The Dream Spheres (16 page)

The tinkling song of the bellflowers drifted out to the street. Danilo’s hand paused on the latch of one gate. He had intended to lead the way into the garden, which he’d spent nearly four years designing and perfecting. The elven garden was remarkable, boasting flowers that chimed with the passing of sea breezes, blue roses

entwining elaborate arches. Reproductions of a pair of elven statues—the originals he had donated to the Pantheon Temple—stood in hauntingly beautiful repose beside the still waters of a small reflecting pond. It was an astonishing accomplishment and the pride of his elven gardener.

Suddenly, it seemed to Danilo to be nothing more than one of the pretentious excesses so common among his peers. If it accomplished anything at all, it would be to remind Arilyn of how broad a gap remained between him and the elven people she served.

He opened the stout oak door and tossed his hat to the waiting steward. The halfling sent his master a cautious, sidelong glance, and then walked off without offering their guest the usual refreshments.

To the left was Danilo’s study, a lavish room paneled with dark Chultan teak and softened by carpets and tapestries in rich shades of crimson and cream. Magic warded the room from prying eyes and ears, ensuring complete privacy.

Arilyn followed him in and took a chair near the hearth. She settled in and turned a steady gaze upon him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Typically direct, but hardly the most promising beginning. Danilo paced over to the mantle and picked up a small, elven sculpture, which he studied without interest as he collected his thoughts.

“Four years ago, before we parted in Zazesspur, I spoke my heart,” he began. “There was no time for you to say yes or no. We were forced into separate paths: I to the High Forest and a madwoman’s challenge to the Northland’s bards, you to the Forest of Tethyr. When these tasks were completed, I spoke again, and you were of like mind. However, things had changed. I saw that. I did not understand how profound these changes were.”

“That’s apparent.”

This was not the response he’d anticipated. He put down the statue and turned to face her. “Then please enlighten me.”

The half-elf folded her arms and stretched her booted feet out before her. “Let’s start here. Have I ever asked how you spent each of your days and nights, these past few years?”

“No, but that is different,” he said firmly.

She lifted one ebony brow. “Oh? How so?”

“For one thing, the foolish games played in this city are without meaning.”

“That’s a good thing?”

He regarded her with faint exasperation. “Ever the sword mistress. You cannot yield the offensive for a moment, can you?”

Arilyn considered this, then gave a nod of concession. “I’ll speak plainly, then. I knew what was in your heart when we parted, that’s true, but I did not know my own. Until I forged a place for myself, I could not answer you yes or no. Now I have found that place.”

“Among the elves.”

“It was a needed thing. For most of my life, I lived and worked among humans.” She touched the sheathed moonblade. “This was my only elven heritage. I always sensed that this weapon defined who I was, but I knew almost nothing about it. Everything that transpired that first summer we spent apart was part of the journey. To understand the moonblade, I had to become fully elven—if only for a short time. My time among the forest elves, including the midsummer revels, was a part of this. Without it, I would not have had the understanding of myself to know my heart.”

Danilo could not refute the logic of this, but neither was it something he could easily accept. For a long moment he gazed out the study window, absently noting that the leaves were starting to take on the hues of autumn. He tried and discarded a dozen responses. The

words that eventually emerged, however, were utterly unplanned.

“I suppose it would be ungentlemanly to ask for a name.”

“Foxfire,” she said without hesitation. “He was the war leader of the western clan. He was, and remains, a true friend.”

That was hard to hear, and full of possibilities he hardly dared to explore. “You have returned to the forest more than once,” he said tentatively.

“That’s right. I have responsibilities.”

A painful thought occurred to him. “Is there a child?”

Her eyes turned dark with surprise and outrage. “Do you think I would forget to mention such a thing? Or perhaps you envision me slinking at midnight into a home for unwed mercenaries?”

Had he been in a brighter frame of mind, he would have found that incongruous image amusing. “True enough. Accept my apologies—this revelation has left me somewhat distraught.” He considered that, then added with a faint, pained smile, “That might well be the most masterful understatement I have ever contrived.”

