"I am at leisure this whole day and yours to com shy;mand. We must have a drink. Munson, is there any zzar in the house?"
"Of course, my lord, but-"
"Fine. Splendid. Bring some to the game room. Dan, you haven't yet seen my new trophy." Regnet clapped an arm around his visitor's shoulders and began to lead the way.
The halfling's eyes bulged, lending him a distinct likeness to a panic-stricken trout. "My lord, I must have a word with you."
"Later," Regnet said firmly.
Dan fell into step beside his friend, listening with only half an ear as Regnet chatted about his latest adventure-something about icy tunnels, and caverns so sparkling with crystal and ice that a single torch seemed to transform the place into a house of mirrors.
Danilo was more interested in whatever caused the halfling so much consternation. The steward followed them a few steps, his small round face a study in inde shy;cision. This Danilo could understand. Despite his good humor, Regnet had a demon of a temper-this Dan could attest to, as he had been on the receiving end of it twice or thrice. Like many men of his class, Regnet paid scant attention to his servants as long as they fol shy;lowed his orders without question or hesitation. It was a combination that might well give pause to the most stouthearted halfling. After a bit Munson gave up the effort, sighed, and veered off into a side passage, no doubt in search of the requested liqueur.
They reached a set of double doors. Regnet threw them open with a flourish. "What do you think?" he demanded proudly.
Danilo peered into the room. Fine, deep chairs were scattered about, and tables of polished wood held gaming boards and neat stacks of cards. Small bowls of semi shy;precious gems or brightly polished crystals stood nearby as an aid in placing wagers. The most notable feature of the room was the collection of trophies. A splendid stag gazed down from over the mantle, its enormous rack casting shadows against the flickering glow of firelight on the floor beneath. A wild boar grinned wickedly from its place over the dartboard. Dangerous tusks the size and sharpness of daggers lent the beast an air of dignity that was not in the least diminished by the pair of darts that bristled from its snout. A narwhal was mounted against an enormous wooden plaque. The great fish had long been Regnet's pride, for the narwhal's size and the wicked, serrated length of sword on its snout made it the most difficult and dangerous of game fish. The narwhal had been stuffed with its tail arched beneath it, the body curved and ready for a lunging attack. It looked like a master swordsman forever frozen in guard position.
The new addition to the game room was even more spectacular. A giant, bearlike creature loomed out of the shadows in the far corner of the room. The thing was taller than a man, with a strangely pointed head and fur the color of sooty snow. Its rubbery lips were pulled back in an eternal snarl, baring large yellow fangs. Clawed paws, long-fingered as a man's but padded on the palm like those of a cave bear, were raised in menace.
"A yeti," Regnet said proudly. "I took it in the ice caves this spring."
The taking of trophies was a common practice but not one that appealed to Dan. "An impressive collec shy;tion," he said without much enthusiasm.
Regnet grinned and nudged his friend with an elbow. "Not as impressive as my other collection of trophies won, stuffed, and mounted, eh?"
Considering the nature of Dan's visit, the bawdy jest was as painful as a bare-fisted blow. It was also an unfortunately apt segue. "I regret to be the bearer of bad news," he began.
The nobleman's smile faltered. He sank down on a nearby chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands. Once Dan was similarly settled, Regnet nodded his encouragement.
"This regards a young woman known as Lilly. I know you have met her-she was at the Gemstone Ball, and you engaged her in conversation. Though you did not indicate to me at the time that you already knew the lady, it has been brought to my attention that you two were quite well acquainted."
Regnet's eyes widened in a moment of masculine panic. "Tymora take me! Not another bastard!"
This response was not what Danilo had anticipated. "You have others?"
The nobleman sniffed. "Surely you aren't claiming that you do not! Consider our misspent youth, and the long nights spent drinking and wenching. Only a spe shy;cial pet of Lady Luck, or a man as dry as a dwarf, could escape a mishap or two. But this is a most inopportune time. I had planned to announce my betrothal at winterfest."
Anger flared through Danilo, stealing his breath and almost blinding him with its intensity. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the stuffed yeti, which seemed to quiver in sympathetic indignation. He waited a moment until his vision cleared and he could trust himself to speak with control.
