft feint, the clever exchange of attack and parry. I am disarmed before I draw my sword."

The elf lifted one silver eyebrow. "Is that so? You accept my word on the matter so easily?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Many people would name your credulity unwise," Elaith pointed out. "Not without reason."

Danilo shrugged. That was true enough, but his instincts told him the elf had spoken truth. He was very interested to hear what Bronwyn would have to say about the encounter, but he'd had no reason to doubt Elaith's word since the day the elf had made the pledge of Elf-friend. Indeed, Elaith had been amazingly forthright-in some ways, more so than Dan himself had been. He had arranged to have Elaith followed and watched, and now he found himself on the verge of abandoning the responsibility such pledges entailed.

"There has been some little excitement here, as well," he began. In a few words he told the elf about his new shy;found sister. "Arilyn and I will travel east to meet her in Suzail."

Elaith studied him, his amber eyes unreadable. "Why do you tell me this?"

"Apart from making polite conversation?" he returned with a grin. His smile quickly faded. "I must confess some regret at the prospect of leaving the city. You were attacked by tren and may yet be in danger. The pledge of Elf-friend binds two ways. I am hesitant to leave while this matter is unresolved. Arilyn, even more so."

"Arilyn?" This intelligence seemed to surprise the elf. "Not on my behalf, surely?"

"Not precisely," Danilo said, though the expression on Elaith's face made him wish he could answer otherwise. "As you know, of late Arilyn's moonblade has taken to summoning her to duty. Since it has been silent for some time now, she is convinced that her duty to the People lies here in Waterdeep. Perhaps your recent misadventures have a part in that."

"That, I doubt," Elaith said lightly. "Do not consider the matter. By all means, accompany your newfound sister to Suzail. Winter in Waterdeep is often a dreary affair. You would do well to escape it."

Danilo did not miss the hint of irony in the elf's tone-and the warning. He responded to both. "Some shy;how, I rather doubt that this year's freeze will be with shy;out diversion."

Elaith's smile never touched his eyes, which were as golden and full of secrets as a cat's. "Yes, I daresay you could be quite right."

* * * * *

Arilyn's respect for Danilo grew as the night wore on. She doggedly worked her way through her dance card, moving from one dance partner to another and trying to learn something of value from each. She kept telling herself it was not so very different from her days as an apprentice swordmaster. The intricate dances were more easily mastered than the scores and scores of forms and routines she had practiced in her youth. Anticipating the movements of a dance partner or an entire circle was not entirely dissimilar to battle. The feint and parry of the nobles' flirtatious banter had a great deal in common with duel, and the backstabbing jabs of their subtly brutal gossip were as keen and deft as any assassin's blade. By midnight, however, Arilyn was ex shy;hausted. Her jaws ached from holding her tight, false smile-and from holding back tart comments.

That was especially difficult when it came to discus shy;sion of the Tethyr Reclamation. Arilyn was still smart shy;ing from her involvement in that country's woes. She had spent months posing as a member of the assassin's guild, learning about the country's powerful and would-be powerful by sifting through the detritus of their secret actions, their worse impulses. Her last mission for the Harpers had been the "rescue" of Isabeau Thione. The removal of a possible heir from Tethyr solidified Zaranda's claim, as well as the power of the Tethyrian nobles who supported the new queen. Arilyn had been willing to do nearly anything in support of the Harpers, but she knew far too much about the people whom the Harpers supported. Her protests had been dismissed with arguments of political expediency, safe trade routes, and important alliances. Nor did it seem to matter to anyone that Isabeau quickly proved to be just as repre shy;hensible as the worst of Tethyrian nobility. She was feted in Waterdeep, supported in part by Harper funds. Arilyn had quit the Harpers in disgust and turned her full attention to her elven duty. Yet here she was, danc shy;ing with Tethyr's next king and exchanging light con shy;versation with a roomful of nobles, knowing all the while that someone in the room might have ordered and paid for her death.

