The Dream Spheres (37 page)

Arilyn was silent for several moments. “You’ve just answered your own question.”

He lifted one brow in a supercilious arch. “I did? Perhaps I should start listening more closely to myself.”

“Let me put it this way: You’ve heard the old saying About honor among thieves. I wouldn’t go that far, but there is definitely a code. The same could be said of assassins. If someone starts getting too greedy or too careless, the others pull him back or do away with him. They can’t afford to have too much attention focused on their activities, you see.”

“I do indeed, but how does that signify? We are talking about some of the most respected noble houses in Waterdeep!”

“We are talking about merchants,” she said bluntly.

“None of them wanted to get behind Oth’s Dreamspheres, or be a part of the trouble they’d bring. The wizards would have opposed them even before they found out about the disruption of magic, and they would have ferreted out everything there was to know

about the trade. Who knows what might have been uncovered in the process?”

Danilo did not answer at once. He sidestepped a pair of street urchins who thundered past in a race as old as Waterdeep itself. The boys rolled a pair of old barrel hoops down the street, sticks in their hands and grins on their dirty faces. Their carefree innocence drew Danilo’s eye, and for a moment he watched them and wistfully recalled the comfort of long-held illusions.

“Your words are hard to accept,” he murmured.

“I could be wrong,” Arilyn said. She hesitated, then added, “It would explain why your mother was so concerned when Lilly was linked back to the Thann family after her death.”

It occurred to Danilo that perhaps Cassandra had fallen short of the full truth. “Lilly was linked to the Thann family before her death. That is why she died,” he said with sudden bitter conviction. “It was a strike against the family. The killer was removing a pawn.”

“Yes, but Lilly evidently saw the danger coming. Why else would she go to your father, when she had never made any claim on him before? Until that time, none of you knew her as family.”

“Someone else did. Someone she knew well, confided in.”

They considered this in silence. “I have been thinking about the manner of Lilly’s death,” Arilyn said after a while. “By all appearances, she was slain by a tren assassin, but the killer did not … follow the usual tren custom.”

His lips thinned to a grim line at the inference. “Yes? So?”

“What if the killer wasn’t a tren? What if he only appeared to be, and took this guise either to displace suspicion, or from twisted sport?”

Danilo looked sharply at her, understanding at once her reasoning. “Twisted sport,” he repeated slowly. By

any chance, was Simon Ilzirnmer at Oth’s presentation the night of the Gemstone Ball?”

“Possibly. His cousin Boraldan was there. I heard several voices I couldn’t name. One was very deep, with a bit of a rumble to it that almost hinted at dwarven speech.”

“That does sound like Simon. Would you recognize that voice if you heard it again?”

“I think so,” she said shortly.

Danilo smiled faintly. “Judging from your expression, you would rather take another stroll through the city’s sewers.”

She did not deny his words. Actually, they expressed her feelings rather well Among her contacts in the city were a number of women who worked in the taverns and bathhouses. After some of the stories she’d heard about the Ilzimmer lord, she could hardly imagine herself sipping wine and making polite conversation.

Danilo seemed less bothered by the prospect. They went directly to the small, brooding manor that was home to Simon Ilzimmer. The bells in the nearby Temple of Ilmater tolled solemnly as Danilo left his card with the servant. Arilyn idly counted the rolling peals, wondering as she did why anyone would devote his life to so dreary a creed as that of the God of Suffering. By the time the call to worship faded into silence, the servant returned with word that Lord Simon would receive them.

At first glance, Simon Ilzimmer did not fit his dark reputation. He was a tall, broad man who appeared to be no stranger to the disciplines of sword and horse. His manners were faultless, and he received his guests with every courtesy. He and Danilo sipped warmed zzar and chatted about mutual acquaintances and recent events with apparent candor and good humor.

Despite his genial manner, he was indeed one of the merchant nobility who had attended the meeting in the

Thann villa. Arilyn easily recognized the deep, resonant voice. Now that she faced Simon Ilzimmer, she found the man exceedingly difficult to read. Indeed, she doubted that he was entirely sane. There was an emptiness to his eyes, an utter lack of connection between his words and any discernible emotion. On the other hand, she sensed the seething energy of the man. His gaze seemed to skitter away without actually moving, and he had a sort of brooding intensity about him that reminded her of the portentous quiet before a sea squall. It was as if he were two men, one altogether too controlled, little more than a shell, the other a violent storm, likely to strike without warning.