"Yet you toyed with this girl."
"As did others, no doubt," Regnet retorted. "For all we know, the brat could well be yours!"
Danilo surged to his feet and slapped both hands down on the table between them. He leaned in over the nobleman. "Lilly was not with child," he said in cold, measured tones, "and have a care how you speak of her. She was my sister."
Regnet jolted. "I did not know."
"Nor did I, until a few days ago. Nor will I know her." The reality of that brought an overwhelming tide of loss. He slumped back into his chair. "She's dead, Regnet."
"Gods above, Dan. I'm sorry."
The words were sincere enough, but they spoke of sympathy for a friend's loss. For himself, Regnet looked positively relieved.
Relieved. Not guilty. Danilo absorbed this, and de shy;cided that on the whole it was the best reaction he could have expected. Several moments of silence passed. For the sake of something to say, Danilo asked, "To what lady have you decided to pay court?"
"This may come as something of a surprise," Regnet cautioned, "but she is a fine woman, and she will see admirably to my business and social affairs."
Unlike a simple tavern wench, Danilo concluded grimly. He wondered if Lilly would have derived any sense of justice from the cool, practical description Regnet gave her rival.
"Business and social affairs, is it? Spoken like a true lover." Danilo's heart was not in the teasing, but at least he managed to keep the bitterness he felt on Lilly's behalf out of his tone.
Regnet grinned, not at all offended. "The lady has many charms, but those are the skills that come first to mind when her name is spoken. A redoubtable hostess."
"Is that so," Danilo said without much interest. "If Galinda Raventree were not so adamant in her refusal of suitors, I would think that you might be describing her."
"Indeed I am," Regnet said, not without pride.
At that moment, a feral shriek exploded from the far corner of the room. The yeti rocked back and forth, like a frozen creature trying to tear itself from a tomb of ice, and then it lunged forward.
Both men leaped to their feet. Danilo reached for his spell bag, and Regnet drew his dagger.
The yeti crashed to the floor, taking a table with it and sending ivory chess pieces flying like shards of ice. It rolled over onto one dead side and lay where it fell, leaving the real danger revealed behind it.
Myrna Cassalanter stood there, her hands fisted at her sides and her face as twisted and furious as a harpy's. She was dressed for seduction: Her henna-colored hair was arranged in an artful tangle to suggest-or invite-a lover's touch, and her gown was scarlet, clinging, and cut exceedingly low. Much of her snowy bosom was exposed and was, at the moment, quivering with indig shy;nation.
"You thrice-bedamned troll! Son of a poxed whore!" she shrieked. Her hands hooked into rending claws, and she came on like a rampant dragon.
Regnet tossed aside his dagger and leaped over the chair he had just quit, turning it so to put some barrier between himself and the flame-haired virago bearing down on him.
She leaped onto the chair in her frenzy to get at the man who had scorned her. Regnet dodged to one side, barely escaping her raking nails. The chair, no longer supported, crashed onto its back and sent Myrna tum shy;bling o
ver it and onto the floor.
She rolled toward the hearth but was on her feet with an agility that a traveling juggler might envy, brandishing an iron poker in a determined, two-handed grip.
Regnet backed away, tripping over the upended chair. "Munson!" he roared.
The halfling steward appeared in the doorway, wringing his hands. "I tried to warn you, sir," he began.
His next words were lost in Myrna's shriek as she took a mighty swing. Regnet leaned away from the blow, but the tip of the poker traced a sooty path across the front of his shirt. On the back swing, Myrna fetched him a glancing blow to the head. Encouraged by this suc shy;cess, she came on, shrieking like a banshee and flailing the poker with all the verve, if none of the skill, of an elven bladesinger.
Danilo settled back on his heels, folded his arms, and considered Regnet's dilemma. If Myrna had been a man-or for that matter, a woman trained in the fight shy;ing arts-Regnet could have settled the matter in a swift contest. Propriety forbade him to mishandle a gentlewoman. Even using force to subdue her was skirt shy;ing the line. To all appearances, subduing Myrna would not be an easy matter. She bolstered this suspicion by smacking Regnet in the gut with enough force to double him over.
