The Dream Spheres (19 page)

It was an odd belief, one that Danilo had never identified before. Strange, he mused, how a long-held notion could continue to color his thinking, long after he knew it to be false.

The North Ward’s serenity was deceitful to one who knew the city and its long, often violent history. Danilo had been well schooled in such matters, and so the repeated tren attacks struck him as having greater portent than they might otherwise have held.

Not many generations had passed since Waterdeep had been torn by the Guild Wars. The merchant families had hired mercenary armies and fought each other in the streets. Many other nobles fell to assassins, poisons, and magic. Entire clans had been destroyed. Though this era was past, Danilo knew enough of history to

understand that the pattern was not a line but a spiral. Old wounds festered, sometimes for generations. The last time tren assassins had been used in any number was during the Guild Wars. It was entirely possible that their return signified some sort of holdover from the days of the Guild Wars, the ambition of one family against another.

That was a most disturbing possibility, but if that were true, it provided a possible connection between all the tren attacks. Only one attack had been fatal—that which had killed Oth—but all the others seemed related to the Eltorchul mage. A tren attacked Elaith, who had dealings with Oth. Arilyn had assisted Elaith, thus drawing the ire of the tren clan, and she and Danilo were investigating Oth’s death. Twice they had interfered. That was probably enough to add their names to the tren runes scratched in the hidden places beneath the city.

In all, it was a disturbingly plausible explanation. Danilo intended to test it against a mind other than his. Although he knew many of Waterdeep’s sages and scholars, he could not name anyone who knew more of the city’s history than Lady Cassandra.

The conversation ahead would no doubt prove… interesting. In times not long past, she had been very interested in inflicting this knowledge on her youngest son. Danilo supposed he had seemed the most likely to follow his mother’s scholarly leanings. Somehow, he doubted that at this late date his mother would regard his sudden interest without skepticism.

He found her, predictably enough, in the library. For a moment he lingered in the doorway and observed the remarkable woman who had given him life.

Cassandra was seated on a low bench, clad in a day gown of blue linen and looking as elegant and poised as some legendary queen. Her thick blonde hair was coiled smoothly about her head, and her face was unlined and

serene. The long night of revelry had left no mark upon either the woman or the villa she ruled. While half of Waterdhavian society slept, she calmly dictated instructions to a pair of stewards, a dock master, and a scribe.

She glanced up at Danilo’s knock. “You are up and about early,” she observed.

He sauntered into the room. “I have not had opportunity to sleep. So far this has been a most eventful day. Shall I tell you about it?”

Cassandra stiffened almost imperceptibly and glanced toward the suddenly interested scribe. Danilo suppressed a smile. Scribes were restricted by law—and often by magic-from revealing to others the secrets they entrusted to parchment, but more than one scribe made extra coins on the side by selling bits of chance-heard gossip to such purveyors as Myrna Cassalanter. That was something Cassandra Thann would not countenance.

She turned back to her servants. “Julian, you may advance our vintners in Arlin the requested credit. Add an additional forty barrels of spiced winterfest wine to this year’s order. Gunthur, I would like to see all Thann shipping records for the moons of Flamerule and Eleasias by highsun tomorrow, if that is convenient.”

The sudden panicked expression on the dock master’s face indicated that this was far from convenient. Danilo could almost hear the click of beads sliding across on the man’s mental abacus as he tallied the hours such a task would take.

Without waiting for a reply, Lady Cassandra rose gracefully to her feet. “We are finished for the day. Attend me tomorrow morning at the usual hour.”

She held her look of implacable serenity until the men had left the study and closed the heavy wooden door behind them. The face she turned upon her son, however, expressed a familiar blend of resignation and exasperation.

“You’d might as well tell the tale. Without the usual embellishments, if you please,” she said wryly. “I am in no mind to be amused.”

