The Dream Spheres (13 page)

It was a well-equipped study, octagonal in shape. Neat rows of vials and boxes and pots filled the shelves that lined four of the walls. Several small tables had been clustered about. These had been overturned in the struggle, their contents tossed onto the polished stone floor. A faint, acrid scent, like that left by a hundred bolts of lightning, lingered in the air—evidence that defensive magic had been cast. However, there was no sign of the tren, or of the wizard who had fought him.

Arilyn’s eyes were sharper. She strode forward and kicked away some of the debris. “Look at this,” she said in a grim voice, pointing.

He came forward and swallowed hard. A severed human hand lay on the ground, palm up, fingers curved as if in a final gesture of supplication.

“It’s a sign,” the half-elf explained in a flat, even voice. “Tren eat their victims, unless their employer wishes to leave a warning or message. Then they leave a single hand or foot.”

“There is a ring on the hand,” Danilo pointed out.

She prodded the grisly thing with her boot, turning it over. The hand was pale as bleached bone and slightly freckled. A few red hairs on the lower finger joints stood

out starkly against the pallor. The ring was gold, and on the rose-colored quartz was engraved a small, leaping flame surrounded by a circle of seven stars.

“Mystra’s symbol,” Arilyn commented. “That accounts for the wizard.”

The ring was familiar. Danilo crouched down for a better look. He gingerly found the clasp and opened the hidden compartment. As he’d expected, the outline of a wizard’s tall-peaked hat was engraved into the inner lip. The hidden compartment was empty.

He stood up. “I recall what you told me of last night’s overheard conversation. It would appear that Maskar Wands was more right than he knew when he named the Dreamspheres as dangerous toys.”

When Arilyn sent him an inquiring look, he pointed to the severed hand. “That is—or strictly speaking, was—Oth Eltorchul.”

A premonition raced through Arilyn like a winter chill, or the shadow of a passing ghost. “You think Oth Eltorchul was killed for the Dreamspheres?”

“In all truth, I wouldn’t lay odds one way or another,” Danilo responded. “Remember, I knew the man. He might just as well have incurred the wrath of a former student or a fellow mage, but it is possible, yes.”

“Everyone at that meeting I overheard last night was opposed to the sale of Dreamspheres. Perhaps one of them hired the tren. Find out who was there, and we’ve got a place to start looking.”

Danilo folded his arms and scowled. “Wait a minute. A place to start? You intend to go after the killer?” “Don’t you?”

“I fail to see how this fits any definition of service to the elven people.”

“Maybe not.” She shrugged. “Nonetheless, one way or another I might not have a choice.”

He gave her a keen look. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No.” She began to pace, picking her way through the

clutter. “I can’t make sense of this. At first I assumed that the tren attack at the Gemstone Ball was directed against Elaith. But I was there first, and then the same tren showed up at my lodging house. It is possible that second attack was the tren’s vendetta—I killed a couple of his clan, I wounded him—but it’s also possible that I, not Elaith, was his original target.” She blew out a long breath. “There’s another possibility. As you pointed out, the markings that led us here to this tower room seemed a little too convenient.”

Danilo looked puzzled, so Arilyn reluctantly continued. “It’s well known that some assassins occasionally work with tren. The tren provide muscle as well as a means of disposing of the body. You know my reputation. Some people might ask why I just happened to be the first one on hand after a tren attack. The Eltorchul clan is going to want to know the answer to that.”

His face clouded. “Surely you have left those rumors behind at last! I have not heard anyone speak of you as an assassin for years.”

“Nor would you,” she retorted. “Yet I don’t imagine that even now your peers are eager to accept me into their midst!”

“Only because you’re half-elven,” he said heatedly. A look of utter mortification crossed his face as he realized what he had said.

Arilyn quickly turned away, before any reaction of hers could add to Danilo’s regret. She understood the implications of their friendship in the young nobleman’s world, probably far better than he did. To forestall any further discussion, she began kicking at the debris with more force and fervor than the task required.

After the first moments, Arilyn became genuinely absorbed by the puzzle before her. She began to circle the octagonal room, studying the chaos in search of some small pattern.

