The Dream Spheres

Two

Danilo glanced up at one of the tall, narrow windows that lined the great hall. The moon had risen perhaps twice its own width since his miscast spell. Arilyn was taking far more time in returning than he had antici shy;pated.

A hearty clap on the back shook him from his reverie. A tall man with curly brown hair regarded him with mock dismay. "Look at you! Snared like a hare! Tell me, how long have you been waiting for this woman?"

Danilo turned a wry grin upon his friend Regnet Amcathra, then nodded toward Myrna Cassalanter, who was whispering tales to a woman wearing an emerald colored gown and an expression of scandalized delight. "About as long as you have been evading that one."

Regnet threw back his head and laughed. "An eter shy;nity, it would seem! And the night is still young! How shy;ever, I was not speaking only of tonight. In truth, Dan, it seems years since we've gone out drinking and wenching together. There are many woman in this wide world, you know."

"One who matters." Danilo's gaze slid again to the door through which Arilyn had disappeared.

Regnet shook his head. "One woman!" he mourned. "When I consider the straits to which you have been reduced!"

"I have other vices," Danilo assured him, brandishing an empty goblet.

"Well, that's a comfort." The nobleman scanned the room, and his eyes lit up as they settled upon a pretty bar shy;maid at the far end of the hall. "We are in luck. There's a sight to gladden us both."

They sauntered over to the table, and Regnet imme shy;diately busied himself with a flirtation. Danilo applauded his choice. The girl was a merry lass with red-gold hair, laughing gray eyes, and dimples that flashed in genuine good humor. Her voice might be rough with the accents of the shantytowns of Dock Ward, but there was noth shy;ing blunt about her wit.

"Don't be taking this amiss," she advised Regnet, "but you'd best be moving on. There's a moor fire burn shy;ing this way."

Danilo followed the line of her gaze and burst out laughing. Myrna Cassalanter advanced, her gaze intent upon Regnet. With her scarlet hair and even brighter gown, she did rather resemble a wind-driven blaze. Moor fires were considered terrible omens, and in prac shy;tical terms the burning bog gasses left a foul scent behind. Dan could not imagine a better description of Myrna, a gossipmonger by profession and inclination, than that supplied by the barmaid.

When Myrna had dragged her prey away to the danc shy;ing, Danilo lifted his glass to the serving girl in silent salute. She responded with a quick, impish smile and then a shrug.

"I've seen enough of such things to name them true."

"Bog fires?" Dan inquired with a grin.

"Wouldn't that be fine!" the girl replied wistfully. "No, I've never stepped beyond these city walls."

He helped himself to a bottle from the table and refilled his glass. There was no self-pity in the girl's voice, but he recognized the sound of genuine longing-and the echo of his own restless nature. "Where would you go?"

She shrugged again. "Anywhere that doesn't smell of fish and ale would suit me fine."

Danilo laughed and captured a ripe apricot from the tray of a passing servant. "These help a bit, when I'm feeling restless. Taste it, and see if the flavor doesn't conjure images of warm sunshine and distant lands."

"Oh, I dare not eat on duty," she protested, although she considered the fruit as if it were a rare gem. "Be shy;sides, if I pocket it, folks might think ill of me."

He nodded, understanding this. Thievery by servants was severely punished. Even so, it didn't seem right to deny them the festive fare they helped to serve. "Give me your name, then, and I'll have some sent to you."

"Will you, now?" she retorted with good-natured skepticism. "Along with a case of that elven wine, I suppose. …"

Her words faded as something seized her attention. Danilo followed the line of her gaze and grimaced. Not far away, an exceedingly curvaceous young woman was dancing with an amorous nobleman. Both partners' hands were far busier than their feet. Normally, Danilo would not consider this odd-after all, the attention Myrna lavished upon Regnet was even less subtle-but he had reason to distrust this particular woman. It would seem that Sofia the pickpocket was having a bit of a problem with her transition to Lady Isabeau.

