The Dream Spheres (5 page)

“An early end to the ball. What a disaster that would be,” Danilo murmured.

“You insisted upon attending this year,” Lady Cassandra pointed out. Her eyes tracked the path Arilyn had taken out of the hall, then turned their full force on her son. “I trust that no announcement will be forthcoming this year?”

This set Danilo back on his heels. For a moment, he wondered how Cassandra had learned of the plans he and Arilyn had cherished four years past. Upon consideration, he realized that his mother’s comment owed more to tradition than augury. It was not uncommon for betrothals to be announced at the harvest and spring festivals. Even so, her words disturbed him.

“And if it were?” he challenged.

“Ah.” Cassandra smiled faintly, her face reflecting an infuriating mixture of relief and satisfaction. “I thought as much. The rumors considering your … liaison… with this half-elf have been exaggerated.”

Danilo was frankly and thoroughly puzzled. “Arilyn has been my companion for more than six years now, and apart from the debacle at the Gemstone Ball four years ago, you’ve made no real objection. Why now?”

“Why indeed?” the woman retorted. “As a hired sword, she was more than competent, and when one hires persons with such skills, one must endure the occasional inconvenience of unexpected battle. No real harm was done at the Gemstone that year. This year is another matter entirely. Do not think I have not heard the young women sighing over your elven garden. A man does not gift mere hirelings with a fortune in sapphires and blue roses.”

“Arilyn was never a mere hireling.”

Cassandra sighed through clenched teeth. “Then it is true. Danilo, it is time you considered your position. You are not a lad, to waste your time with trifles and trollops.”

It took every ounce of discipline he possessed to hold back the anger that rose in him like a flame. “Have a care, Mother,” he said softly. “There are some things I will not hear, even from you.”

“Better you hear them from me than another. This half-elf is unworthy of your regard, and there ends the matter.”

Danilo studied the dancers for a long moment before he could trust himself to speak. “No, it most assuredly does not, but this discussion ends now, before matters between us are beyond repair. With all respect, my lady, if you were a man, I would be obliged to call you out for such statements.”

“If you were a man, there would be no need for this

discussion!” she snapped. Her anger cooled as quickly as it flared. “My son, I must be frank.”

“Imagine my astonishment,” he murmured.

Cassandra let the comment pass. She accepted a glass of wine from a passing servant and used it to make a sweeping gesture that encompassed the sparkling throng. “Look about you. Have you never noticed that there are no elves among Waterdeep’s nobility?”

He shrugged. “Yes? So?”

“Perhaps you should ponder that.”

Danilo snapped his fingers. “What about the Dezlentyr family? Corinn and Corinna are half-elven, and Corinn stands to inherit the title.”

“The title will be challenged, of that you may be certain,” she said in a distracted tone. “These are the children of Lord Arlos’s elven wife. His first wife,” Cassandra stressed. “Do you remember the circumstances of her death?”

A story Danilo had heard in his youth, long since forgotten, floated to the surface of his mind. “She was found dead in the garden,” he said slowly. “If I recall aright, Lord Arlos insisted that it was the work of assassins. He claimed that his enemies were loath to see races other than human introduced into the Waterdhavian nobility and that his lady’s death was the result. Surely, though, this was nothing more than the raving of a grieving man!”

Cassandra met his eyes once more. “Was it?”

A long moment of silence passed between them, for Danilo could think of nothing to say in the face of such absurdity. Before his wits returned, his mother glided away, and was swept up into the circle of dancers.

Arilyn stalked down the gleaming halls, ignoring the thorns that had pierced her too-thin slippers. At the

moment, she would have happily traded her best horse for a pair of stout, practical boots. Not only would they have saved her feet from the skyflower thorns, but they would also lend conviction to the kick she longed to deliver to Danilo’s backside.

Whatever had come over the man? Granted, he was fond of pranks. True, he worked behind the carefully constructed façade of a shallow, silly fop. She could accept that much. Much of the time, she derived a considerable amount of secret amusement from his contrived foolishness. She had learned to look behind the jest to the intent, and usually found herself in full agreement with Danilo’s goals, if not always his methods. This stunt, however, was utterly beyond her ken.