However, at Galinda Raventree's balls, such grim topics seemed utterly foreign. There was still no talk of Oth Eltorchul's death. The only explanation for this that Arilyn could fashion was that Errya Eltorchul had elected to keep this news quiet as long as possible, hoping to peddle spells and potions created by the family's students and pass them off as her brother's work. One thing seemed certain: the Eltorchul fortunes would plunge when the news became common knowl shy;edge. Arilyn had liked the Eltorchul patriarch, and she doubted that he would resort to subterfuge, but it was possible that he, in his grief, gave too free a hand to his venal daughter.

On the other hand, the story of the ambushed cara shy;van was the second-most popular theme of the evening-outshining even the tawdry, overfed imitation elves that strutted about in much green and brown paint and little else.

Arilyn listened closely to what was told to her and what was spoken nearby. She constructed two main sto shy;ries from the disparate and often conflicting parts. One school of thought held that the theft was orchestrated by the elf lord. The other rumor, spoken in softer tones but having the extra appeal of conspiracy and betrayal, suggested that the traitor was one of the families in the consortium that sponsored the caravan.

Lord Gundwynd was the lowest on the list of likely villains-at least, on such lists as the merchant nobility might fashion. He had supplied the flying mounts and the elven guards, and his losses were enormous. On the other hand, the elven minstrels noted with considerable bitterness that Gundwynd had used his elven hirelings in much the same fashion that orcs deployed goblin troops in battle: to draw enemy fire and reveal position, buying time for the "more valuable" fighters to assess the situation. The elves were not claiming that Gund shy;wynd had orchestrated the ambush-not quite-but their opinion of the man and his methods was not far above that mark.

The Amcathra clan, dealers in fine weapons, lost some of the valuable swords and daggers fashioned by their craftsmen in Silverymoon, but the fine, upstand shy;ing reputation enjoyed by the Amcathra clan held too high a gloss to hold much tarnish.

Ilzimmer, on the other hand, suffered from a reputa shy;tion that had been quilted together from scores of small scandals. Boraldan Ilzimmer, the clan's patriarch and not a well-liked man, had expected to receive a small fortune in crystal and gems on the westbound caravan. Of course, after Myrna's rumors made the rounds, no one was certain how much of his stated loss was truly gemstone and how much of it was worthless bits of col shy;ored rock.

And then there was the Thann family, who seemed to have a finger in nearly every pie in the city, at least as far as the shipping of goods was concerned. Their loss, by all reports, was not great and was limited to their investment in this new mode of travel. It was an invest shy;ment, if indeed they had also informed and funded the bandits, that might have paid off quickly and hand shy;somely.

These speculations troubled Arilyn deeply. If she remembered her history, war among the families of Waterdeep was nothing new, and she did not relish the possibility of seeing old times return.

Arilyn sought Lady Cassandra in the crowd. The noblewoman was dressed in a shimmering silver-blue gown that suggested, but did not precisely imitate, a mermaid's scales. She looked as serene and collected as ever, and her demeanor gave no sign that she had heard the rumors at all, much less that they gave her any cause for concern.

On the other hand, Arilyn noted that the noble shy;woman gave her respects to Galinda Raventree at an unusually early hour. Arilyn followed the older woman to her carriage and slipped inside before the startled groom could bar the door.

"It's all right, Nelson," Lady Cassandra said in a resigned voice. She moved over to make room, pointedly eyeing the wings on Arilyn's costume. "Tell the driver to circle the block."

She did not speak to Arilyn until the creak and rumble of the carriage gave cover to their words. She batted aside a lazily drifting feather. "There is trouble in the Land of Faerie? Molting is often a sign of distress."

"Oh. Sorry." Almost glad for the excuse, Arilyn tore the annoying wings from her shoulders and impatiently flung them out the window.

"I trust this is important?"

"You tell me." She quickly apprised the noblewoman of the situation. Not once did Cassandra's expression give a hint of worry or dismay.