"Excuse me," he murmured as he set down his glass.

A look of deep consternation flashed across the girl's pretty face. "Have a care with that one, sir. Looks fine as frog's hair, she does, but I've seen things. That one is trouble."

"You've a very good eye," he commented as he began to move away. "Thank you for your advice. I shall bear it in mind."

"Lilly," she said abruptly.

He turned back, lifting one brow in inquiry.

"My name," the girl explained. "Just wanted you to be knowing it. Your name, I'm already knowing." She grinned again. "It's been spoken."

"Yes, I can imagine," he said dryly, enjoying the woman's wry, impish humor-even when it came at his expense. He touched his forehead in parting salute. "Lilly, it has been a rare pleasure."

He deftly intercepted Isabeau from her partner and danced her as unobtrusively as possible into an alcove.

As soon as no eyes were upon them, Isabeau pulled away. She squared her shoulders, not so much in defi shy;ance as to better frame the expanse of feminine charm displayed between her ruby necklace and her low-laced gown.

"Calling in your debts, Lord Thann?" she said mock shy;ingly. "A tryst, in exchange for my rescue and my new position? I have been expecting you to name that coin, but not in so public a place."

Danilo stuck out his hand, palm up. "I've come to collect-you're right about that much. Hand it over."

She pouted, the picture of insulted innocence. "I don't understand."

"Clearly. May I remind you that you are Isabeau Thione, a noblewoman related to the royal house of Tethyr? I know this is all very new to you, but you must learn to comport yourself according to the mores of Waterdhavian nobility."

"Huzzah!" She gave him a cool, mocking smile and a little patter of applause. "Bring him the prize for stuffi shy;est speech of the night! In truth, Lord Thann, the only difference between me and most of these fine people is that they steal larger quantities, usually from those who can ill afford the loss. I have been in this city for only a few tendays, and already I know that much!"

Danilo refused to be distracted. "Don't make me sorry I brought you here," he warned her. "There are those who would be only too happy to take you back to Tethyr."

Isabeau abruptly sobered. Her black eyes darted across the room to the silver-haired elf with a hawk's watchful amber eyes.

"Very well," she said petulantly, and began to empty her pocket. In moments Dan's hands were heaped with items she had taken from her dance partners: coins, pendants, a small crystal sphere, even a ring-an unusual piece set with a large stone of rosy quartz.

He regarded the haul with dismay. "Have you any idea how long it will take me to sort through these things and return them without suspicion to their owners?"

The woman folded her arms over her abundant cleavage and smiled. "There is an easy solution. Give them back to me, and save yourself the trouble."

Danilo sighed and spilled the treasure into the bag attached to his belt. "Perhaps you should leave, Isabeau. We'll discuss this later."

"Much later, I hope," she said airily. Her eyes scanned the crowd, no doubt looking for one of her victims. She glided from the alcove and disappeared into the swirling, silken haze of the dance floor.

For a moment, Dan was tempted to follow. After all, he and Arilyn had brought Isabeau to the safety of Waterdeep. Though they had both come to rue and reject the Harper reasoning that had ordered this mission, a personal responsibility remained: they had to keep Waterdeep safe from Isabeau.

* * * * *

Elaith Craulnober saw Danilo whisk the southern woman into an alcove and had little doubt about the reason for it. The wench was a thief, and she was damned good at her work. She had stolen a dagger from him-him! — earlier that very summer, and in doing so had nearly gotten him hanged.

This made Isabeau Thione unique in Waterdeep. She was the only person who had seriously crossed Elaith who still drew breath. The elf would not have made her an exception but for the debt he owed Danilo Thann. How could he refuse something so paltry as a woman's life, measured against the worth of his own?

They had traveled a far path, he and the human bard. Elaith had once hired underlings to kill Danilo-a deed he considered too trivial to take upon himself. By now, though, his regard for young Lord Thann had changed from utter loathing to grudging respect. If not for Danilo, Elaith would have been slain by a passel of vengeful gnomes for a murder he did not commit. Elaith had chosen to repay that debt in elven fashion, and named the man Elf-friend.