The wizard’s tables had been overturned, and shards

of pottery lay scattered on the floor along with a variety of weird spell components that Arilyn could not begin to name. Oddly enough, none of the shelves had been disturbed by the struggle, as if the mage had deliberately avoided damaging any of the contents. That seemed to fly against logic, but Arilyn had heard of people who protected their possessions more fiercely than their own lives.

“What is the worth of all that?” she asked, pointing to the orderly shelves.

Danilo’s gaze swept across the rows of glass and silver bottles, carved wooden boxes, and carefully stacked scrolls. “Almost beyond estimation,” he admitted. “This is a most impressive study.”

“Worth dying for?”

“I wouldn’t say so. Oth might have. I see your point, though. This was an unusual struggle. Another thing puzzles me: there is far less blood than one might expect.”

“Not unusual for tren attacks,” Arilyn corrected. “They’re … tidy. They also feed with astonishing speed. On the other hand, it is possible that Oth died elsewhere and that his hand was left here for someone to find.”

“That someone being you.” Danilo frowned. “I am finding more to dislike about this situation by the moment, but we cannot dismiss the possibility that Elaith was the target of the first tren attack. Perhaps we should see what he knows.”

Arilyn had no desire to seek out the rogue elf, but she could see the sense in that. She nodded toward the one door that led out of the room and drew her sword. “The tren is long gone, but we might not be able to leave this place without meeting opposition.”

“One moment.” He took a carved wooden box from the shelf, emptied the dried herbs it contained onto the floor, and then, to her astonishment, pushed the disembodied hand into it. He carefully fastened the clasp and then tucked the box under one arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“It is better that I turn this matter over to the Watch than you,” he explained. “After all, I once studied with the Eltorchul family, and I could contrive a reason for entering Oth’s tower. No one need hear of your presence here.”

Arilyn started to protest, but she recognized the implacably stubborn expression in her friend’s eyes. She turned and walked toward the door. “Good thing you’re giving up that Lord’s helm,” she muttered. “I wouldn’t call this upholding the laws of the city.”

“You haven’t actually broken any, have you? Recently?” “I just got here,” she said with a bit of grim humor. “Well, then,” he said, his tone suggesting that the

matter had been settled.

She led the way down a winding stairs into the main hall. The building that supported the wizard’s tower was small, just a center hall with a few rooms to either side for servants and household functions. There was no sign of anyone in the building, and they slipped out into the courtyard without challenge.

Since they had come that far, Arilyn deemed it safe to begin the search for Oth’s killer. She nodded toward the carriage shed, from whence drifted a faint murmur of sound. Tucking away her sword, she went to inquire.

A thin man with lank, yellow hair was busy digging a stone from the hoof of a bay horse. Three matching steeds munched hay in tidy stalls, and a fine carriage stood nearby, its undercarriage still grimed with a layer of street dust.

The man looked up when Arilyn’s shadow fell upon him. His lip curled disdainfully, and he brandished the small knife as if he were shooing off an importunate stray dog.

“Be off with you,” he snarled, “and be quick about it. There is no work for you here. My master would sooner turn the likes of you into a lizard than hire you.”

Danilo stepped around her. Even in his current bedraggled state, he was unmistakably a man of wealth and position. The coachman leaped to his feet, chagrin on his thin face as he recognized the raven-and-unicorn heraldry on the young man’s pendant as the mark of a noble family. “My lord,” he stammered. “I did not—”

“You apparently speak for Lord Eltorchul,” Danilo said, cutting off the man’s apology “Perhaps then you can tell me where he is. No one answered our knock.”

“Nor will they, my lord,” the man said quickly, obviously eager to undo whatever ill will he had caused. “Lord Oth gave the servants a day’s holiday to enjoy the harvest festivals. I delivered him myself to the Thann estate last night.”

“And from thence?”

The coachman hesitated, clearly at conflict whether or not to speak of his master’s business. Danilo held up a large silver coin. “I have forgotten already what you are about to tell me. Try to convince me to overlook the insult you offered my lady.”

The man’s eyes shifted incredulously to Arilyn. She supposed she could understand why he’d come to the conclusion he had. Clad in worn leather breeches and boots, wearing no ornaments but an elven sword, she looked like any one of the hundreds of mercenaries who thronged the city and made their way the best they could.