His study supported this impression. Though the furniture was sparse and practical, the walls were lined with disturbing pictures—dark, twisted visions from a madman’s mind. Danilo walked over to consider a rendering of two red dragons entangled in fierce mating amid the burning ruins of a village.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “Was this painted from life?”

Arilyn sent him a warning look. Chances were that the Ilzimmer noble was not overburdened with a sense of humor. “We are trying to retrace the goods stolen from the air caravan,” she said frankly, for she was tired of the inconsequential talk and growing increasingly uncomfortable in Simon’s presence. “Anything you could tell us might be helpful.”

The storm behind the man’s dark eyes kindled and flashed. “You accuse me in my own home?”

“No one is making accusations,” Danilo said mildly. “We are merely trying to gather together the pieces of this puzzle. Since your family also suffered losses, is it not in our best interests to work together?”

Simon eyed him with deranged cunning. “Lady Cassandra is shrewd. Sending you here nosing about was a brilliant ploy. Everyone knows that you have little to do

with the family’s business, and all know you are her favorite son. A brilliant way for her to deny involvement.”

“Why should she need to do such a thing? Thann had no part in the theft,” Danilo said with as much conviction as he could muster. “For that matter, the Lady Cassandra does not know of my presence here.”

The mage snorted. He was about to say more, but his eyes widened with mingled surprise and horror. He leaped to his feet, pointing with a shaking finger. “Threaten me, will you? Here in my own place, no less! I won’t have it! All of you, leave at once! Get out, out!”

Simon’s voice rose on the last words into near hysteria. “We should do as he says,” Danilo said in a low voice. “He is a mage, and I’m in no position to challenge him.”

Arilyn needed no urging. She turned to leave the chamber and immediately fell back onto her heels.

She stood nearly face to face with the ghostly image of an elven wizard. He was a tall elf whose silver hair had been woven into scores of tiny braids. He held a shadowy moonblade, point down, and he was leaning on the hilt as a wizard might rest upon his staff. His translucent blue eyes were watchful, and he was gazing at Simon with a quiet intensity that gave substance to the mage’s fear.

They quickly left the estate, the shadowy Triage walking soundlessly behind them. As soon as they were beyond the gate, Arilyn commanded the elfshadow manifestation to return to the sword. To their relief, the ghostly image dissolved into silvery motes. These swirled out into a neat line and disappeared into the moonblade one by one, like a row of ducklings slipping into a pond.

“This is getting out of hand,” Arilyn muttered as they hurried back toward Danilo’s home.

At least the elfshadow is gone. You can still control

the sword,” he said in the tone of one who was searching for good news in unlikely places.

“Not really,” she said, then shot a quick glance over her shoulder. “I still feel as if we’re being followed. The moonblade’s magic is getting more and more unstable. How can I go about my business, knowing that one of my ancestors might come calling at any moment?”

“Look on the bright side,” Danilo suggested.

“That is?”

“Well, at least we’re not being followed by tren.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” she said grimly as she glanced at the cobblestones at her feet. “Remember, you’re a sixth son. I’m your half-elven companion. Can you think of a more expendable target for reprisal?”

For a moment he looked as if he would protest, then his face turned thoughtful. “Belinda was the youngest Gundwynd child.”

She turned to him, her face deadly serious. “That had occurred to me, too.”

“The woman is a positive marvel,” Elaith murmured as he read the note Myrna Cassalanter had sent by trusted messenger and fast horse.

Even the most unlikely of her rumors had borne fruit. Just that day, not more than a few hours before, Simon Ilzimmer had been arrested by the Watch for the murder of a courtesan-in one of Elaith’s establishments, no less. Simon was noble, and the men and women who would give testimony against him were common servants, but the end result would be the same. A minor Ilzimmer lord would hang from the city walls.

