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 anticipatory 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 deliberation. 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.
The next morning dawned fair and bright. To the west of Waterdeep, past the north gates, lay a fair expanse of gently rolling meadow and a pleasant wood beyond. It was a favorite playground of the city's privileged class, a fine place for riding and hunting. In the distance, the baying of hounds and the excited halloos of pursing riders spoke of a fox run to ground. The blue skies were dotted with the small, wheeling forms of hunting hawks. A dull, faint thumping spoke of beaters flailing the trees to startle game into the path of waiting hunters.
Despite the evidence of nearby sportsmen, no human parties marred the immediate landscape. There was a scent of autumn in the air: the tang of drying oak leaves, the elusive perfume of late-blooming flowers, the sweetness of apples and cider wafting from the carts that trundled toward the city markets on the hard-packed dirt road. Elaith Craulnober tried to concentrate on these pleasant things and forget his distaste for the woman who rode at his side.
This should have been an easy task on so fine a day. He had his best, silver horse beneath him and a peregrine
falcon riding—unhooded and untethered—on a perch on his saddle's pommel.
The small "lady's hawk" that Myrna Cassalanter carried was confined according to human custom and rode on the leather bracer on her wrist. The elf refrained from comment. If he could endure this dreadful woman's company, if he could smile pleasantly as she gleefully slew the reputations of her peers, then surely he could overlook her treatment of her hunting birds. What was such a thing, anyway, to an elf whose inner darkness both surpassed and controlled that of the Mhaorkiira?
Finally the woman lifted the little hawk's hood and tossed the bird into the air. The tiny raptor winged off gratefully in search of game and an hour's freedom.
"You are wise to pursue this matter," Myrna said, turning back to the matter that had brought them to this discussion. "Rumors abound concerning the poor treatment suffered by the Gundwynd family's elven employees. It is whispered that Lord Gundwynd knew of the attack on the air caravan and used the elves as cannon fodder."
She smiled unpleasantly. "Surely you can make good use of this situation. There will be a number of elves leaving Gundwynd's service and seeking other employ. You should be able to engage their services for far less than the going rate."
Elaith did not comment on this advice. "Important information," he allowed. It was, too. He wouldn't have started the rumor, if it were not.
"The Ilzimmer clan is also under scrutiny," Myrna said with relish. "You might find a way to make use of that, as well. There is a particularly juicy tale making the rounds about Simon Ilzimmer, a minor mage who likes to visit courtesans in shapeshifted form. Only a handful of the city's hired escorts will have anything more to do with him."
"That is hardly the sort of thing likely to bring
profit," Elaith said dryly, "and spreading such stories could make you rather unpopular."
"To the contrary! The appetite for such tales is immense."
The elf had to admit, privately, that Myrna's assessment of human nature was distressingly on the mark. "Perhaps I can repay my day's debt with a similar story," Elaith offered. When Myrna nodded eagerly, he added, "Rumor has it that Lord Gundwynd is furious with his youngest daughter, Belinda, who has been dallying with one of the family's elven grooms."
The woman clapped her hands with delight. "Oh, that is priceless! Belinda Gundwynd, of all people! To look at the prissy little wench, you'd think that a necklace of ice wouldn't melt on her bosom. A stable hand is scandal enough, but an elf! You don't know how the peerage loathes that notion."
"Oh, I have some idea," he commented, thinking of five tren assassins and the noble family who had hired them to kill him. That debt would soon be paid, the attempt on his life avenged. His business in Skullport and in Waterdeep would continue unchallenged, for those who had reason to stop him would be extremely busy elsewhere. Once the dust of battle settled, it was likely that those people would be in no position to challenge him, at least, not for a very; very long time.
An extreme measure, perhaps, but in his mind it was payment long in coming.
* * * * *
The costume ball lasted until dawn. Galinda Raven-tree's guests toasted the new day, then wandered off intending to sleep it away. Danilo and Arilyn took their leave as well. After shedding their costumes for less fanciful garb, they went to The Curious Past to check on Bronwyn.
The young merchant was less than happy with the results of her trip. "I got one of the crystal spheres you were looking for," she said. "The others were gone before I reached Mizzen's shop. But I did find a most interesting gem."
She told them about the ruby--and her suspicion that it might hold some sort of magic.
Arilyn, who had been listening to the tale with scant attention, sat bolt upright. "This stone: Was it about the size of a dried bean, perfectly round, with small facets whirling up to a flat surface?"
Bronwyn nodded. "Yes. You know it?"
The half-elf rose and began to pace. "There is hardly an elf who does not! You have heard of kiira gems?"
"I believe they are some sort of memory stones," Bronwyn said slowly. "Artifacts from ancient times, they are family gems passed down through the generations. Legend claims they contain the combined wisdom of their forebears."
"Not legend," Arilyn said tersely. "Fact. Long ago, one of the kiira's owners turned to evil, and his family gem was somehow twisted to reflect its bearer. The ruby became a thief of memories—other people's memories. The Mhaorkiira, as it is commonly known, was lost centuries ago. More than one adventuring party has spent years searching for it. Trouble follows it. Most who hold it are twisted by its power."