As Arilyn’s ire faded, however, she remembered the look of astonishment on Danilo’s face. Then there was his use of Elvish to warn her. This was strange, considering the pains he took to hide his knowledge of the language from his peers. No, there was considerably more to this night’s work than a silly prank.

“Are we almost there?” she asked the maidservant as they rounded yet another corner in the labyrinth of halls and rooms within rooms.

The girl looked back over her shoulder and smiled sympathetically. “It is a lovely party, even with that bit of excitement. You must be impatient to return.”

Arilyn cast her eyes toward the ceiling and forbore comment. Perhaps by human standards, this was a lovely party, but she could not help contrasting elven festivals with Waterdhavian fetes. Here the heart of festive gatherings was politics, business, and intrigue. Deep, true celebration eluded the city’s humans.

What could this girl know of such things? How could she know the joy, the unity, that marked elven festivals? Judging from the servant’s clear and untroubled smile, she also knew nothing of the heartaches and complexities

that could result. Arilyn wasn’t altogether certain whether the girl was to be pitied or envied.

Finally the maidservant showed her into a room. She insisted upon bringing out one bright costume after another, expounding the merits of each. Anxious to get on with it, Arilyn pointed out a silver gown that looked about the right size—and that was loose enough to allow freedom of motion. She peeled off her silk slippers and handed them to the maid to give her something to do. The girl exclaimed in dismay over the thorns embedded in the delicate fabric, then settled down to the task of pulling them out and scrubbing at the stains.

Left to her own devices, Arilyn quickly stripped off her ruined gown and tugged on the replacement. A brisk brushing removed clinging bits of twigs and leaves from her hair and left the black curls floating in a wild nimbus about her shoulders. She shifted impatiently from one bare foot to the other as she awaited the return of her shoes.

“I’m afraid they’re ruined,” the girl said at last. She cast a reproachful look up at Arilyn. “You’ve bled on them.”

“Inconsiderate of me,” the half-elf responded dryly. She nodded toward the room-sized closet adjoining the bedchamber. “You have any boots in there?”

The girl’s eyes rounded, and she sputtered in protest. Arilyn let her have her say, then simply raised one eyebrow. With a sigh, the maidservant yielded. In moments she emerged, holding a pair of low, thin-soled leather boots gingerly between thumb and forefinger.

“This is not the done thing,” she began. “The Lady Cassandra bade me to attend you and find you suitable clothing. She will not thank me for this.”

Arilyn suppressed a sigh. The boots were obviously elf-crafted, for they were of butter-soft deerskin dyed a rich blue shade that no human artisan could achieve, and they fairly shimmered with magic. Most likely they

were worth more than the collar of silver and sapphires Arilyn wore.

“Elves wear these for dancing,” she assured the girl. “Well …”

“If you come to grief over this, send Lady Cassandra to me,” Arilyn said firmly. “I will settle the matter.”

The girl considered her for a moment. A slow, speculative smile spread across her face. “That is something I would dearly love to see,” she said softly.

Arilyn chuckled. “Hand over the boots. If a fight breaks out later, I won’t draw first blood until I’m certain you have a good seat. Agreed?” .

“Done.”

The boots changed hands, and in moments Arilyn was on her way, alone. After the first few turns, she realized that nothing looked familiar. She had been too distracted by her troubled thoughts to mark the way in. Now she, an elf who could track a deer by moonlight and follow a squirrel’s trail through the trees, was completely turned around in the maze of rooms and halls.

“Wouldn’t Bran be proud?” she muttered, naming the famous human ranger who had sired her. Once Danilo got wind of this misadventure, she would never hear the end of it. Determined to keep her embarrassment to herself, she kept going, merely nodding to the occasional servant or guest she passed.

Her mood darkened with each false turn. Finally she gave in to the inevitable, and decided to ask directions from the next person she encountered.

She heard the sounds of conversation coming from a room at the end of the hall and set off toward it at a brisk pace, silent as a shadow in her borrowed elven boots. She slowed as she neared the door, and listened to the conversation with a mind toward finding an acceptable place to interrupt.

“It is my considered opinion that there is already far too much magic in Waterdeep.”

