Arilyn fought away the instinct to take a step back. The last time she had retreated from anything was a chance confrontation with a wounded panther, and that was a tactical move rather than one motivated by fear. Nonetheless, she recognized this was a truly dangerous woman.
Even as the thought formed, Isabeau sprang, catlike, from the bed. She lunged not at Arilyn, but at the statue with the feline head. This she shoved with all her strength, sending it toppling toward the pursuing half-elf.
Instinctively Arilyn ducked, but the statue never quite fell. One stone hand flashed up to catch its balance against the wall. The painted eyes took on depth, then a luminous glow.
It was clear that Isabeau had not been expecting this. She scrambled back up onto the bed, her back against the headboard and her eyes enormous.
The cat man leaped at Arilyn, fangs the color of alabaster bared in a deadly smile. She dove straight toward it, rolling under the spring and rolling again to put distance between herself and the magical guard.
She rose to her feet and drew her sword, although she was not sure how much good it would do her. The cat, for all its light-footed speed, was fashioned of stone.
A paw lashed out. Arilyn parried, and sparks lit the room as steel struck stone. The cat's other hand closed around the steel blade, and it wrenched the sword from Arilyn's hand. It threw the sword across the room and batted at the half-elf with its other paw.
Arilyn could not dodge the blow in time, but she rolled with it to minimize its force. She came up aching and bruised, but not badly hurt. The stone cat had kept
its claws velveted. The statue was playing with her. Once it unsheathed those alabaster claws, Arilyn was done.
On impulse, she dove at Isabeau and tore the signet ring off her hand. Brandishing it at the cat, she commanded the creature to stop.
A heart-stopping moment passed as the magical guard studied her with its inscrutable feline gaze. It was an enormous gamble, Arilyn acknowledged, and if it didn't work, she would be dead.
The cat turned and returned to its post. It assumed a regal pose, and the light faded from its eyes. Arilyn's shoulders sagged in relief.
"Don't think this is over," Isabeau said, her dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
The half-elf heard the voices and hurrying footsteps of servants in the hail. They began pounding on the door.
Apparently this was yet another trigger for attack. The winged gargoyles began to stir. Arilyn dove for her sword, and came up in a battle-ready crouch. Unlike her first adversary, true gargoyles only looked like stone. These were living creatures, and what lived could also die.
She spun away from a diving attack and delivered a backhanded slash. Her sword sliced through the batlike wing: The creature plummeted into the bed, sundering the ticking and sending feathers flying into the air.
Isabeau edged toward the window, obviously intending to take Arilyn's escape route. "Not this time," the half-elf muttered. She lunged at Isabeau and caught her by the nightdress. She sent her spinning back into the room and took a stand in front of the window to block the woman's escape.
By now the manor's servants were at full alert. They had improvised some sort of ram and were pounding at the door with it. The wooden planks bulged inward with each resounding thump.
Arilyn paused at the window and sent a warning look at Isabeau. "We're not through."
"Oh, but I think we are." The woman gestured toward the door. The bar was beginning to splinter.
The half-elf swung herself over the balcony rail and slid down the rope. Though it galled her to do so, she had little choice but to retreat. Isabeau was in no position to bring a formal accusation against Arilyn, but if the Eltorchul servants found her on the estate, Isabeau would not have to speak out. The penalties for unwanted intrusion in a lord's home could be stiff.
She ran through the garden and to the rope she had left hidden behind the elm. Quickly she climbed the wall, and then made her way back to the orchard. Her mare awaited her, and she cantered toward her mistress.
Arilyn caught the saddle's pommel and swung herself up. She leaned low over the horse's neck and urged her on to Waterdeep. Isabeau would have to be dealt with, but the half-elf herself was in no position to do so.
An old question, one that she had not asked herself in years, floated to the surface of her mind: Who would take the word of a known assassin?
* * * *
The door splintered and flew inward, sending a half dozen servants stumbling into the room. Isabeau gathered up the neckline of her gown in one hand and drew back, as if this intrusion were not so much a rescue as an affront to her modesty.