“Let’s discuss that.” The half-elf rose and faced him down. “I have lived forty years and more, hard years, for the most part. Did you expect to find me an untried maiden?”

“Well … “

“I see. And should I assume from this that you have followed a paladin’s code?”

“Hardly.” He sighed, struggling to explain what certainly did seem to be a code written on both sides of the parchment. “It would have been easier for me to shrug aside a score of lovers, had they been human.”

She threw up her hands. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it? When you left for the forest, you and I were bound in a form of elven rapport through the magic of

your sword. When you returned, you swore your heart was mine. Yet your first allegiance was to the forest elves, and you kept from me this secret. What am I to think?”

Exasperation edged onto her face. “Would it have helped if I had spoken of this at once?”

“Probably not,” he admitted. He hesitated for a moment as he sifted through the jumble of his emotions. “Forgive me. I desired change, and over the past two days the fates seem hell-bent on granting this wish. I just learned that there is elven blood in my family, courtesy of our dear archmage. This was no small revelation and means more to me than I can begin to express, but as I consider these new developments, I fear that the wine is too well watered.”

Comprehension edged into her eyes, then disbelief. “Do I hear you correctly? You fear comparison with an elf?”

“That is putting it rather baldly,” he said, wincing a bit at how foolish that made him sound. “Let me try to do a little better. I know how elves regard the half-elven. I have known you for more than six years and have seen how this pained you. In one part of my heart, I am truly happy that you have found the acceptance and community that you sought among the elven folk, but like most lovers, I have a certain selfish interest in this.”

He sighed. “Therein lies the dilemma. Knowing you as I do, I wonder if you can be truly happy with a human man.”

Arilyn was long in answering. She rose and began to prowl about the room, as if action was required to spur thought. “Happiness,” she said slowly. “I have heard many people speak this word, and never once did I understand what they meant. Nor did they, I suspect. Notions of endless peace and bliss and ease, or some such.”

His lips quirked in a faint smile. “You speak as if you were describing one of the lower reaches of the Abyss.”

“I’m a warrior,” she stated simply. “My mother put a wooden sword in my hand as soon as I could stand, and steel not long after. I never thought in terms of ease and comfort and so forth. But this much I know: I would rather fight with you than any other.”

He regarded her for a long moment. “With me, or alongside me?”

A smile rippled across her lips. “Both, I suppose. Will that content you?”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the delicate white fingers as he ran the pad of his thumb over the warrior’s calluses on her palm. “That strikes me as a better measure of happiness than any man—or elf, for that matter—has right to expect!”

Their first fight was not long in coming. They hailed another carriage, and all the way to the Eltorchul manor, Arilyn argued against the course Danilo seemed determined to follow. A sudden squall, common during the changing season, swept in from the sea as they rolled westward. The pounding of rain and the grumbling thunder kept counterpoint to their argument.

“Oth Eltorchul is dead,” she stated finally. “His spirit has gone to whatever afterlife his days have earned. Who are you to disturb that?”

“Who am I to make such a decision, one way or another?” he retorted. “That belongs to the Eltorchul family. At any rate, they must be told of their kinsman’s fate.”

She cast a dark look at the box Danilo had placed on the carriage floor between them. “Is that how you intend to make this announcement? Present them with that thing?”

“Credit me with some small measure of sense! Certainly you must admit that once the tale is told, they have every right to this box. Even if they do not elect to seek resurrection, they will want to inter Oth’s remains. The Eltorchul family has a tomb in the City of the Dead—quite an impressive one, I hear: a dimensional door, leading into their private catacombs. I suppose they’d need it,” he mused. “They are a large family, with a rather high rate of tragedy. A hazard, I suppose, of being in the business of magical research and mage schooling. Now that I think of it, some of my early tutors had rather close calls. Did I ever tell you about the time Athol’s beard caught fire from the lighted ink I created?”

She silenced him with a glare, then turned to regard the passing city. The Eltorchul family, like many of Waterdeep’s nobility, had more than one property in the city and probably several outside the city walls. Their hired carriage took them through the Sea Ward, the wealthiest and most sought after district of the city.