This statement, emphatically spoken by a familiar, faintly accented male voice, halted Arilyn in midstride. It was not the sort of thing one expected to hear from Khelben Arunsun, the most powerful wizard in the city and Danilo’s longtime mentor.

Arilyn grimaced at her misfortune. If she inquired directions from this assembly, Danilo was certain to hear of her plight.

“You present an interesting proposal, Oth Eltorchul, but a dangerous one,” stated a thin, querulous male voice.

That would be Maskar Wands, Arilyn supposed. Danilo had often described the elderly wizard as being as nervous as a brooding hen.

“Dangerous? How so? The Dreamspheres have been thoroughly tested. The subjects were willing, even eager, and though none of them were persons of much consequence, I am pleased to claim that no ill effects were suffered. To the contrary, the Dreamspheres gave them a few moments’ respite from their dreary little lives.”

The man’s voice held the well-trained, almost musical tones of an accomplished mage, but the genteel sneer in it set Arilyn’s teeth on edge. That was undoubtedly Oth Eltorchul, a member of a wizardly family who engaged in magical training and experimentation. She knew Oth by sight only. He was a tall man with the flame-colored hair common to his clan and ale-colored eyes that brought to mind the fixed stare of a hunting owl. Danilo had studied several years ago with Lord Eltorchul, Oth’s father, but he had no use at all for Oth. At the moment, Arilyn was inclined to applaud Danilo’s judgment.

“Where do these dreams come from?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

A brief silence followed, broken by Oth’s scornful laugh. Arilyn thought it was a reasonable question. All dreams came from somewhere.

“They are magical illusions, Lord Gundwynd, nothing more. A created incident that the dreamer experiences as if it were real. Entirely harmless.”

“Magic is never entirely harmless,” Khelben pointed out. “Every wise man, mage or not, knows this to be true.”

There was an angry scraping as a chair was pushed back. “Do you call me a fool, Lord Arunsun?”

“And insult those assembled here?” the archmage returned, his tone edged with exasperation. “Why point out that the sky is blue, when they have eyes to see this for themselves?”

“Now see here!”

Arilyn decided that no good opportunity for interruption would present itself any time soon. She took two steps before another familiar voice halted her.

“Sit down, Oth,” Lady Cassandra said firmly, “and listen to the advice you sought. I will speak plainly. No one will sell these Dreamspheres of yours, for the city’s wizards will oppose them. Any attempt to peddle magical illusions from a stall in the bazaar is a foolish challenge to their power and their right to ply their trade. I will have nothing to do with it, or anyone who does.”

A murmur of agreement followed her words. “The Dreamspheres could become vastly popular,” Oth insisted. “There is much profit to be made.”

“There is profit to be made in the sale of slaves, poisons, and certain types of pipeweed. But such things are forbidden by law, Oth, and you know it well.”

“There are no prohibitions against Dreamspheres,” protested Oth.

“There will be,” announced a voice Arilyn recognized as Boraldan Ilzimmer. She also noted that the man seemed none too pleased by his own observation. “The wizards’ guild holds much power in this city, and their desires will soon be bolstered by force of law.”

“Well said, Lord Ilzimmer. The Watchful Order of

Magisters will seek to have these baubles declared illegal. If for some reason they do not, I will see to it myself.”

Maskar Wands’s voice might be creaky with age, but Arilyn did not doubt that he would do precisely what he said. The patriarch of the Wands clan was probably the most traditional wizard in the city and was vehemently opposed to frivolous or irresponsible magic.

“There you have it,” agreed a deeper, younger male voice that Arilyn did not recognize. “You’ll find no investors here, Oth. Who would pledge good money to an endeavor destined for failure?”

“Failure is not quite the word I would use,” amended Lady Cassandra. “As Oth pointed out, there probably is money to be made with these toys. A prohibition would put this product into the hands of less scrupulous dealers.” She sniffed. “Not our kind of people.”

“You surprise me, Lady Thann,” retorted Boraldan Ilzimmer. “In the past, your words and deeds have matched admirably well. Yet you speak of unscrupulous rogues, even while you entertain the elf lord Elaith Craulnober under this very roof. Consorting with elves, even if they were the honorable sort, is hardly the done thing.”