One of the maids snatched up a coverlet and draped it around Isabeau's shoulders. "What happened, my lady? Are you hurt?"
Isabeau sent her audience a tremulous smile. "No, thanks to your quick response. A man came in through the balcony. I think he just meant to rob me, but the statues came awake, and they fought. It was terrible, terrible!"
The maid clicked her tongue soothingly. "Rest, lady. As you've seen, the master's magic will keep you safe."
"I cannot stay here after this!" Isabeau exclaimed in astonishment. "Saddle my horse at once."
"But dawn is hours away," one of the men protested. He wavered before Isabeau's steady gaze and conceded, "We could send a guard with you."
"I would be most grateful. Perhaps you could see to the arrangements, while I dress?" she hinted.
The servants retreated, leaving Isabeau alone and furious. She threw open the doors of the wardrobe and began to toss rich garments onto the bed as she considered what her next step should be. Without Oth as a protector, she was in a delicate position. That wretched half-elf had surprised a reaction from her that might tie her to the theft of the air caravan.
Much good had that done her! The treasure was lost. The goods had been moved to Skullport, but they had been stolen before Diloontier could claim them for her. Or so he said. Isabeau would not be at all surprised to learn that the perfume merchant had double-crossed her.
So now what? She had no treasure, very little money, and a pair of diligent hounds on her trail. Isabeau had witnessed how relentless Arilyn and her handsome companion could be in pursuit of one of their little crusades. She muttered curses as she dragged a small traveling chest out from under the bed and began to hurl her new, stolen wardrobe into it.
"You are quick to take what is not yours," observed a cold, male voice behind her.
Isabeau gasped and whirled, one hand at her throat. A tall, slender figure stood in the shadows, smiling with icy amusement.
Her heart leaped painfully, then picked up the rhythm at a shallow, frantic pace. A strange giddiness overtook her, and the floor tilted as if it were an enchanted carpet
on the verge of taking flight. She seized the bed curtain for support.
"You!" she gasped on a short, sharp breath. "It was you who pursued me!"
"Clearly, this is more of a surprise to you that it should be," the intruder said.
"What are you going to do with me?" she said in a tremulous voice.
His laugh was equally resonant of music and scorn. "Please. The role of delicate maiden does not suit you. I am not going to kill you."
"Then what?"
"This is a warning, nothing more. Do not pursue the Dreamspheres. I will brook no more interference."
Isabeau seized what seemed a likely distraction. "You will suffer interference regardless of what I do. Two meddlers are already on the trail. You know them well. Arilyn the half-elf, and Lord Thann."
This news was received in silence. He lifted one hand, displaying a small glowing sphere. "If they cross me, they will die—but not before I learn what death they fear most."
She laughed scornfully, a bit of bravado that went a long way toward restoring her spirits. "So much for the vaunted concept of honor among peers."
With the speed of a striking snake, his open hand shot toward her. Isabeau turned with the blow so that it barel
y grazed her cheek. The intruder reined in his anger with visible effort.
"Do not press me," he said in a low voice quivering with rage. "Heed well my words. I do not wish to see you again, but I might yet have use for you. The tides in the southlands have turned, and you will be welcomed in your homeland. Find your way there as soon as possible."
There was a puff of acrid smoke, then a soft hissing sound as air rushed to fill the void left by the shadowy figure's disappearance. The sudden wind swirled Isabeau's
hair and nightdress around her and then was gone.
Isabeau brushed aside one of her dark locks and realized that her knees were trembling like aspens. She sank down on the bed and considered this new development.
Tethyr, the land of her ancestors. The suggestion had merit, and it fit well with her new and loftier ambitions. However, it was one thing to decide upon a trip to the distant south; it was quite another to manage it. She had no patron, little money, and slim prospects of getting more before the winter snows set in. The only solution she could devise was to return to Waterdeep and recover the lost treasure. When she had accomplished that, she could return to her homeland in style.