Danilo poured himself a glass of deep red wine from the decanter on his mother’s table. He inhaled the rich, complex scent of the spices and took an appreciative sip. “Are you quite sure that an extra forty barrels will be sufficient? This is exceptionally good. After the first tasting, word will spread quickly. You will sell all within a tenday to the better taverns and have none to meet orders from wine shops, much less from those who wish to stock their private cellars. As you undoubtedly know, the bards’ college will sponsor a winterfest gala for the first time this year. I can guarantee an order of twenty barrels from that source alone.”

A flicker of interest warmed Cassandra’s ice-blue eyes. “Very well. See to it.” She arranged herself on her settee. “But this is not why you are here. I doubt you neglected your bed to improve the family fortune.”

Danilo lifted the goblet in salute. “As wise as you are beautiful, my lady. That is well for me, as I find myself in need of your good counsel.”

“Is that so?” murmured his mother, eyeing him warily.

“Yes. I’ve noticed a disturbing trend of late—or tren, to be more precise. It seems that more people are being killed and eaten than is usual custom. You have ever been one to dictate fashion, Mother, so I suppose it is fitting for this pattern to begin here.”

Cassandra’s face paled but for two spots of bright, angry color. “Tren? The lizard assassins, here? What is this nonsense? If this is another of your games, I assure you it is not amusing!”

“Mark me, I am not amused,” Danilo said as he took the seat across from his mother. “Arilyn happened upon an attack last night. By the way, you might have your steward see to mopping the corridors between the wine

vault and the old mercenary armory. I dare say it’s still a bit of a mess.”

The woman stared at him as if he were speaking Orcish. “An attack here, during the Gemstone Ball? Upon whom?”

Her surprise seemed total and genuine. Although Danilo had never truly believed his mother had had any part in this attack, he could not deny the sudden easing of his mind.

“Elaith Craulnober. A guest,” he said firmly, cutting off the exasperated comment she was so obviously prepared to make, “here by my invitation and protected by the rules of hospitality”

“Do not lecture me on proprieties and social obligations,” the noblewoman returned heatedly “You had no business inviting that rogue to a respectable affair in the first place! Nor did your … companion … do well to intervene!”

Danilo’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose she should have walked on and left a lone elf to face his death at the hands of five tren assassins?”

“Five tren,” Cassandra repeated tonelessly. This news seemed to dissolve some of the starch from her spine, and suddenly her posture was less that of a warrior queen than of a woman who could claim a score of grandchildren. The moment quickly passed. “What transpired?”

“They fought. Four were killed, one escaped.”

“By the runes of Oghma.” Having delivered that oath, Cassandra rose and began to pace, her face deeply clouded with anger and concern. “Perhaps now you will understand my reservations concerning this liaison you insist upon forming with this woman! If you do not understand it, you soon shall—unless you are as great a fool as you have always pretended to be.”

This pronouncement startled Danilo for a number of reasons. He addressed the easiest issue first. “You saw

through the pretense. I did not think anyone in the family did.”

The woman sniffed. “Do you think I know so little of what happens under my own roof? I understand more than you think. As it turned out, your decision to play the fool in the service of the Harpers dovetailed well with the family interests. Wine merchants must know the trade. That you have learned, probably quite by accident, while meddling with Khelben’s projects.”

“One tavern at a time,” Danilo agreed, making a jest to cover his surprise. “There is no substitute for firsthand knowledge.”

“Indeed,” she said dryly. “And now you are acclaimed as a bard, after all those years of tormenting your tutors and music masters! In all, I would say the choices you made for your life were not so very different from those I would have chosen for you. Until recently, of course.”

Her implication was unmistakable and supremely irritating. Danilo set clown his wineglass with exaggerated care to compensate for his urge to heave it against a wall. “Which brings us to several other questions,” he said evenly. “Why are you so opposed to Arilyn?”

“I suppose I have nothing against her personally. As a traveling companion, you could hardly have chosen better. However, it is time that you considered finding a consort. A half-elven mercenary is not suitable for a man of your position.”

“Then I shall change my position,” Danilo returned. “Anything I do for this city or this family can be done by another. Why should I not follow my own inclinations?”

Cassandra threw up her hands. “Why stop now?”

He let that pass. “I am also puzzled as to why you think Arilyn erred in giving aid to one of the Thann’s guests. Would you have felt differently about this matter, had the target of the tren attack been some nobleman’s daughter?”