Elf-friend. It was a rare gift, a pledge of absolute acceptance and loyalty, an honor rarely conferred upon humankind.

It was also without doubt the most stupid thing he had done in decades.

The primary proof of that was Elaith's presence at this wretched party. With the exception of a few hired musicians and Danilo's half-elven love, Elaith was the only elf in attendance. To say that he drew attention would be a vast understatement. Elaith preferred not to garner much notice. It seemed prudent, given the nature of his activities.

Therein lay Elaith's second source of disgruntlement. He was a rogue elf, wealthy through endeavors that ran the whole gamut from sanctioned to suspect to hideously illegal. His life had long ago turned onto a dark and twisting path. Yet of late, he had acquired pockets of virtue that were, not to put too fine a point on it, damnably inconvenient. Honor, loyalty, tradition-these were garments Elaith had long ago cast off, now much moth-eaten and of uncertain fit.

One of the more inebriated guests began to lurch pur shy;posefully in the elf's direction. Elaith regarded the man with keen displeasure. He was not a particularly impos shy;ing specimen of humankind. Of middling height, he had narrow, sloping shoulders and a meager chest. Most of his weight had settled in his haunches and hams. His sandy hair was shorn close to his head, and his beard was trimmed to a sharp point-no doubt in an effort to suggest resemblance to a satyr. In reality, the overall effect was nothing loftier than a two-legged billy goat.

The merchant immediately began to regale Elaith with stories. Since the only escape the elf could see involved a quick dagger and a faster exit, he merely let the slurred words flow over him as he observed the crowd.

There was much to learn at such gatherings, and the elf's quick eye had already discerned several interest shy;ing meetings, some unusual alliances, and some out shy;right deals. He had long been of the opinion that information was as valuable a currency as gold, and already he had gained enough to repay himself for the tedium of attending the dreary affair.

"… sell the elf gem right out from under him, I will," boasted the merchant.

Elaith's attention snapped back to bis captor. "The elf gem," he prompted.

"Big thing," the man said, beaming at this sign of interest. "A ruby, full of magic." He leaned in and elbowed the elf's ribs sharply. "Getting fuller by the day, too, eh? Eh?"

Elaith grimly added the presumptuous lout to the list of those whose funerals he would dearly love to attend. A list, he added, that was growing nearly as fast as Danilo's skyflower bush. It was so much tidier to kill people as you went along and have done with it. Isabeau Thione might be beyond Elaith's blade, but this man was shielded only by a bit of unlearned information.

"I am remiss," Elaith said in cordial tones. "Your name has escaped me."

The merchant drew himself up, weaving only slightly. "Mizzen Doar of Silverymoon. Purveyor of fine gems and crystals."

"Of course. And the gentlemen who is the target of your clever plan?"

Elaith's questions had an unforeseen effect. As the merchant gathered himself in an effort to form an answer, his vague smile wavered, and his bleary eyes focused and then went bright with fear. "I know you," he said in a clearer tone than he had used thus far. "Damn me for a fool! You're That Elf."

The man spun and reeled off with indecent haste. This garnered Elaith a number of suspicious glances and set a good many tongues wagging.

The unfortunate result, he noted wryly, of a long and misspent life. For decades he had cloaked his misdeeds with his handsome elven features and abundant charm. Eventually, deeds had a way of growing into reputation.

All things considered, he was not very surprised when a servant discreetly handed him a folded note along with a goblet of wine. Probably a request from his redoubtable hostess that he remove himself. Or, just as likely, a summons from one of the apparently staid and proper members of the merchant nobility, who wished to make a deal beyond the gleam of this gilded circle.

A glance told the whole tale. On the paper was a maze of tiny lines-undoubtedly a map. Interesting. It was unlikely that any of the merchant nobility would risk contact with the rogue elf unless the matter held considerable urgency. Most likely, it was a summons from a member of the Thann family or one of their retainers, judging from the complexity of the map. He could always deal with Mizzen later.