Yes, that was what she would do. Isabeau rose, her mind made up, and continued stuffing the garments owned by some Eltorchul woman into the traveling chest. She would have the Dreamspheres, and she knew just how to get them.
Let the half-elf and her courtier chase down the magical toys. She would follow them, as the desert jackal slinks after a pride of hunting lions. Jackals ate well, as a rule.
It did not concern her that many had died because of these spheres—some of them at her hand. She would not meet that fate. Arilyn and Danilo were powerful buffers. When they fell, Isabeau would know to retreat.
She began to hum as she finished her packing. The servants who carried her things to the stables and handed her up onto her horse commented with admiration on her courage and resilience.
"I will be fine," she assured them. "I will do very well indeed."
* * * * *
Danilo knew he was dreaming, but he took little comfort from that knowledge. Images, disjointed and surreal,
chased each other through his shallow, restless slumber.
A small white kitten playing in a courtyard. The sudden descent of night, and the approach of an owl. He tried to intervene but found he could neither speak nor move. A child chasing a ball into the street, unaware of the carriage bearing down upon her. Again and again— grim variations on the theme.
A cool hand smoothed over his forehead. Still caught up in the tumble of dream images, Danilo responded to this new threat. He seized the thin wrist and tugged. It was a great relief to be able to act at last. On instinct, he twisted and pinned the intruder beneath him.
A familiar voice said his name. He emerged fully from the nightmare and looked down into Arilyn's face. She regarded him calmly, which made him feel all the more nonplussed at being caught so much out of countenance.
"Are my wards and locks so poor that you could easily overcome them?" he asked.
"Probably," she said mildly, "but Monroe let me in."
"Ah." Danilo moved aside and let her rise. "Well, that's reassuring. I suppose." He rose and placed his hands to the small of his back as he tried to ease out the stiffness of his restless sleep. "Where have you been?"
"I went after Isabeau."
He froze in mid stretch. "She's dead, I suppose." "No."
"You're unusually tolerant. In this case, I'm not sure I approve."
"She will get her due," the half-elf said with certainty. "Soon, I'm guessing."
He eyed her sharply. "Meaning?"
"Isabeau claims she took Lilly's place to save her own life. She says she was pursued by Elaith Craulnober. Danilo, before you deny the possibility, remember that Elaith probably has the Mhaorkiira. Remember that Lilly might have sold it."
Danilo turned to the window. Dawn was near, but dark clouds blinded the setting moon. "Elaith went after Isabeau once, and it is conceivable that he might do so again, but I do not want to believe that Elaith killed Lilly."
"It is a possibility."
"I know," Danilo admitted with a sigh. He rubbed both hands briskly over his face, as if to clear his vision. "Damnation. I've grown rather fond of the rogue, and I truly believed he would honor his pledge. Of late, though, I have discovered reason to doubt my judgment of those around me. I do not know what to make of Lilly's death, but I feel as if I am standing on shifting sands with my family."
"And with me," Arilyn added softly.
"No. You only do what you must," he protested.
"The end is the same. Promises made and not kept. You need to know where things stand and whom you can trust." She fell silent. For a long time she looked troubled, as if she were fighting some invisible battle.
"You must speak with her," she said abruptly. "Lilly. Get a cleric, summon her spirit. Find out who killed her, and put your mind at ease. Whether it was Elaith or not, you will know, and you can move on."
He regarded her with astonishment. "Elves do not believe in this. You fought me over Oth's possible resurrection."
"I do not like it, but it's a matter of elven tradition, not principle. Right now, it's something you need."
He was deeply moved that she would set aside her elven scruples, putting his concerns paramount. Gently he touched her cheek. "Thank you."
She twisted away and stalked toward the door. "Let's get it over with."
Danilo swallowed a grin. "Let's. If we linger any longer, we are in danger of finding ourselves in a sentimental moment."