The noblewoman gave the question more consideration than Danilo expected—more, he thought, than it warranted. “That is quite different, of course, but even so, she should not have interfered.”

Danilo shook his head in astonishment. “You are surely not in favor of giving assassins free reign of the estate!”

The look Cassandra sent him was somber. “You should have listened,” she said softly, “to the lessons I tried to teach you in your boyhood.”

“Guild Wars, assassinations, chaos,” Danilo said impatiently. “Yes, I remember it well.”

His mother shook her head. “We are never quite done with the past. Who should know that better than a bard?”

Danilo studied her for a long moment. “There is an untold tale here.”

“Better it be so,” she said. An expression of chagrin crossed her face, as if she regretted yielding even that much. Her chin lifted, and her eyes cooled to their usual expression of serene control. “Leave it, my son. There is no tavern song here.”

“Perhaps there is,” he countered. “A man died today. Oth Eltorchul was the victim of another tren attack. Arilyn and I carried word of this to Lord Eltorchul. We were followed and attacked by tren shortly after we left the Eltorchuls’ Sea Ward manor.”

The color drained from Cassandra’s face. “Have nothing more to do with this.”

He briefly considered telling her about the attack at Arilyn’s lodging. “Finally you give me advice I desire to heed!” he said with dark humor. “I fear, though, it will prove difficult to follow.”

“I have none better to offer.”

Her tone rang with finality. A long moment of silence passed between them, and Danilo rose to leave. Cassandra followed him to the door, her expression more somber than any she had shown even in the aftermath

of his worst boyhood pranks. She caught his arm as he was about to open the door.

“One thing more. Do not ask any more questions about this matter, not of me or any other. Content yourself that you are better off without this knowledge.”

He patted her hand and gently disengaged himself from her grip. “Strange words, coming from a lady who prides herself on her scholarship.”

“I prize my skin far more highly,” she said bluntly. “Though you often give me cause to wonder why, I would like to see yours remain firmly attached.”

Danilo gave her a puzzled look.

“Those boots you are wearing. I suppose the leather is some sort of lizard?”

“Yes, that’s right. Why?”

“The tren have their own notions of fashion, as appalling to us as ours probably are to them. They do not always dispose entirely of their victims. It is possible that one or more of your ancestors ended up as a tren garment or gear hag.”

“Ah. I am touched by your concern, but I have no intention of ending my days as some tren’s leather loincloth,” Danilo said dryly. “It seems to me that some lady recently remarked on the choices I have made and how closely they arrived at the destinations of her own hopes and goals. That same lady gave the opinion that her youngest son is no fool. Trust me to find my way to the end of this path.”

“I do,” said Cassandra, and her face was clouded by emotions Danilo could not begin to read. “I fear that nearly as much as I do the tren.”

In the craggy mountains that surrounded Silverymoon, the trees were ancient and sociable—huddled together like aging warriors around a hearth fire, exchanging tales of feats long past. So thick was the forest, and so relentless the passage of wild water over rocks and through gorges, that the cloud-going caravan circled the area several times seeking a place broad and tame enough to settle upon.

Elaith saw the hilltop clearing well before the caravan master began the circling descent. He tightened his grip on the rim of the sky chariot as the driver—a gold elf in the employ of Lord Gundwynd—guided the pegasus team down in ever-tightening spirals.

Given the nature of their journey, Elaith had expected the caravan to make a general, immediate, and grateful dismount. However, everyone stood or sat as he was, gazing down in silence at the famous Moonbridge, which led into Silverymoon.

A shimmering expanse, more like a child’s soap bubble than the usual, solid comfort of stone and wood, rose in a soaring arc over the River Rauvin. The last tints of sunset seemed to linger in the insubstantial structure. Beneath the bridge—and through it—one could see the churning waters of the Rauvin as they tumbled over rock and shoal in a headlong race to the south.

“I’m not for crossing that thing,” announced Ebenezer, with what seemed to Elaith to be typical dwarven cowardice.