The Dream Spheres

by Elaine Cunningham

  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 Danilo. "An impressive collection," 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 Danilo'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 Danilo 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 special 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, Danilo. 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 decided 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 indignation.

  "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 tumbling over 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 success, 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 fighting 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 skirting 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 truly 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, flailing away until the poker w
as 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 tzar 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, Danilo. 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.

  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 Danilo had magically "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, dripping 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 heartbeat passed before he connected the flash of pain with the long rip in his left sleeve, the welling redness staining the emerald silk.

  The man behind him kicked hard, catching him in the small of his back. He could not turn to defend himself. 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. Danilo 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

  parried 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 Danilo 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 mid-step. 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 crimson fountain exploded from the man's throat. He fell slowly, revealing the cold, amber gaze of the elf standing 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," Danilo 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 sprawling into the streets with a quick, careless toss. With the horses he showed a bit more care—he caught the nearest bridle and coaxed the team to a stop. He flung open the door and tumbled the shrieking passengers out, then shouldered Danilo into the carriage. Slamming the door, he leaped onto the driver's box.

  He shook the reins over the horses' backs. The frightened animals took off at a tearing run.

  Danilo crawled through the window onto the box. "Don't think that I am devoid of appreciation," he began,

  "but-"

  "Not another a word," the elf snarled as he
guided the team around a sharp turn. "You wanted to catch those men. This is the only way you'll do so without bleeding yourself dry."

  Danilo considered, then gave a curt nod. That was all he had time for, because another careening turn tipped the carriage onto two wheels. He seized the edge of the seat and braced his boots against the footrest to keep from sliding off onto the cobblestones.

  "Hang on," Elaith said, belatedly.

  They tore through the streets, tilting wildly first to one side then the other as they thundered along. The elf kept the hindmost rider in sight—no easy task, despite the fact that the man's precipitous flight emptied the streets.

  Elaith followed him down a narrow alley, one that curved and twisted like a snake. The carriage tilted but did not fall. Sparks flew as the wheel rubbed against the narrow walls and showered down on them from where the upper edge grazed the opposite wall.

  They burst out into the chaos of a crowded courtyard. A trio of barrels rolled toward them. One shattered

  beneath the horses' hooves. The scent of mead honeyed the air. Chickens fled, squawking in stupid indignation. A few merchants stood their ground, shouting imprecations and pelting the carriage with spilled and ruined produce.

  Instinctively Elaith reached for a retaliatory knife. Danilo caught his arm as he was getting ready to throw. "Listen," he said grimly.

  The distinctive rise and fall of the Watch horn sounded over the noise of the street. Elaith swore and jerked the reins to the left, sending the horses careening down a side street. Four men in black and green scale armor formed ranks at the end of the street. "The Watch," Danilo said. "The penalty for attacking them is high!"