The half-elf sent him a suspicious look over her shoulder, as if she half expected him to be laughing at her. "Later," she said shortly, "and that's a promise I intend to keep."
"In that case," Danilo said, trying to wrest what lightness he could from the situation, "I think I can promise this will be a very short conversation."
They rode to the City of the Dead, the vast walled garden where slept many, many generations of Waterdeep's folk, from the poorest commoner to the most fabled heroes of distant times. High walls surrounded the City, and guards stood watch at the fanciful iron gates. This protection went two ways: it kept treasure hunters from despoiling the graves, and it kept the inhabitants contained. In Waterdeep, the dead did not always rest quietly.
For a moment Danilo regretted the course he was about to take. Peace and rest—surely Lilly deserved that much.
"She deserves justice," Arilyn said firmly.
He sent her a quizzical look. "Since when did you start reading my mind?"
"Just your face. Let's do what we've come for."
They rode in silence to the gate and tied their horses to the rail provided. The guards admitted them, and they walked through the park-like grounds, past enormous statues and small, serene marble buildings. Here and there stood a building that was little more than a shallow facade, for the door led not into an edifice but into a dimensional gate.
Danilo paused before a statue of a white horse with a raven poised for flight on its shoulder. Never had he found the Thann family symbol so appropriate. Both creatures were part of the journey—the horse as a traveling partner in life, and, if legend had any basis in truth, the raven to guide the spirit into the lands beyond.
"Lilly will be in here," Danilo said, nodding toward
the small, low building just beyond the family emblem.
Arilyn tried the door. "It's locked. Want me to pick it?"
"No need." Danilo placed his hand on the raven's marble head. Magic guarded the tomb, and none but family members could pass. The door rolled back silently, revealing an empty room.
He took a torch from the holder beside the door frame and lit it, then peered into the chamber. The doors that lined the room were marked with the names of those who slept beyond. No new engraving marked Lilly's rightful place among her kin.
"This is not what we agreed," he muttered. "She was to rest here in the main chamber
until her permanent place was prepared. Perhaps the Lady Cassandra had Lilly moved to the commoner's grounds, or even an unmarked plot. If so, she will answer for it!"
They sought out the groundskeeper, a rather stringy-looking dwarf who was relaxing on the grass beside a site marked by an eternal flame. The small fire cast a pleasant warmth into the crisp air, and the dwarf was taking full advantage of it. He lay on his back, with his hands behind his head and his boots propped up on a headstone.
When Arilyn cleared her throat, the dwarf scrambled to his feet and dusted off one hand on the seat of his breeches. This he thrust toward Danilo.
"Sorry for yer loss."
Frequent repetition had drained the words of any empathy they might once have conveyed. Danilo grasped the offered hand briefly.
"Loss is the word, in more ways than one. I can't find my sister's body. It was supposed to be in the family tomb."
"Humph. What family might that be?"
Danilo told him. The dwarf scratched at his beard and ruminated. "Seems to me yer too late, boy. That family's quick to get rid of servants and such like, ain't they?
The ceremony was finished yesterday."
Danilo and Arilyn exchanged a puzzled look. "That was not to have occurred until tomorrow. Where was she interred?"
"Not buried. Burned." The dwarf spat into the eternal fire and admired the resultant sizzle as if it illustrated his remark.
"Who was responsible for this mistake?" Arilyn demanded, clearly outraged.
"No mistake. We had our orders."
"Really," Danilo said coldly. "Who has the authority in this place to issue such orders?"
"She ain't from this place, and I'll be lighting a candle to almighty Clangeddin over that!" the dwarf said fervently. He placed a stubby finger on his nose and lifted it to a haughty angle in imitation of his recent nemesis.
Danilo began to get an extremely bad feeling about this. "You're not speaking of the Lady Cassandra Thann, are you?"
"You know her, I take it."
Without intending to do so, he shook his head. "No," he said in a wondering tone, and realized that he spoke truth. "No, I don't think I know her at all."
The Dream Spheres Page 26