"The rumors are not entirely off target," she said cau shy;tiously. "Thann losses were not very great, that much is true, but it is inconceivable that one of the consortium partners betrayed the others."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"The answer should be obvious," the noblewoman said. "Consider our past-the devastation of the Guild Wars when the families battled in the streets. There is no clan so foolish as to believe they could succeed in such an endeavor, and so none would engage in so bla shy;tant a challenge. Only outsiders, those who attempt to wedge their foot inside the door, would attempt such a ridiculous thing."

"Not so ridiculous," the half-elf pointed out. "By all re shy;ports, at least two-score men and elves died in that am shy;bush. The cargo is gone. Some might call that success."

The noblewoman gave Arilyn a supercilious smile. "Rumors are like drunken men," she observed. "Most of the time they babble nonsense, but sometimes a truth slips out that would otherwise be unspoken."

"Such as?"

"Let us consider Elaith Craulnober. Few have dared accuse the elf lord before, or if they did, they often dropped their accusation before the Lords Council met for judgment. Those few who persisted in their suit were never able to trail the elf's misdeeds to the source. This time, however, Craulnober has overstepped, and the truth about him is being spoken aloud."

"That, I doubt," Arilyn said without hesitation. "I have known Elaith for several years. I certainly won't argue that he is without stain, but never have I known him to act so openly or foolishly. There is a reason why his misdeeds are so hard to trace. He is clever."

"So was the theft of the air caravan."

"I've seen better," the half-elf said bluntly. "The ambush required information and planning, but little cunning. I do not see Elaith's hand in this."

Cassandra affixed her with a look of cold incredulity. "You defend him?"

"I'm just trying to see all the runes on the page. There is something more going on than a single bandit attack. Danilo said that he told you Oth Eltorchul was killed by tren assassins. Elaith was recently attacked by similar assassins-in your villa."

The noblewoman's steady gaze did not falter at any part of this litany. "You hold Thann responsible for this, I suppose."

"Not yet," Arilyn returned, "but it is possible that Elaith might."

"I see your point," the woman allowed, "but that is all the more reason for him to take vengeance on one of our business interests."

The reasoning was logical enough, but Arilyn shook her head. "Do you know who died in that ambush? Elves, mostly. Among them were four young warriors not long from Evermeet. They were Eagle Riders and among the most respected elven warriors. Whatever else Elaith might do, whatever he might be, I cannot believe that he would condemn those lads to certain death."

"Why not? If there is any truth at all to the legends and tavern tales, Elaith Craulnober has slain hundreds in his misspent life and barely stopped to clean his blade."

"Never an elf," Arilyn persisted. "As far as I know, never that. I admit that might be scant virtue in this claim, but there is a pattern. Everything I know about Elaith Craulnober leads me to believe him guiltless in this matter."

Cassandra sat back and regarded the younger woman with an icy gaze. "You know what you are saying, of course. You are accusing at least one of the noble fami shy;lies of betrayal, theft, and murder. That is a very serious accusation."

The half-elf did not flinch. "Someone knew the cara shy;van route well in advance, and laid ambush. Someone is responsible for the death of those elves. It is my busi shy;ness to see that they pay for it. If for some reason I do not, Elaith Craulnober most likely will. For once, you should pay heed to what rumors say. Do not take either of us lightly."

The woman's lips twitched. "I am put on notice," she said with an unexpected touch of dark humor. "I sup shy;pose I ought to thank you for the warning."

"Don't bother. Just don't pass the warning along."

"Bargain made," the noblewoman agreed. "In any event, I would hardly put about the fact that my son's companion-a suspected assassin, as you have taken great pains to remind me-is hounding among the peer shy;age for a traitor. There is scandal enough without this returning to my door!" She gave Arilyn a wry, sidelong glance. "Is there any hope of turning you from this path?"

"None."

Cassandra nodded as if she had expected this. "In that case I, too, have a warning. Nothing good will come of this inquiry, either for you or for Danilo. If you must persist, keep your eyes open and your sword at hand, and see that you keep good watch over my son."

"As I have done for these past six years," Arilyn said stiffly.

