The Dream Spheres (10 page)

A shame to lose a good informant. Zorn had contacts among the city’s mercenaries and carriage guild, and he was adept at coaxing or bullying information from hired guards, but Elaith had many such men in his employ.

His stewards and lieutenants would pay at least a dozen similar purses before highsun. And no man would know of the efforts of the others.

That was the way of things. Elaith saw his business concerns as a deep, underground river fed by the trickle of many converging streams. The loss of Zorn would not greatly affect the whole, and Elaith knew better than to suffer even a fledgling challenge. His hirelings were utterly loyal because they knew they would be well paid and fairly treated—and because they understood the cost of even the smallest treason.

Elaith lifted his mug in salute to the departing mercenary and then drank to his memory

The white whirl of magical travel faded away. Danilo found himself standing in a dark, cold room—not the comfort he expected from his lavish townhouse or from Monroe, his capable halfling steward.

Danilo was too heartsick to care overmuch about domestic incompetence. Monroe could burn the damn place down, for all he cared. He closed his eyes and heaved a profound sigh.

“What are you doing here, and at this hour?” demanded a low, furious, and slightly accented male voice.

Khelben Arunsun’s voice.

Danilo’s eyes popped open, then narrowed as he peered at the large, dark figure at the far side of the room. “Uncle? Is that you?”

“Considering that this is Laerel’s bedchamber and that I expect her back directly, I should hope that it is no other! Explain yourself, boy, and be quick about it.”

Danilo’s hands flashed through the gestures for the globe of light cantrip. In response to the minor casting, a glowing sphere bobbed into life between them. A

mixture of light and shadows revealed the strong, stern features of Waterdeep’s archmage.

Khelben Arunsun appeared to be a man in vigorous middle life, tall and broad and well-muscled. His hairline was in retreat, but what remained was thick and black and only lightly threaded with silver. His beard was full and neatly trimmed, with a distinctive silver stripe in the middle. Dark brows drew together in a scowl of consternation over nearly black eyes.

Even in his current state of mind, Danilo could see a certain humor in the situation. “I swear before Mystra, Uncle, you are the only man alive who could manage to look formidable when clad only in his nightshirt.”

The archmage’s scowl deepened. “Only a handful of mortals can pass the magical wards that guard this tower. If you wish to remain among them, speak quickly and speak sense!”

Danilo’s wan grin disappeared. Without doubt Khelben deserved some word of explanation, but if Danilo had devoted serious thought to the matter, he could not have contrived a place, a person, or a conversation he would rather avoid.

“A miscast spell, Uncle, nothing more. Accept my apologies, and I’ll be on my way.”

The archmage would not let the matter lie. “What has come over you? Are you ill? Bewitched? Utterly given over to stupidity? I heard tell of the jest you played at Cassandra’s party—as who did not?”

“Uncle—”

“And now this! Have you not incurred enough wrath to enliven one evening? I do not imagine Cassandra was amused by the skyflower trick, or Arilyn either, for that matter. If you must play these frivolous jests, you would be wise to inflict them on those less able to retaliate. Furthermore— “

“Uncle.” Danilo cut off the wizard’s tirade with a sharp tone and an upraised hand. “Believe me, I did not design

the skyflower spell as a prank. Nor did I intend to come here.”

The cloud of ire slowly lifted from the archmage’s face, to be replaced by dawning concern. “This is plain truth?”

“Unadorned.”

Khelben nodded slowly, his eyes intent upon the young mage. “This could be serious. There are some magicks, not many, Mystra be praised—that can have such effects. Have you bought another singing sword or some such nonsense?”

“No, nothing. Must we speak of this now?”

The archmage merely lifted one brow. Danilo sighed and began to gather words to explain what he suspected—and what he had done. “As you know, the magic of Arilyn’s moonblade has not always been stable,” he began.

“That is true enough, and I perceive the feel of elven magic about you.”

It was on the tip of Danilo’s tongue to confess that the moonblade’s magic had also been affected, until he remembered his mother’s words, and Oth’s, and Regnet’s, and the many other small remarks that had warned him away from following his heart. Anger surged through Danilo at the thought that Khelben would add his considerable weight to the argument.