Arilyn seldom had reason to come here, and she carefully marked the byways and buildings in her mind. The streets were broad and paved with smooth, dressed stone. Lining them were tall walls, behind which lay lavish estates or temple complexes. Towers rose against the clouds. Many were so fanciful in design that they could only have been contrived and sustained by magic. Turrets, balconies, and gables decked the heights. Gargoyles kept stony-eyed watch over the city. Bright banners whipped about in the driving rain and wind.

“This ward will soon be all but deserted,” Danilo commented after a few moments of silence. “There’s a promise of winter in that wind.”

Arilyn nodded glum assent. Her spirits sank still further as they turned off Morningstar Way and the Eltorchul tower came into view.

The elaborate structure defined the easternmost corner of the narrow street known as The Ghost Walk. Even without the name—and without her own wariness of human magic—Arilyn felt distinctly chilled as she eyed the uncanny place.

Towers of mist-gray stone rose into the sky, most of them connected by walkways and stairs that seemed to go everywhere, and nowhere. Several homunculi—small, bat-winged imps that served as wizards’ familiars— winged silently through the architectural tangle, disappearing and reappearing without apparent reason or pattern. Wisps of acrid blue smoke rose from one of the towers, evidence of magical activity within.

As they alighted from the carriage, Arilyn noted that the stone walk near the front gate was as blackened as if it had entertained a hundred campfires—or a few bolts of lightning.

“So much for unwanted guests,” Danilo murmured as he reached for the bellpull.

A dark-skinned young woman clad in the robe and apron of an Eltorchul apprentice came to answer their summons. Danilo requested an audience with Thesp Eltorchul, the family patriarch. They were shown into the hall. While the apprentice went off to dry their sodden wraps, they took a seat under a tapestry depicting the coronation of some distant monarch—an ancestor of Azoun of Cormyr, most likely, though Arilyn was uncertain exactly which of several Azouns the weaver intended to commemorate.

After a few moments Lord Eltorchul came to meet them. The old mage was a tall man, not at all stooped by his years, with a dignified manner and hair of the indeterminate gray-beige color to which red often faded. It was not difficult to imagine the mage’s hair as it once had been, for the young woman who walked by his side was crowned by ringlets the color of flame.

Arilyn’s heart sank. She knew Errya Eltorchul, if

only by reputation, as a spoiled, spiteful viper. Though the family fortunes, by all reports, were dwindling, the young woman wore an exquisite russet gown, a fortune in garnets, and a supremely haughty expression. Her emerald gaze slid down Arilyn boldly, and her expression turned disdainful. Dismissing the half-elf with a sniff, she turned her attention upon Danilo.

“You have taken long enough in returning,” she said with an artful pout.

Danilo acknowledged her comment with a slight bow but directed his first response to the patriarch, as custom demanded. “It has been quite some time since I studied with Lord Eltorchul.” He bowed again to the old mage. “I have been remiss, sir, in not paying my respects sooner.”

The mage sent a fond, long-suffering look at his daughter. “It is a comfort to see that not all of Waterdeep’s young have forgotten their manners! Lord Thann, my apprentice said you wished to speak to me concerning my son Oth, about a matter you could not entrust to another?”

“That is so. Perhaps we could speak in private?”

Lord Eltorchul glanced at Arilyn for the first time. His brow furrowed in disapproval. Whether his displeasure had to do with her half-elven heritage or the fact that she carried a sword instead of a spell bag, Arilyn could not say. “In private. Yes, by all means,” he murmured.

“By no means!” retorted Errya. She stooped to pick up a passing cat and glared at her father over the animal’s head. “That wretched apprentice of yours said that our visitors had word of Oth. I wish to hear it.”

Lord Eltorchul seemed resigned to let her have her will. He led the way past a display of three sets of plate armor. Though the helmet visors were raised to reveal empty suits, all three “knights” lifted their mailed fists

in a sharp, clanking salute. The elderly mage took no notice of this but ushered his guests past the guards into a small side parlor. Once all were seated and offers of wine or tea or snuff made and refused, he settled down with a heartfelt sigh.