It bothered Elaith not at all that Simon Ilzimmer was innocent of this particular crime. His death would be true justice, even if the facts did not tally in every particular. Best of all, no one would trace the man’s death

back to Elaith’s door. His servants would give true and earnest testimony to what they had seen—or believed that they had seen. Magical examination would bear that out. Simon’s reputation would supply the extra nudge needed to push him over the Hangman’s Leap.

The pot was simmering nicely, Elaith concluded as he turned back to the note. Reprisals would be soon in coming, and the noblemen would be busily employed for some time to come.

His brow furrowed as he read on. With great relish, Myrna recounted the death of a tavern wench, a by-blow of Rhammas Thann. Rumor had it that the girl’s body had been claimed by Danilo Thann, who insisted that she be laid to rest in the family tomb.

Elaith reached for the bellpull. His elven steward came promptly to the call. “Send a message to Lord Thann,” the elf said. “Tell him I require an immediate audience at …” The elf thought quickly, then added. “The steps of the Pantheon Temple.”

The servant bowed and disappeared. Elaith hurried to the temple complex, hoping that the unspoken message would not be misunderstood. Danilo had reason to distrust him, especially if he had pieced together the story of the Mhaorkiira. Bronwyn had no doubt reported back about the magic-rich ruby she had found in Silverymoon and about Elaith’s interest in it. It was likely that Arilyn would recognize the kiira from its description and know those who held it could be twisted to evil. Reason indeed for concern-at least, to those whose knowledge of the kiira was limited to legend.

He found a quiet place in the courtyard just below the sweeping marble stair and fell into apparent contemplation of a statue of some goddess or other. This reflective pose did not at all mirror his state of mind, but it was common among the elves who came to the temple for a few moments’ respite from the frenetic pace of the human city.

Even the dull sensitivities of the humanfolk perceived some of the tranquil calm of this elven haven. Those who strolled by softened their step and quieted their chatter. Elaith watched as Danilo reined in his horse at a respectful distance, then swung down and paced quietly over to the waiting elf.

“A matter of some urgency, your messenger said,” Danilo prompted.

The human did not look well, Elaith noted. It was difficult to call him pale, in comparison to a moon elf’s complexion, but the signs of several sleepless nights were etched on his face, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes. That, and nothing more. There was no warmth, no humor, none of the growing friendship that had come to mean more to the elf than he cared to admit.

Suddenly the task was harder than Elaith had anticipated. The elf turned aside and clasped his hands behind his back. “I heard of the loss to your family. I am sorry.”

Danilo’s eyes clouded with grief, as well as a flicker of anger. “No loss to my family,” he said shortly, “but on Lilly’s behalf and my own, I thank you for your sympathy.”

“Sympathy is a cheap gift. In your position, I would prefer vengeance,” the elf said. “You have the look of a hound that’s picked up the fox’s scent.”

“A skunk, more like it. Yes, I will run this vermin to ground.”

The elf expected this response, but he did not like the grim set of the man’s face. He recognized that look of absolute, relentless stubbornness. Once, those traits had saved Elaith’s life. He feared that now they could mean the end of Danilo’s.

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance,” he said, schooling himself to feel no remorse over the sudden leap of hope and gratitude in the man’s eyes. Help he would

give, but to the fox and not the hound. Better to send Danilo off following another scent than to allow him to come too close to the heart of the matter. If the hound lived to hunt another day, he reasoned, the Mhaorkiira’s master would find a suitable use for him.

“You know that I do considerable business in the Dock Ward. I have some knowledge of the young woman,” he said. “She had a sporting nature, and from time to time she found her way into my gambling dens. Since I make a point of knowing my customers, I learned her name, if not her heritage. But she has more in common with you than appearance might indicate.”

“The point, please, and swiftly,” Danilo implored.

“It will not be easy to hear,” the elf cautioned. “More than once, I have seen her in the company of one of your peers. A friend of yours, I believe.”

The flash of stunned recognition, the sudden bleak flood of loss and then the cleansing surge of anger, told Elaith that a name was not necessary. Nevertheless, he gave it. “Regnet Amcathra has been known to make an occasional visit to The Pickled Fisherman. He has been seen in Lilly’s company, there and elsewhere.”