“You need not concern yourself,” he said angrily. “I would not ask Arilyn to choose between me and the moonblade. That is the only thing in this world or any other that would make me foreswear her, half-elf though she may be. If that notion offends you, I would thank you to keep it to yourself.”

Khelben looked genuinely surprised. “Why would it? Arilyn is a good woman. Probably far better than you deserve.”

This was not the response Danilo had anticipated. “You approve?”

A wry smile touched the archmage’s lips, and he made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the bedchamber and came to rest on the portrait of a wondrous, silver-haired lady. “How could I not? You know that Laerel’s mother was half-elven.”

“No, I didn’t,” Danilo responded. In truth, little was known of Laerel, one of the famed Seven Sisters.

“Laerel’s mother was a fine woman, though like many half-elves, she did not have an easy life. Nor did my father, for that matter,” Khelben continued.

That bit of intelligence stole the starch from Danilo’s legs. He sank down on the edge of Laerel’s bed and regarded the archmage with astonishment.

“Your father was half-elven,” he said in wondering tones, regarding the mage from whom he had descended. “So there is elven blood in the Arunsun family! The Lady Cassandra carries it and passed it to me.”

“Yes, that sounds like the normal order of things,” Khelben said testily. “However, there is reason why Cassandra would not thank me for telling this tale or you for repeating it.”

Danilo smothered a grin. Though Khelben Arunsun was not, as was commonly believed, Cassandra Thann’s younger brother, he still seemed to hold the woman in genuine awe.

“Your secret is safe, and I thank you for speaking it,” Danilo said from the heart. A small thing, perhaps, but it seemed to him nothing less than a key to most of his life’s questions. Since boyhood, he had been drawn to all things elven and knew not why. He better understood why an elf woman had claimed his heart so completely— and why he cared enough about elven ways that he was prepared to give her up if he must.

“What will you do now?”

The archmage’s question surprised Danilo, as did the gentle tone in which it was broached. Usually Khelben gave opinions and orders or asked questions designed to

extract information. He was particularly strict with Danilo, in whom he took an oppressively paternal interest, but the archmage’s normally stern face was softened by genuine concern. All of this prompted Danilo to do something he had not done for many years: ask advice.

“What do you suggest?”

Khelben’s gaze shifted to the portrait of Laerel, then back to the young man. “Find Arilyn and set right this matter between you. If things are as you suspect, and the moonblade’s magic has gone unstable, then she will have need of your counsel and aid. But be wary in the use of magic. Perhaps you should devote yourself entirely to bardcraft until this matter is settled.”

“Strange words indeed,” Danilo murmured.

“Not at all. Magic is a great gift, but some things are more important.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, my lord,” said an amused, silvery voice behind them. Both men turned to regard Laerel, who stood listening without shame and who seemed not at all concerned by the fact that she was clad in little more than her own silvery hair. She nodded to Danilo, then turned a smile of such intimacy upon Khelben that the younger man wondered if she had truly seen him at all.

Danilo rose at once. “I must be going.”

Neither of the great wizards of Blackstaff Tower gave any indication that they had heard him. Despite Khelben’s warning, Danilo quickly summoned magic’s silver path and stepped into the weft and warp of it. This time the spell held true, and he emerged in his own study.

A low fire glowed in the hearth, and a tray of breakfast pastries had been arrayed under a glass dome and placed on the table beside his favorite chair. All was as he had come to expect from the capable Monroe.

Danilo sank into the chair and rubbed both hands briskly over his face. His unintentional interview with Khelben had not given him much hope. The archmage

had mentioned that he felt elven magic at work. Arilyn and Elaith had been the only elves in attendance. That left the moonblade as the most likely source.

It was true that Khelben had not advised Danilo to stay away from Arilyn, but he had evoked Laerel to support this reasoning. That was hardly reassuring. Not too many years back, Khelben had given up a considerable amount of his own power in a struggle to wrest Laerel from the Crown of Horns, an evil artifact that held her completely in its sway. Danilo agreed that Laerel was worth any cost in magic lost. So was Arilyn. He would gladly strip his hard-won skill down to the most basic cantrip and count the loss as nothing.

