The Dream Spheres (36 page)

leave.

The man stopped abruptly and made a show of patting himself down. “You lads go ahead. Seems like I lost my best dice,” he improvised.

As soon as the men were out of earshot, Elaith stepped from the shadows. “Your nose is healing nicely,” he commented. “It’s a bit bigger and flatter than it used to be, but why quibble about a drop in a keg?”

Rhep scowled. “Hold your tongue, elf. I’d just as soon kill you quick, but keep it up and I’ll be getting ugly.”

“It’s rather too late to be concerned about that, don’t you think?”

The big man wrenched open the door to the warehouse and jerked his head toward the opening. “Inside. We settle this now.”

Elaith bowed and extended one hand, indicating that the man should precede him. The soldier flushed a dull red at this reminder of his earlier treachery. He drew his sword and made a point of backing into the warehouse rather than turning his back to the elf.

Elaith silently applauded him. As insults went, it was a rather good one. Any claim that he was on the same level as this thug was base slander.

“Only one leaves this place,” Rhep said.

“Agreed.” The elf drew his sword and began to circle.

Rhep turned to keep the elf in front of him, but he waited for the first strike. Elaith obliged, delivering a high, lightning flash of an attack.

Before the mercenary could parry, Elaith spun, stepping past the man. As he did so the sword whistled just short of Rhep’s ear. On the backstroke, he brought his sword low and slashed once across the seat of the man’s leather breeches.

Rhep howled and whirled at the elf, lunging as he went, but Elaith was no longer there. The elf moved with his opponent, keeping just beyond the edge of his side vision. His next attack came in high, cutting a thin, shallow line across the man’s cheek.

The elf danced back a step and gave Rhep a chance to face him down. The mercenary advanced with a furious onslaught of quick, hard blows. Elaith deftly parried each one with an economy of motion that was contemptuous in its ease. For a long time he was content to defend, one hand on his sword’s hilt, the other resting lightly on his hip, his feet never moving. His faint, mocking smile never faltered. He intended to enjoy this.

At last Rhep backed away. They circled each other, swords held in low guard position, while the human caught his wind. With one hand he reached around behind his back to explore his first wound. His hand came back bloodied. He wiped the stain on his tunic and sent the elf a defiant sneer.

“Always heard elves favored attacking a man from behind, if you catch my drift.”

Elaith let the crude comment pass. “Consider yourself lucky. I could have hamstrung you,” he pointed out.

This notion stole the sneer from Rhep’s face. His bravado vanished as he realized the truth of the elf’s words and saw the battle could have been finished that quickly and that easily. His eyes were dark with the image of himself lying helpless, unable to rise, impotent to do anything but await the killing stroke.

“No games,” Rhep said grimly. “Let’s have done with this.”

He came in with a rush, sword held high with both hands. He smashed down hard toward the elf, wagering everything on his superior size and strength.

Elaith whirled aside, not bothering to parry the mighty blow, but Rhep kept coming, battering away at the elf, pounding at him with all his force and fury.

It was actually a good strategy, Elaith acknowledged. It forced him into a two-handed grip and slowed him down. He was smaller and faster, and Rhep’s attack forced the battle into a contest of strength. To compensate, the elf came in close, dangerously close, so that he

had to catch the furious blows near the hilt of his weapon. He was close enough now to bring a second weapon to bear once the opportunity presented itself.

Rhep saw the strategy and began to retreat. The elf pressed him, following him, matching him step for step and meeting each blow. With growing desperation, the man struck out hard and then followed the sword attack with a bare-knuckled punch. The elf leaned to one side to dodge the blow, then sliced his sword downward, cutting into Rhep’s arm before he could withdraw it. The blade caught the inside crook of the man’s elbow and dug deep. The soldier immediately fisted his hand and brought it up tight against his shoulder, closing his arm over the wound to slow the flow of blood. Grimly he kept on, though with less force now that he could only fight with one hand.

Slowly, determinedly, the elf worked the clashing blades up high. Their swords crossed overhead. Rhep managed to hook the curved guard of his sword under Elaith’s blade. With a triumphant leer, he hauled upward with all his strength, trusting in his greater height to drag the weapon from the elf’s grasp.