The coachman caught the coin Danilo flipped him and nodded his agreement to the bargain. “I took Lord Oth to a tavern in the Sea Ward. The Silken Sylph. There was a woman with him.” A quick grin jerked across his thin features, and his hands traced a voluptuous outline in the air.

“I am acquainted with the general concept,” Danilo commented. “Can you offer something a bit more specific?”

“Red dress, black hair, big dark eyes,” the man reminisced. “Dark skin, but not as dark as a Calishite. Nose like a scimitar. Slender, but not scrawny, if you know what I mean.” As if there could be any doubt, he cupped the air several inches from his chest.

Arilyn hissed through clenched teeth. Isabeau Thione, beyond doubt. Was it possible the troublesome wench had progressed from thievery to murder?

Yes, she concluded, entirely possible. Arilyn did not know what complaint Isabeau had against Oth, but she had an excellent reason to hire an attack on Elaith Craulnober. Earlier that very summer, the elf had vied with Arilyn and Danilo over Isabeau’s fate. Had the matter been resolved differently, Elaith would have sold the woman to whatever faction in Tethyr offered the best price. It mattered not at all to the elf whether the bidders wished to use the Thione bastard as a political pawn or to remove her entirely from the picture. Given Elaith’s dark reputation, Isabeau had no reason to believe the elf would not yet do what he had once set out to accomplish. If she found a way to strike first, she would probably take it. Nor did Isabeau hold much affection for Arilyn. What better way to deflect attention than to place both attacks at the doorstep of a half-elven assassin?

Arilyn shifted impatiently from one foot to the other as she waited for Danilo to finish the transaction. After a few more questions, he flipped the man a second coin, and they walked together into the street.

“Isabeau hated Elaith. She was with Oth,” Arilyn pointed out. “As far as tren attacks go, that’s two out of three.”

“And you the third. Why?”

She thought back to Isabeau’s rescue and the vicious resistance that the tavern pickpocket had waged when Arilyn had caught up to her outside the gnomish stronghold. “Once Isabeau realized what was awaiting her in Waterdeep, she was in favor of rescue, but getting to

that point was like reasoning with a mule. Sometimes you have to hit it over the head with a stick to get its attention.”

“Ah. Knowing Isabeau, I’m guessing you had to use a fairly big stick.”

“You could say that. It’s possible that she’s holding a grudge. There’s more.” She hesitated a moment, not wanting to give words to what seemed incomprehensible behavior. “You didn’t seek her out on the trip to Waterdeep. I don’t think she’s accustomed to being ignored. Since she’s not one to blame herself for much of anything, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a grudge on that score. Creating trouble for me would balance the scales for your inattention.”

Danilo looked coldly furious. “I am beginning to regret the pledge I took from Elaith for Isabeau’s safety. Speaking of whom, we’d better see him at once— provided I can remember which of his properties he currently inhabits!”

He hailed a passing carriage. The crest of the Carriage Guild was painted on the door, marking it as available for hire—as did the presence of its baffling crew. The stout little driver tilted his plumed cap and pulled the horses to a halt. A second halfling scrambled down from the coachman’s seat and opened the door, smiling expectantly up at Arilyn.

Too tired to argue, she climbed in and settled back against the plush seat. With a jerk, the carriage took off toward the south to seek out whatever rock the elven snake happened to be sunning himself on this particular morning.

Elaith Craulnober was not in good humor. He was never so when going over his account books. The numbers therein would have sent many a merchant lord dancing

giddily into the streets, and in truth Elaith was not unhappy with the results of his recent ventures in Skullport. It was the ciphering itself that he loathed.

A pity he could not trust another to tend such matters for him. There were scribes, of course, and men who wrote up bills of sale and tallied the day’s transaction. There were other men who collected this information and passed it along to their superiors, who in turn passed it along. Groups of men, some small, some numbering in scores, tended Elaith’s vast concerns, but each group was like a single room with windows and doors to the outside word—and none at all to the corridors that led to those other rooms. Only Elaith knew the whole of his empire.