"And this was taken by bandits," Danilo said, his voice rounded with outrage. "Most likely the bounders will sell it as a common gem, not understanding what they have!"
"That has already happened," Bronwyn told him. "I've traced the ruby to a fence here in Waterdeep. After a little persuasion, he described the woman who sold it to him."
Bronwyn gave a concise description: a young woman, pretty and curvaceous and strawberry blonde, neat but
not well dressed. Well spoken, but bearing a strong accent of the docks. "Does that sound at all familiar?"
Arilyn and Danilo exchanged a troubled glance. "It sounds disturbingly like a young woman of recent acquaintance," he admitted. "I will look into the matter at once. About the gem, though—I'm assuming that it was no longer in the fence's possession, else you would have procured it. What did the fence tell you of the buyer?"
"Nothing could induce him to part with that information, but I'm guessing Elaith Craulnober had a hand in the purchase. He mentioned the stone during the trip, and he does have a gift for intimidating people," Bronwyn concluded.
A long, troubled silence followed her words. After a few moments, she asked, "Is there anything more I can do?"
Arilyn shook her head and rose. "Stay clear of this. It's a marvel that Elaith let you live. Don't push him, especially not now."
She left the shop with a quick, purposeful stride, setting a course for Blackstaff Tower.
"Where are we going?" Danilo said in the wary tones of
one who already knew the answer and was not at all pleased with it.
"You mentioned that Khelben has elven blood. He knows more of magical items than anyone else I know, so he should know a thing or two about the kiira stones. We're going to talk to him."
"On purpose?" muttered Danilo.
However, he offered no further complaint and quickly cast the small spell that took them through the solid black stone of the curtain wall and another that led them into the tower of the archmage.
Khelben was at home, busy with a trio of apprentices. He left the students in Laerel's care and showed his visitors into his private study, where he listened to their story with grave attention.
"My concern is this," concluded Arilyn. "Is it possible
that the Mhaorkiira and the Dreamspheres might be linked?"
"Entirely possible," the archmage agreed. He was silent for a long moment. "For that reason, you must leave this business strictly alone."
"That is hard to do. If Elaith does have the kiira, he should be warned of the dangers involved," Danilo protested.
"He knows," Khelben said flatly. "The Mhaorkiira is legendary. Its involvement makes the cost of simply using a Dreamsphere incredibly high.
"There is more," the archmage added. "You must understand that this particular kiira has the power to twist the user to evil. I daresay your friend has already taken the first few turns along this path of his own accord."
"I agree," Arilyn said. "Mhaorkiira is incredibly dangerous in Elaith's hands. It could distort and destroy what little elven honor remains to him." She turned to Danilo, her face grave. "The pledge of Elf-friend is a pale thing compared to the power of this artifact. Whatever Elaith's game is, he would not thank you for meddling. I'll give you the same advice I gave Bronwyn: Stay clear of him. He must be dealt with, but not by those who are tempted to trust him."
Danilo hesitated, then yielded before the weight of evidence. "I will do as you say," he said with deep regret.
* * * * *
Danilo went from Blackstaff Tower to the small tavern where he often met with the Harpers once under his command. Hector was there at the appointed time, wearing a look of satisfaction on his narrow, much-freckled face.
All went well, I take it," Danilo said as he slid into the wooden booth across from his comrade.
The small man nodded. "I've yet to see my sister, but that is of little concern. Cynthia said she'd wait out the night and the morning if needs be to convince any watching eyes that the woman was still in her room."
"Was our charge delivered safely to the orchard house?"
"Been and gone," Hector confirmed. "She didn't much take to the country, though. Set up a pretty steady flow of complaints, I hear. Our man set her up with horse and harness, and she rode off on her own." He shrugged. "They were glad to be rid of her, truth to tell. I saw no reason to argue with this arrangement. Figured she was safe enough, once she was well out of the city."
This did not sound at all like the warm and merry lass Danilo had met. A feeling of deep unease assailed him. "This woman. Describe her."
Hector let out a short, humorless laugh. "Promise first that you won't repeat the language I'm about to use to my wife, my mother, or my priest."
Danilo's concern deepened. "If her character is that distressing, focus on her person."
"An easy thing to do," the man allowed, "and the same rules of discretion apply. Gods help me, the shape of her! The only thing I ever saw that stood so high and proud with less to bolster it was that Moonbridge over in Silverymoon. She has a handsome face, though it takes a while for a man to drag his eyes up to that height. Eyes the color of winter stout in a clear mug. Hair like a dark cloud."
Danilo stood up so abruptly that the wooden bench toppled over. "Damn it, Hector, you took the wrong woman!"
A look of utter horror crossed the young Harper's face, a distress so profound that Danilo longed to explain the situation, to assure Hector this mistake was not his fault. That would have to wait.
He raced from the tavern and rode to the Dock Ward like one pursued by demons. He leaped from his horse
and left the steed untethered in front of The Pickled Fisherman, then ran through the tavern and up the back stairs.