Elaith simply let go.

The soldier staggered back, too late realizing his mistake. Elaith crossed his arms and pulled twin knives from the sheaths on his forearms. He advanced with the speed of a striking snake, and slashed both blades across the man’s unprotected throat.

Rhep’s sword clattered to the wooden floor. He sagged against the wall, his mouth working as he tried to form a final curse. Crimson bubbles formed at the corners of his lips. Will and spirit and life itself faded from his eyes, leaving nothing but hatred. The elf watched until even that dark light went out.

Elaith glanced at the fine daggers in his hand. They were Amcathra daggers, the best human-made weapons in the city. Without hesitation or regret, he hurled first

one weapon and then the other into the former Ilzimmer soldier.

“Let them make of that what they will,” the elf murmured. He turned and melted into the shadows, pondering with great satisfaction the course this action would spawn.

The unlikely trio—the human bard, the half-elven fighter, and the ghostly shadow—wandered through the city for the better part of the morning. Finally Danilo called a halt on a rooftop garden, a place far above watchful eyes and visible to none but the griffin riders who circled lazily against the clouds. He hoped the legendary vision of the eagle-headed beasts was not so keen that it could discern the shadowy elf woman who stood beside Arilyn, resting on an equally shadowy sword.

“I have to find whoever killed Lilly,” Danilo blurted out.

Arilyn gave him a long measuring look. She turned away, propping her elbows against the garden wall. “Have I tried to dissuade you?”

“No. No, of course not, but you must let me continue alone.”

The half-elf straightened up and affixed him with a challenging gaze. “Forget it.”

He shook his head and took the small, glowing sphere from its hiding place in his boot. “Don’t you see? Something is disrupting magic. It has to be these Dreamspheres.”

His eyes shifted to the far edge of the roof. Thassitalia was all but gone now. Only a faint outline remained, invisible when he looked at it directly. “I’ve been carrying this sphere with me since the day Lilly died. As a result, the magic of your sword has been seriously disrupted.”

“So are your spells. That’s what happened the night of the Thann party. Oth brought some of his Dreamspheres to pitch them to a group of wizards and merchant lords.”

“I took one from Isabeau,” he added. “Yes, I understand that now”

She took a step closer. “I am more than my sword,” she said firmly. “You are more than your magic.”

He regarded her with a faint smile. “You’ve always said that there was too much magic in Waterdeep. It seems we may have the opportunity to do without it.”

“Let’s get to it. We’ll assume that Lilly was mixed up with the bandits who ambushed the air caravan, and start there.”

They worked their way across the city’s rooftops toward the Gundwynd manor. As they approached, Danilo caught sight of several detachments of the Watch milling about, conspicuous in their green and black leather uniforms.

They climbed down to the street and walked up to the manor.

“No one in, no one out,” announced the grim-faced woman who stood at the side gate.

“What happened here?”

The Watchwoman gave Danilo a quelling look. “Move along, sir. The Gundwynd family is not receiving visitors at present.”

Danilo turned toward Arilyn, but she had disappeared. He nodded politely to the Watchwoman and

went on his way, circling the walled villa as he observed the placement of trees on that street. He stopped two blocks down, then sat under a stately oak.

Several moments passed before he heard a faint rustling in the branches. He glanced up as Arilyn climbed to the lowest branch and dropped lightly to the ground beside him.

“Well?” he inquired.

“One of the servants found Belinda Gundwynd, the youngest daughter, dead in the stables. She was with an elven groom, the only person of elven blood who remained in the family’s employ. Seems he had a personal reason for staying around. Rumors have been circulating about Belinda and her lover. The servants overheard the family fighting over it. They were forcing her to give him up. The family is claiming that her death was a lover’s pact.”

“You don’t believe this.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “The servants who found them said that the bodies were in the hay, not dangling from the rafters.”

“Still, is that reason to conclude that the Gundwynd family is wrong?”

“It’s reassuring to know that you haven’t strangled anyone lately,” Arilyn said dryly. “The task demands considerable strength and will. Hard to do; when you’re being distracted, and I’d say that being strangled yourself is a bit of a distraction. They could hardly manage to kill each other and die at the same time.”