Danilo supposed he ought to come to his friend's aid. He firmly intended to do so. At the moment, however, he found the spectacle vastly entertaining. Moreover there was no denying that it held a certain justice. Danilo doubted that Tyr Himself could come up with a more fitting retribution for a casual and thoughtless lover than the wrath of one he had scorned. Who was he, the merest of mortals, to intervene in so apparently divine a pattern?
Just then Myrna landed another solid whack, this one a two-handed upswing that would do justice to a master polo player. It caught Regnet under the chin, and his head snapped painfully back. He dropped and rolled beyond reach just as another vicious, chopping blow clanged onto the floor.
The halfling steward rushed in and grabbed at Myrna's arm. She flung out an elbow and caught him in the face. He staggered back, clutching an eye already swollen and darkening.
"Do something," Regnet implored his friend.
Danilo relented and quickly formed the gestures for a cantrip-a small spell that would heat metal. The tip of Myrna's iron weapon began to glow with red heat, which slithered up the handle toward her white-knuckled fists. She took no notice, following Regnet's retreat as he rapidly crab-walked away from her, flail shy;ing away until the poker was entirely aglow. With a sudden yelp of pain, she released the weapon. It fell to the carpet, which began to smolder.
For several moments, chaos reigned. Munson rushed to douse the fire with the first available fluid-which, unfortunately, was the flagon of zzar he had fetched for his master. The potent liqueur set the carpet aflame. The halfling snatched a stuffed trout from its pedestal and beat out the flames.
Finally all was relatively calm-all but for Myrna, who looked ready for another round. "How could you have anything to do with that trollop!" she demanded of Regnet.
"Have a care how you speak," Danilo told her.
She sent him a withering look. "Not the barmaid. That does not signify. But Galinda Raventree! How could you offer me such insult?"
Myrna gathered up her skirts and stormed out. She whirled at the door to deliver a final shaft. "You will regret this. Both of you." Out she went, with the halfling sneaking behind her, suddenly less concerned about the visitor's spent wrath than that which was likely to ensue.
Regnet, though, was of no mind to scold his steward. He sighed in mingled relief and consternation as he rose to his feet. "I am sorry for that, Dan. What will come of this, I cannot say. Myrna can be vindictive."
That did not concern Danilo, and he said so. After all, what part could the gossipmonger have played in Lilly's death? She was a silly, shallow woman, venal in casual conversation but lacking the will and focus to do any real harm. He did not regret the conversation, for if it had shed no light on Lilly's fate, at least it had set his mind at ease concerning Regnet's involvement.
However, as Danilo left the gates, it occurred to him to wonder how Myrna knew Lilly was a barmaid. He had been careful not to refer to his sister in such terms. It seemed apparent that she had known about Regnet's involvement with Lilly-at least, she had not reacted to it with surprise and anger.
Danilo decided to cut though Regnet's property. It was a pleasant walk, shaded by large elms and lined with a hedge of lavender-leggy and outgrown this time of year, but still fragrant. It was a good place to think, and he had much to ponder.
Foremost in his mind was puzzlement over why Myrna did not show anger about her would-be lover's involvement with Lilly. Was it because a simple tavern wench just, as she'd put it, "did not signify"? Most of Waterdeep's nobles readily overlooked the small foibles and dalliances that were common among their class.
Or perhaps Myrna had responded with rage when the tale of Lilly and Regnet was newly told. If so, what form had her anger taken? In light of her display, Danilo had potent reason to believe that she was capable of ordering a rival's death-especially the removal of a person she considered to be without much consequence.
He was wondering still when the first blow came out of nowhere and sent him staggering into the fragrant hedge.
Sixteen
Danilo hauled himself to his feet. Through eyes swimming with stars, he made out three dark shapes dropping from the elm tree: three, in addition to the man who had already hit him.
He reached for his singing sword, for its magic served to galvanize the wielder and those who fought beside him, while disheartening those who fought against. Against four men, he would need that edge.
