The Dream Spheres

She shrugged again. "Anywhere that doesn't smell of fish and ale would suit me fine."

Danilo laughed and captured a ripe apricot from the tray of a passing servant. "These help a bit, when I'm feeling restless. Taste it, and see if the flavor doesn't conjure images of warm sunshine and distant lands."

"Oh, I dare not eat on duty," she protested, although she considered the fruit as if it were a rare gem. "Besides, if I pocket it, folks might think ill of me."

He nodded, understanding this. Thievery by servants was severely punished. Even so, it didn't seem right to deny them the festive fare they helped to serve. "Give me your name, then, and I'll have some sent to you."

"Will you, now?" she retorted with good-natured skepticism. "Along with a case of that elven wine, I suppose. ..."

Her words faded as something seized her attention. Danilo followed the line of her gaze and grimaced. Not far away, an exceedingly curvaceous young woman was dancing with an amorous nobleman. Both partners' hands were far busier than their feet. Normally, Danilo would not consider this odd—after all, the attention Myrna lavished upon Regnet was even less subtle—but he had reason to distrust this particular woman. It would seem that Sofia the pickpocket was having a bit of a problem with her transition to Lady Isabeau.

"Excuse me," he murmured as he set down his glass.

A look of deep consternation flashed across the girl's pretty face. "Have a care with that one, sir. Looks fine as frog's hair, she does, but I've seen things. That one is trouble."

"You've a very good eye," he commented as he began to move away. "Thank you for your advice. I shall bear it in mind."

"Lilly," she said abruptly.

He turned back, lifting one brow in inquiry.

"My name," the girl explained. "Just wanted you to be knowing it. Your name, I'm already knowing." She gri

"Yes, I can imagine," he said dryly, enjoying the woman's wry, impish humor—even when it came at his expense. He touched his forehead in parting salute. "Lilly, it has been a rare pleasure."

He deftly intercepted Isabeau from her partner and danced her as unobtrusively as possible into an alcove.

As soon as no eyes were upon them, Isabeau pulled away. She squared her shoulders, not so much in defiance as to better frame the expanse of feminine charm displayed between her ruby necklace and her low-laced gown.

"Calling in your debts, Lord Tha

Danilo stuck out his hand, palm up. "I've come to collect—you're right about that much. Hand it over."

She pouted, the picture of insulted i

"Clearly. May I remind you that you are Isabeau Thione, a noblewoman related to the royal house of Tethyr? I know this is all very new to you, but you must learn to comport yourself according to the mores of Waterdhavian nobility."

"Huzzah!" She gave him a cool, mocking smile and a little patter of applause. "Bring him the prize for stuffiest speech of the night! In truth, Lord Tha

Danilo refused to be distracted. "Don't make me sorry I brought you here," he warned her. "There are those who would be only too happy to take you back to Tethyr."

Isabeau abruptly sobered. Her black eyes darted across the room to the silver-haired elf with a hawk's watchful amber eyes.

"Very well," she said petulantly, and began to empty her pocket. In moments Dan's hands were heaped with items she had taken from her dance partners: coins, pendants, a small crystal sphere, even a ring—an unusual piece set with a large stone of rosy quartz.

He regarded the haul with dismay. "Have you any idea how long it will take me to sort through these things and return them without suspicion to their owners?"

The woman folded her arms over her abundant cleavage and smiled. "There is an easy solution. Give them back to me, and save yourself the trouble."

Danilo sighed and spilled the treasure into the bag attached to his belt. "Perhaps you should leave, Isabeau. We'll discuss this later."

"Much later, I hope," she said airily. Her eyes sca

For a moment, Dan was tempted to follow. After all, he and Arilyn had brought Isabeau to the safety of Waterdeep. Though they had both come to rue and reject the Harper reasoning that had ordered this mission, a personal responsibility remained: they had to keep Waterdeep safe from Isabeau.

* * * * *

Elaith Craulnober saw Danilo whisk the southern woman into an alcove and had little doubt about the reason for it. The wench was a thief, and she was damned good at her work. She had stolen a dagger from him—him!—earlier that very summer, and in doing so had nearly gotten him hanged.

This made Isabeau Thione unique in Waterdeep. She was the only person who had seriously crossed Elaith who still drew breath. The elf would not have made her an exception but for the debt he owed Danilo Tha

They had traveled a far path, he and the human bard. Elaith had once hired underlings to kill Danilo—a deed he considered too trivial to take upon himself. By now, though, his regard for young Lord Tha

Elf-friend. It was a rare gift, a pledge of absolute acceptance and loyalty, an honor rarely conferred upon humankind.

It was also without doubt the most stupid thing he had done in decades.

The primary proof of that was Elaith's presence at this wretched party. With the exception of a few hired musicians and Danilo's half-elven love, Elaith was the only elf in attendance. To say that he drew attention would be a vast understatement. Elaith preferred not to garner much notice. It seemed prudent, given the nature of his activities.

Therein lay Elaith's second source of disgruntlement. He was a rogue elf, wealthy through endeavors that ran the whole gamut from sanctioned to suspect to hideously illegal. His life had long ago turned onto a dark and twisting path. Yet of late, he had acquired pockets of virtue that were, not to put too fine a point on it, damnably inconvenient. Honor, loyalty, tradition—these were garments Elaith had long ago cast off, now much moth-eaten and of uncertain fit.

One of the more inebriated guests began to lurch purposefully in the elf's direction. Elaith regarded the man with keen displeasure. He was not a particularly imposing specimen of humankind. Of middling height, he had narrow, sloping shoulders and a meager chest. Most of his weight had settled in his haunches and hams. His sandy hair was shorn close to his head, and his beard was trimmed to a sharp point—no doubt in an effort to suggest resemblance to a satyr. In reality, the overall effect was nothing loftier than a two-legged billy goat.

The merchant immediately began to regale Elaith with stories. Since the only escape the elf could see involved a quick dagger and a faster exit, he merely let the slurred words flow over him as he observed the crowd.

There was much to learn at such gatherings, and the elf's quick eye had already discerned several interesting meetings, some unusual alliances, and some outright deals. He had long been of the opinion that information was as valuable a currency as gold, and already he had gained enough to repay himself for the tedium of attending the dreary affair.