"Really? That is a marvel, considering that you are so seldom in Danilo's company. Think nothing of that. Your dedication to the elven people is admirable, I'm sure. Ah, we are back at the gate. You will return to the party, of course."

It was an order, not a question. Since she could see little profit in prolonging the interview, Arilyn descend shy;ed and watched the departing carriage.

Lady Cassandra's words troubled her deeply. Until now, she had shrugged aside Cassandra's small digs and genteel sarcasm as easily as she might wave away a per shy;sistent gnat. Arilyn was well accustomed to slights. When it came to subtle insults, not even the most super shy;cilious noble could hold a candle to an elf, and half-elves were favorite targets for elven slings and arrows.

However, this time things were different, and the noblewoman was letting her know that beyond doubt. Like a master swordsman, Cassandra had slipped past Arilyn's guard and gone straight for her heart. She had used the sharpest sword that anyone could wield-the painful truth, plainly stated.

"Truth is the sharpest sword," Arilyn murmured. Those words steadied her resolve as she gathered up her shimmering skirts and headed for the Raventree mansion. She and Danilo would find the truth, and that weapon would serve to cut through the deceit and intrigue. That would put things to rights.

A small, fluttering movement drew her eye. The autumn wind was brisk, and one of her discarded wings had been blown against the stone wall surrounding Galinda's garden. It lay there like a dying bird, ghostly amid the darkness of the stone and the swirling dry leaves.

Arilyn was not superstitious, but it seemed to her that the false wings spoke augury. She had cast off illu shy;sion, and the result was death. Though she did not waver in her determination to find her way to the truth, she could not help but wonder who might yet fall to that sharp sword.

* * * * *

Lilly hurriedly packed her belongings in preparation for the trip from Waterdeep, and to freedom. It was not a large task-a few pieces of clothing, her precious dream spheres, an ivory comb missing only a few teeth, a dented pewter mug, and a small but well-kept assort shy;ment of knives and picks.

She hesitated a moment before placing her thieving tools in her sack, for they seemed ill suited to the bright future ahead. Upon consideration, she tucked them inside and folded the bundle securely shut. A girl never knew what might need doing.

The door flew open so hard that it slammed against the wall. Lilly jumped and reached for a weapon. Too late, she remembered they were packed away.

Isabeau blew in like a leaf on a gale, more disheveled and wild-eyed than she'd been in the heat of battle.

"You're looking as if you've seen a ghost," Lilly com shy;mented, "and not a particularly friendly one at that."

That brought a faint, sickly smile to the woman's pale lips. She collected herself somewhat, but she continued to prowl about the small room as if seeking something of vital importance. The burlap sack seemed to be of special interest to her. As she eyed it, she began to toy with the strings that held her own purse to her waist.

"You're leaving?"

Lilly thrust the burlap sack behind her. "Just taking some things to the laundress, is all."

The woman studied her for a moment, then smiled. "A man and woman were inquiring for you downstairs."

Lilly's heart sank. Isabeau knew of the planned escape!

"Of course," the woman continued, "when I learned what they intended, I pretended to be you. I have reason to leave the city for a few days. You won't mind if I take your place, will you?"

Before Lilly could move, the woman swung her purse and dealt Lilly a painful, ringing blow to one ear. The room spun, and she suddenly felt the hard floorboards beneath her knees.

Isabeau hiked up her skirts and delivered a kick that landed just below Lilly's ribs. Too winded to draw breath, the thief could not fight as Isabeau stuffed a scented handkerchief in her mouth.

The woman knelt beside her. She held her palm up to her lips and blew, as if she were blowing a kiss. Red powder puffed toward Lilly's face.

Lilly drew in a startled breath. Instantly she realized her mistake. A languorous haze spread swiftly through her, obscuring the path between her will to act and her ability to move. It was like being in the throes of a dream sphere but without either the pleasure or the oblivion. Though Lilly could not command her body, she could definitely experience everything that happened to it. She registered the second stunning blow to the head, and she felt a cord tighten around her wrists. She smelled the dry scent of dust as the woman shoved her under the cot.