A half-ogre tavern guard shouted at him to stop and followed him up the stairs. The guard's progress was halted by the tip of Arilyn's sword. Holding the glowing weapon at arm's length, she stood at the head of the stairs and blocked the half-ogre's passage. Her face was set and grim, her lips in a pale, straight line.
"The moonblade drew me here," she said to Danilo, "but the warning came too late. Prepare yourself."
Her words were not entirely unexpected. What he had not expected was a sense of grief that was staggering, nearly overwhelming. Danilo left Arilyn to deal with the half-ogre guard and slipped into the silent room. He stood for a long moment regarding the scene before him.
Cynthia lay sprawled out on the floor, her thin form clad in a barmaid's worn and patched clothes. Her throat had been slashed to the bone. Blood pooled on the floor beneath and flowed to converge with another river, from another source.
Lilly lay on her side. Her eyes were open, calmly staring ahead into the future that was no longer hers to claim.
He dropped to one knee and gently closed the young woman's eyes. Regret tore through him as he considered the waste of this blithe spirit, the joy he could have added to her life, and she to his.
His eyes were bright and blurred as he took a gold ring from his small finger, upon which was engraved the horse and raven of the Thann crest. This he placed on Lilly's hand, and then he raised the small, cold fingers to his lips.
How long Danilo stayed by his sister's side, he could not say. Time slipped into a meaningless haze. He was vaguely aware of Arilyn's low, musical voice as she explained matters to the half-ogre, who apparently had appointed himself Lilly's personal protector.
"I knew it," the tavern guard said, his voice suspiciously gruff. "Fine girl—too good to have sprung from this swamp. Too bad you took your time coming for her."
Danilo rose and faced the half-ogre's accusing glare. "I will not gainsay you, sir. Permit me to do for her what little service remains. If you have servants to spare, can you put them at my disposal? I intend to take her home," he said firmly, "but not like this."
The half-ogre nodded and then hollered for someone named Peg. A thin, dark-eyed girl crept into the room and began to tend to Lilly with a sister's care. Other servants set off on errands, declining Danilo's offer of coin as they gathered their last gifts for their lost friend.
Arilyn took his arm and guided him down to the tavern. Danilo waved away the bottle that the half-ogre, who was apparently the owner of this establishment as
well as the guard, sent to his table. It was effort enough to push away the dark haze of grief and regret when his wits were clear and whole.
Their host had no such reservations. The massive tavernkeeper slumped at a table littered with empty mugs, morosely staring into the dregs of his latest cup and looking like a man whose last light had gone dim.
Finally Peg came downstairs and bade them come. Lilly was lying at peace, clad in the simple white gown that one of the serving girls had given her.
"A scarf is needed," the girl said in a dull, dazed voice as she regarded the wounds on Lilly's throat, "or flowers, maybe." She nodded wordless thanks when Danilo placed several silver coins in her hand, and she walked on leaden feet from the room.
"Tren," Arilyn said softly, nodding toward the four slash marks. "The width and spacing of the claws tell that tale."
The unspoken question hung heavy in the air. Neither of them cared to give words to it or to contemplate what had kept the reptilian assassins from completing the task in their usual fashion.
"A nobly born mage, an elven rogue, a half-elven woman, and now Lilly," Danilo murmured. "Where is the pattern to it?"
Arilyn held up a small, glowing sphere. "I found this in Lilly's room.
If it was Lilly who had the kiira, the money she got for it is long gone."
He quickly took the Dreamsphere from her and slipped it into his boot. "Better this not become common knowledge. I will find whoever did this, but the fox is more cautious when he knows the hound has found the trail. Was there anything else in the room that might help?"
The half-elf hesitated. "A bit of parchment. A note of some sort, I suppose, but it was too sodden to unfold, much less read. Lilly must have reached for it in her last moment and drowned it in her own blood."
"What secret did she protect?" Danilo murmured as he studied his sister's still face. "Who absorbed her last thoughts?"
The half-ogre came to the door. "All is ready," he said gruffly. He shook aside offers of help and carried Lilly himself to the waiting carriage.
The closed, flatbed carriage moved with somber pace to the Thann estate. Danilo and Arilyn saw that it was placed in the carriage house, then started for the villa. Word of this arrival had already reached the lord and lady. Cassandra met them at the door, her face white with fury.
"How dare you bring this tawdry matter to my door?" she demanded.
Danilo ignored her—probably the first time this slight had been offered the lady-and looked over her shoulder to address his father. "My lord, Lilly was in danger. You must have known that, yet you represented this to me as a minor nuisance. Now the girl is dead. Your daughter, my sister. I am sorry for any pain this may cost you, my lady," he said to Cassandra, "but this matter should have come to light long ago."
Before she could respond, the family steward blew into the room like a storm-tossed scarecrow. Arilyn had never seen the servant in such dishabille. His shirt was untucked, the sash and emblem that proclaimed his position was askew, and the strands of his sparse sandy hair stood up like bits of straw. A slight puffiness of his upper lip lent his mustache an asymmetry that, on any other man, might have been mistaken for a wry and roguish grin.
The Dream Spheres Page 24