But what of her magic? Elf and moonblade were inseparable, joined in mystic bonds. How could he possibly justify disrupting that, and what would be the cost to Arilyn if he did?

He pondered these questions until the fire burned down to ash and the night sky faded to silver. When all the argument had been made and countered, not once but a dozen times, Danilo merely stared at the eastern window, praying that the coming of dawn might bring illumination.

The rising sun burned through the sea mist that shrouded the port city and curtained the upper windows of The Silken Sylph. Through it all, Isabeau feigned sleep—no easy task once Oth Eltorchul awakened and discovered his loss.

She held her false repose while he searched and muttered and cursed and fumed. She lay unmoving until he seized her shoulders and shook her. With a gasp, she sat upright in bed, hoping that her expression was sufficiently dazed and frantic for credulity.

“You are alive,” he said grimly, staring into her wide eyes. “Good. I was beginning to fear that the thief had smothered you in your sleep.”

“Thief?”

Isabeau’s hand flew to her throat, as if seeking her necklace. She lunged for the bedside table where she’d left her jewels, palmed them, and then came up on her knees with both empty hands fisted and flailing.

“How could this happen?” she shrieked as she pummeled the startled mage. “Did you not set wards? Have you no servants to stand guard? My rubies! Gone, all of them!” Her voice rose into a wail, then broke into impassioned weeping.

Oth tossed her aside and began to pace again. “This was no common thief,” he fretted. “It would take considerable magic to overcome the wards I placed upon the doors and windows. Perhaps there is a hidden door. I did not think to check.”

He hurled an accusing look at Isabeau, as if blaming her for the distraction she offered. Not willing to give up the offensive, she tossed back her head, wiped her eyes, and returned his glare with equal heat. “What do you intend to do about this?” she demanded.

The question set Oth back on his heels. Isabeau had expected that it would. If the nobles and wizards were as opposed to Dreamspheres as Oth claimed, they would not be pleased to learn that a score or so of the forbidden objects would soon be in circulation. Nor would they believe Oth was innocent. The theft of his precious Dreamspheres, so soon after his presentation was soundly rejected, would appear far too convenient a solution.

“Well?” she pressed. “Will you call the Watch and report this, or shall I?”

After a moment of intense, silent struggle, the mage snatched up her clothing and tossed it to her. “Forget the matter. It is of no consequence.”

Isabeau stopped in the act of pulling her chemise over her head, as if his words had stunned her into immobility. She tugged on the undergarment with a single quick, furious motion and rose from the bed. Stalking over to Oth, she stabbed him in the chest with an angry forefinger.

“My rubies were of considerable consequence! If you wish me to remain silent on this matter, I insist upon reparations.”

Oth’s narrow face turned pale with fury. “Extortion is hardly a wise course of action for a woman alone.”

There was a cold, dangerous note in his voice. Isabeau’s frightened expression was not completely feigned. She took two steps back, her hands turned palms up in supplication.

“I meant no such thing, my lord. I was distraught over the loss of my gems. You have my word that I will say nothing of this matter. I would not in any case, for fear of damaging your good name and mine. There were many who saw us leave the Thann estate in one carriage.”

She kept her gaze wide and ingenuous while Oth tried to ascertain whether her words held a second, subtler threat. Finally he threw up his hands in surrender. “Shed no more tears over your baubles. The Eltorchul family will see to their replacement. Before you carry tales, though, know that your new rubies will place a geas of silence upon the wearer!”

A little fact that Isabeau did not intend to pass along to the fence who would resell these gems. She sank into a low curtsy. “More than I dared ask, my lord.”

Oth hauled her to her feet. He stripped a ring from his finger and pressed it into her hand. “Take this. Show it to the seneschal of any of the Eltorchul estates and bid him handle the matter.”

Isabeau took the proffered ring. “Will you see me safely on my way, my lord?” she asked in tentative tones.

The mage scoffed. “The thief has come and gone.

What more can he take that you have not lost? Or eagerly given,” he added in nasty insinuation.

She gasped in genuine outrage. “You are no gentleman!”