Through the immobilizing haze, Lilly heard the creak of the old wooden stairs announce the approach of her intended savior. She struggled without effect to find some way to make her presence known. Finally, she lis shy;tened with growing despair as Isabeau fell into her role and took her place.

The Harper woman was as small and slight as Lilly, and although her red hair was not as thick and pale and lustrous, at least it was a reasonably good match. She donned the extra dress that Isabeau took from Lilly's bag and gave Isabeau the overtunic and trews she had worn to the tavern. Cynthia expressed puzzlement over Isabeau's dark hair, but she readily accepted Isabeau's story of a sudden impulse to disguise herself, abetted by a mage's apprentice and a five-copper spell. Lilly did not blame the Harper for her credulity. She knew, to her sorrow, how convincing the thief could be.

When the women had changed places, Isabeau slipped down the stairs to the alley, and the carriage waiting beyond.

The cot sank dangerously low as the young Harper sat on the edge. She hummed idly to herself to pass the time until the tavern closed and the streets grew dark enough for her to hold her guise as she slipped off.

Again the stairs creaked, this time with more protest. Cynthia rose and crept to the door. She stood with feet braced as the portal began to swing slowly open.

Lilly saw the creature first, and she knew it from the enormous clawed feet. She threw her will and strength into a futile effort at screaming a warning.

The silence was broken, not by her voice, but by the sudden scuttle of tren footsteps. The creature darted forward, pivoted, then grunted with the effort of a single, massive blow.

There was no time to scream, even if Lilly had been able to. The Harper hit the floor hard. Lilly's eyes widened in horror as Cynthia's lifeblood spilled out into a spreading pool. The red stain reached out toward her in wide rivulets. To the terrified girl, it looked like tat shy;tling fingers pointing the way to her hiding place.

Even so, she was startled when a large green hand thrust under the cot and seized a handful of her skirts. The creature dragged her out with a single tug, then jerked her onto her feet.

In some mist-veiled corner of her mind, Lilly realized that she could stand on her own. The poison Isabeau had administered was beginning to wear off. Her ter shy;rible fear, however, was nearly as immobilizing. She stood frozen like a mouse facing a raptor, staring with a wide, dry, unblinking gaze into the fanged smile of a tren.

"You have some very interesting dreams," observed the creature in a musical voice. "It is almost a shame to end them. However, it is necessary, you see. A step toward an end I highly desire. As is this."

The tren held up a bit of parchment. It was the note Isabeau had stolen from the bearded man. On it was written the details of the air caravan's route. A signa shy;ture had been added to the page. The name was that of her secret love. "They will find you, and they will know what you did. Of course, they will blame your gallant lover. He will pay for every loss, every death. And your family, of course. Oh, yes, the Thann family will pay as well."

Lilly shook her head, a tiny movement of anguished denial. Her secret love had had nothing to do with this! She was the thief, not he! Never, never had she intended anyone to die!

Even as she tried to shape air into protest, the crea shy;ture before her began to change. The thick body became longer and more slender, the features sharp.

Lilly remembered what she knew of Isabeau Thione, and she thought she understood what manner of foe the woman had fled. Isabeau had stolen her escape, though, and had left her to face this handsome monster.

The deadly visitor smiled, as if somehow pleased that she understood his true nature and his intention. Then his smile widened horribly and his face elongated into a reptilian snout. Scales erupted on his face, and an antic shy;ipatory string of drool dripped from the false tren's fangs. He lifted claws already stained with Cynthia's blood, and hooked them with slow, tantalizing delibera shy;tion. There was malicious pleasure in his eyes. He intended to feed on her terror as surely as a real tren would have fed upon her flesh.

Lilly would not close her eyes. A noble's life might have been denied her, but the manner of her death she could choose.

She fought the immobilizing poison with all the strength and heart and will she could muster. Her chin lifted with a mixture of pride and courage, and she regarded the creature with steady calm as the deadly claws slashed in.