With a faint smile, Elaith slipped the note into his pocket. He finished the wine and then drifted out into the gardens, and toward the meeting to which he had been summoned.

* * * * *

Alone in the alcove, Danilo slumped against the wall and considered his predicament. Isabeau had robbed more than a dozen guests. Lady Cassandra would be mortified and shamed if it became known that a thief had been working her party. Danilo, for all his dis shy;agreements with his mother, had no wish to see her suffer such humiliation.

Neither could he hold her entirely blameless. He had warned Lady Cassandra that such a thing might occur. Isabeau Thione had been trouble from the day he'd met her, and he had told Cassandra so. But no-his mother had been too taken with the Thione name, too deter shy;mined to have a member of the restored Royal House of Tethyr at her harvest festival.

Well, he had done his part. The choice had been Lady Cassandra's, and she would have to find a way to deal with the consequences.

A probable solution occurred to him, one so obvious and yet so chilling that it slammed into his mind like an icy fist. "If there's any trouble, Elaith will be blamed," he muttered. "Damnation! Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

Danilo dug a handful of Isabeau's booty from his bag and regarded the glittering baubles balefully. The mark shy;ings on the ring caught his eye. Engraved into the rosy stone was a leaping flame surrounded by seven tiny tears: the symbol of Mystra, goddess of magic.

He groaned aloud. Isabeau, either in ignorance or in supreme arrogance, had robbed a mage!

He lifted the ring for closer examination. Tiny hinges were cunningly concealed in the setting, indicating a hidden compartment. He found and released the clasp, then lifted the cover. On the inside lid was etched the tall, old-fashioned wizard's cap-the Eltorchul family crest. The cavity was filled with powder the color of old ivory.

Dan sniffed cautiously at the powder. Pulverized bone, most likely, no doubt a component for one of the Eltorchul's shapeshifting spells.

"Have a care," advised a stiff, patronizing voice. "You could find yourself turned into a jackass."

He glanced up into Oth Eltorchul's narrow, esthetic face. With great effort, he mustered up a good-natured smile. "Some might argue that such a transformation would be redundant. This ring is yours, I take it?"

The Eltorchul mage strode forward. He was too well-bred to snatch the ring from Danilo's hand, but he came as close as proprieties allowed. "I must have left it on the privacy washbasin. How did it come to your possession?"

"A lady picked it up and gave it to me so that I might find the owner," Danilo said, truthfully enough. "I must say, it is a fortunate coincidence that you happened by just now."

"No coincidence at all. I sought you out to ask of you a question."

It did not escape Danilo that this admission seemed to pain Oth. "Oh?"

"The blue rose. The elven swordswoman."

Danilo wasn't sure where this was going, but he doubted he would like the destination. His curt nod held scant encouragement.

The mage hesitated, clearly loath to find himself in the position of supplicant. "I have heard stories claiming that you can cast the elven magic known as spellsong. Such magic is beyond my grasp. If you have this knowl shy;edge, I desire you to teach it to me."

That was not the question Danilo had expected to hear and the last he intended to answer.

He had indeed learned and cast a uniquely elven spell on an enchanted elven harp, but he had never since been able to recapture the elusive spirit of elven spellsong. At the time, he had not realized that the magic of Arilyn's moonblade had bound his destiny to that of the elves in deep and mystical ways. When the connection was severed, his fragile link with elven magic had vanished. He had told this to no man, and did not intend to begin by confiding in this one.

"You know how rumors grow in the telling," he said lightly.

"So you cannot cast spellsong?"

Dan wasn't sure whether Oth looked disappointed or vindicated. "No, I cannot."

"Ah. Well, it is no real surprise. Elves are notoriously close-pursed when it comes to such matters."