“They would need a bard’s timing,” Danilo agreed. “So the Watch is not buying the Gundwynds’ story, I take it.”

“They are not hearing anything but the Gundwynds’ story. The servants who told me the tale were encouraged not to talk. Let’s move on—there’s a Watchman over there who’s starting to take note of us.”

As they walked, Danilo struggled to sort through

this. Like Arilyn, he doubted that Belinda Gundwynd and her lover had contrived their own deaths.

Then who? The Gundwynd family, motivated by the nobility’s bias against alliances with elves? If that were so, then Danilo had lived his entire life among creatures more vicious than tren.

“They eat their own,” he murmured. “It’s a matter of honor.”

Arilyn sent him a sharp, concerned look. “Do you really think that’s what happened?”

“The possibility is hard to ignore. If can suspect my own family of attempting to rid itself of elven alliances, why not the Gundwynds?”

“That doesn’t account for Oth,” Arilyn pointed out.

“No. No, it doesn’t, and this will only deepen the scandal regarding Gundwynd and the elven folk. This could mean the end of the Gundwynd fortunes.” Danilo stopped short as his mind replayed the angry confrontation between Lord Gundwynd and Lady Cassandra.

“It could mean the end of the Gundwynd fortune,” he repeated. “The death of Belinda and her elven love gives substance to every rumor spoken against the family. Who would have reason to do such a thing?”

“One name comes to mind,” Arilyn said. “Someone who saw elves die in the ambush and who might want Gundwynd to suffer for it.”

Danilo shook his head. “Not Elaith,” he insisted. “It simply does not make sense.”

“It might not need to,” she pointed out. “Remember, he may have the Mhaorkiira. In the past, those who fell under the dark gem’s power acted in twisted ways that made sense to no one but themselves.”

“It’s possible,” he allowed. “Certainly some people will believe it to be true, but Lord Gundwynd will not. He will look elsewhere for blame.”

“Oh?” she said cautiously.

“Thann, Ilzimmer, Gundwynd, Amcathra,” Danilo

said, ticking off names on his fingers. “Four families sponsored the illfated caravan. All suspect each other of betrayal and ambush. Perhaps the tren are not the only creatures who take vendetta against attacks on their clan.”

Arilyn nodded slowly, following his reasoning. “If so, none of these recent wounds are self-inflicted.”

“If so,” he added, “then the time of the Guild Wars could soon be upon us once again.”

Arilyn considered Danilo’s words for a long time as they left the Gundwynd villa behind. “If you are right, I suspect that this will be a very different type of war,” she said at last. “No armies, no open bloodshed in the streets. As Cassandra pointed out, the noble families are very mindful of those times and are not eager to see them return. Any clan that came out in open aggression would be swiftly quelled.”

Danilo considered this, then nodded his agreement. He had sat through enough meetings of Waterdeep’s secret Lords to see the truth in it. The Lords had been chosen from every corner of the city, every strata of society. As a result, very little happened in the city that did not reach the ears of the hidden rulers. Their decisions were enforced by the Watch as well as a small standing army of guardsmen and some of the most powerful wizards in the Northlands. The days when wholesale war could rage within the city walls were over.

“So what, then?”

The half-elf sent him a measuring look. “You play chess, I suppose.”

“When I cannot avoid doing so without bloodshed; yes,” he said in a dry tone. “Is that what you think this is? A chess game?”

“It is possible. Waterdeep is a large city, with thousands of games played out on every street. Who notices the loss of a single pawn on a single board? Even Oth Eltorchul’s death could be explained in that light. He had ties to the caravan. He arranged to have his Dreamspheres quietly shipped into the city.”

“A plan that Gundwynd carried out, against Lady Cassandra’s strong objections and despite an agreement the families had made,” Danilo concluded. He sighed and cast a sidelong glance at Arilyn. “In that case, what was Belinda’s death? A warning?”

“The Gundwynd clan will probably think so.”

“I cannot accept your argument,” he said quietly. ‘You imply that the merchant families maintain order with a brutal hand. Why would this be necessary? There are laws enough in Waterdeep, and many and powerful are those who ensure these laws are kept.”