He pulled the blade free. At once it broke into melody, but not the ringing, comic ballads that Dan had magi shy;cally "taught" it. The sword intoned a dismal little dirge in the nasal tones of the Turmish language.
The sword's magic had no power over the fighters. They fell into place around him. The man who faced him swept his sword in a taunting circle, then tossed it from left hand to right and back. It was a show meant to intimidate.
"And it succeeds," Danilo murmured under his breath.
He reached for his spell bag and called to hand the components for a slow-movement spell. To his dismay, the casting had no effect on the men circling him, but the falling leaves suddenly defied the brisk wind, drip shy;ping slowly through the sky like honey from a spoon.
The singing sword gave a ghastly croak and fell silent. Magic had, to all purposes, deserted him.
The man facing him sneered. "I seen rusty swords before. First time I ever heard one!" He lunged forward, his sword coming in high.
Danilo blocked. His sword groaned with the parry, a dismal sound that seemed to leech away his resolve. When the mercenary punched out, he could not move away in time. The heavy blow caught him below the ribs and knocked the wind from him, bending him nearly double.
From the corner of his eye, he saw another thug lunging in for his sword arm. He turned painfully, blocked, and riposted. All the while his sword whined, moaning and complaining.
A fiery streak flared across the surface of his mind like crimson lightning. His vision danced, and a heart shy;beat passed before he connected the flash of pain with the long rip in his left sleeve, the welling redness stain shy;ing the emerald silk.
The man behind him kicked hard, catching him in the small of his back. He could not turn to defend him shy;self. Nor would he, for another man was coming in, sword leveled for a lunging thrust.
Danilo blocked. He feinted low, then shifted his weight and lunged in high. His blade slid just wide of his opponent's parry, scoring a stinging cut on the man's cheek. Danilo felt a surge of satisfaction. The outcome of this seemed assured, but at least he would make some account of himself.
The next cut came from behind-a shallow, stinging jab to this shoulder. Dan whirled and thrust. His sword glanced off the man's belt buckle and sank in deep. He wrenched his blade free, shifted to his back foot, and pa
rried an attack from another foe. At the same time, he kicked back and caught the third man on the side of the knee. The thug's leg buckled, and he stumbled, nearly falling.
The man caught himself and came in, his face a mask of fury. He leaped, his sword aimed for Danilo's heart. The first man, though, the one who had jeered at Danilo's sword, slashed out and knocked his comrade's blade aside.
"Not that," he snarled. He glanced at Dan and added, "Not yet."
Danilo suspected the last words were meant to cover a misstep. This attack was most likely not intended to be an execution but a warning. Still, he couldn't be sure.
He lifted his sword in guard position and faced down the three remaining men. The leader began to advance, and then froze in midstep. His eyes shifted down to his hand, and his puzzled gaze shifted from the sword that would no longer obey him to the broad, shining dagger tip that protruded from his beard.
Suddenly the dagger jerked to one side, and a crim shy;son fountain exploded from the man's throat. He fell slowly, revealing the cold, amber gaze of the elf stand shy;ing behind him. The man's comrades threw down their swords and ran.
Without pausing for thought, Danilo took off after them. Elaith swore and kicked into a run. "You are in no condition for this," he pointed out as he trotted along beside.
"Have to stop them," Dan gritted from between clenched teeth. "Have to know who ordered this."
The sound of fleeing hoofbeats resounded down the back streets, but Danilo did not slow. The elf hissed in exasperation. "You are depriving some village of an idiot, you know."
The rumble of a carriage caught the elf's attention. He glanced up as the conveyance ambled by and noted that it bore the guild sign and was driven by a halfling. Good. That made things easier.
Elaith leaped onto the running board. He reached up and pulled the driver from the box, sending him sprawl shy;ing into the streets with a quick, careless toss. With the horses he showed a bit more care-he caught the near shy;est bridle and coaxed the team to a stop. He flung open the door and tumbled the shrieking passengers out, then shouldered Dan into the carriage. Slamming the door, he leaped onto the driver's box.
The Dream Spheres (single books) Page 30