The man's mixture of arrogance and ignorance floored Dan, though he knew that it should not. After all, Oth sustained his family fortune by creating and selling new magical spells. He had probably approached an elven sage, prepared to barter like a camel trader for magic that elves held dearer than family heirlooms or crown jewels. That image, and the inevitable reaction, brought a quick, wicked smile to Danilo's face. He quickly squelched it, not wishing to insult the mage.

However, Oth's attention had settled elsewhere. He was regarding Isabeau with speculation.

"Lovely woman," Danilo said, hoping that this was the only inspiration for Oth's interest. It was entirely possible that Oth could have tracked the path taken by his lost ring and that his stated interest in spellsong was a story to cover his true intent. There was no trace of anger on Oth's face, though, as he regarded the beau shy;tiful thief.

"Very lovely," the mage agreed. "If you will excuse me, I shall attempt to claim a last dance." He slanted a glance back at Danilo. "You might do well, young man, to do likewise. There are many ladies of good family at this affair."

His meaning was unmistakable and offensive. Danilo had parried one insult too many on Arilyn's behalf, and he reacted as any man of his rank did when his lady's name and honor was maligned. He stepped forward, one hand instinctively dropping to his sword belt in antici shy;pation of formal challenge.

This amused the mage. "I think not, young Lord Thann. You are unarmed. In more ways than one, I might add. If that fascinating horticultural display was typical of your magical talents, you would do well to leave the Art strictly alone, much less challenge an accomplished mage."

The irony of Oth's statement was nearly as powerful a challenge as the insult to Arilyn had been. Power thrummed through Danilo's mind, sang in his blood, and set his fingertips tingling. He could squash this supercilious toad of a man beneath one foot without leaving a smudge on his boots. The knowledge both tempted and repelled him.

Danilo inclined his head, the gesture of one gentle shy;man conceding to another. "I think we agree, Lord Eltorchul, that an uneven challenge does no honor to either man."

For a long moment the mage stared at him, as if trying to decide whether Danilo's words held self-deprecating agreement or subtle insult. Color rose high on his cheeks, making his narrow face nearly as red as his hair. He answered Danilo's bow with a curt one of his own, then spun on his heel and stalked off into the swirling throng.

* * * * *

Arilyn crept along the tunnels, following the faint and rapidly fading trail. All her senses hummed with awareness as she rounded a corner, even though her moonblade's magical danger-warnings were oddly silent. She might not have perceived the ambush at all but for the flick of an anticipatory tongue, like that of a giant hunting snake.

She froze, understanding that the tren's vision re shy;quired movement. When the creatures paid her no heed, she slowly melted back into the shadows for a better look.

Despite her sharp elven vision, several heartbeats passed before she could discern the creatures from the shadows in which they hid. Chameleonlike, they blended with the color and texture and even the heat patterns of the stone walls. There were five of them-tall, scaly, thick-bodied creatures that walked about on two legs. A stub of vestigial tail spoke of their lizard-man ancestry, as did the wide, cruelly curving mouths filled with sharp, reptilian teeth. All the creatures held long daggers, though the claws on their massive hands made such weapons seem redundant. One of them, the largest of the group and probably the leader, held a small, sickle-shaped knife.

Bile rose in Arilyn's throat as she understood the nature of the tool. The hooked blade was not designed to kill but to disembowel a living victim. The prey would still be alive when the creatures began to feed. Tren were highly effective assassins, voracious killers and feeders who left little trace of their crime. Dimly she saw a line of drool spilling from the corner of the tren chieftain's fanged maw as it anticipated the kill. All the creatures were poised for a sudden spring, yet they did not attack.

It was clear to Arilyn that the tren did not sense her presence. Well enough. She would bide her time and aid whoever fell unwitting into this trap.

A light hand rested on her shoulder, another grasped the wrist of her sword arm in the elven signal for peace. Arilyn whipped around, startled and chagrined that anyone could approach her unheard.

She found herself face to face with a tall, silver-haired moon elf-an elf she knew far better than she wished to.