The Dream Spheres

The North Ward's serenity was deceitful to one who knew the city and its long, often violent history. Danilo had been well schooled in such matters, and so the repeated tren attacks struck him as having greater portent than they might otherwise have held.

Not many generations had passed since Waterdeep had been torn by the Guild Wars. The merchant families had hired mercenary armies and fought each other in the streets. Many other nobles fell to assassins, poisons, and magic. Entire clans had been destroyed. Though this era was past, Danilo knew enough of history to understand that the pattern was not a line but a spiral. Old wounds festered, sometimes for generations. The last time tren assassins had been used in any number was during the Guild Wars. It was entirely possible that their return signified some sort of holdover from the days of the Guild Wars, the ambition of one family against another.

That was a most disturbing possibility, but if that were true, it provided a possible co

In all, it was a disturbingly plausible explanation. Danilo intended to test it against a mind other than his. Although he knew many of Waterdeep's sages and scholars, he could not name anyone who knew more of the city's history than Lady Cassandra.

The conversation ahead would no doubt prove . . . interesting. In times not long past, she had been very interested in inflicting this knowledge on her youngest son. Dan supposed he had seemed the most likely to follow his mother's scholarly leanings. Somehow, he doubted that at this late date his mother would regard his sudden interest without skepticism.

He found her, predictably enough, in the library. For a moment he lingered in the doorway and observed the remarkable woman who had given him life.

Cassandra was seated on a low bench, clad in a day gown of blue linen and looking as elegant and poised as some legendary queen. Her thick blonde hair was coiled smoothly about her head, and her face was unlined and serene. The long night of revelry had left no mark upon either the woman or the villa she ruled. While half of Waterdhavian society slept, she calmly dictated instructions to a pair of stewards, a dock master, and a scribe.

She glanced up at Danilo's knock. "You are up and about early," she observed.

He sauntered into the room. "I have not had opportunity to sleep. So far this has been a most eventful day. Shall I tell you about it?"

Cassandra stiffened almost imperceptibly and glanced toward the suddenly interested scribe. Danilo suppressed a smile. Scribes were restricted by law—and often by magic—from revealing to others the secrets they entrusted to parchment, but more than one scribe made extra coins on the side by selling bits of chance-heard gossip to such purveyors as Myrna Cassalanter. That was something Cassandra Tha

She turned back to her servants. "Julian, you may advance our vintners in Amn the requested credit. Add an additional forty barrels of spiced winterfest wine to this year's order. Gunthur, I would like to see all Tha

The sudden panicked expression on the dock master's face indicated that this was far from convenient. Danilo could almost hear the click of beads sliding across on the man's mental abacus as he tallied the hours such a task would take.

Without waiting for a reply, Lady Cassandra rose gracefully to her feet. "We are finished for the day. Attend me tomorrow morning at the usual hour."

She held her look of implacable serenity until the men had left the study and closed the heavy wooden door behind them. The face she turned upon her son, however, expressed a familiar blend of resignation and exasperation.

"You'd might as well tell the tale. Without the usual embellishments, if you please," she said wryly. "I am in no mind to be amused."

Danilo poured himself a glass of deep red wine from the decanter on his mother's table. He inhaled the rich, complex scent of the spices and took an appreciative sip. "Are you quite sure that an extra forty barrels will be sufficient? This is exceptionally good. After the first tasting, word will spread quickly. You will sell all within a tenday to the better taverns and have none to meet orders from wine shops, much less from those who wish to stock their private cellars. As you undoubtedly know, the bards' college will sponsor a winterfest gala for the first time this year. I can guarantee an order of twenty barrels from that source alone."

A flicker of interest warmed Cassandra's ice-blue eyes. "Very well. See to it." She arranged herself on her settee. "But this is not why you are here. I doubt you neglected your bed to improve the family fortune."

Danilo lifted the goblet in salute. "As wise as you are beautiful, my lady. That is well for me, as I find myself in need of your good counsel."

"Is that so?" murmured his mother, eyeing him warily.

"Yes. I've noticed a disturbing trend of late—or tren, to be more precise. It seems that more people are being killed and eaten than is usual custom. You have ever been one to dictate fashion, Mother, so I suppose it is fitting for this pattern to begin here."

Cassandra's face paled but for two spots of bright, angry color. "Tren? The lizard assassins, here? What is this nonsense? If this is another of your games, I assure you it is not amusing!"

"Mark me, I am not amused," Danilo said as he took the seat across from his mother. "Arilyn happened upon an attack last night. By the way, you might have your steward see to mopping the corridors between the wine vault and the old mercenary armory. I dare say it's still a bit of a mess."

The woman stared at him as if he were speaking Orcish. "An attack here, during the Gemstone Ball? Upon whom?"

Her surprise seemed total and genuine. Although Danilo had never truly believed his mother had had any part in this attack, he could not deny the sudden easing of his mind.

"Elaith Craulnober. A guest," he said firmly, cutting off the exasperated comment she was so obviously prepared to make, "here by my invitation and protected by the rules of hospitality."

"Do not lecture me on proprieties and social obligations," the noblewoman returned heatedly. "You had no business inviting that rogue to a respectable affair in the first place! Nor did your . . . companion ... do well to intervene!"

Danilo's eyes narrowed. "I suppose she should have walked on and left a lone elf to face his death at the hands of five tren assassins?"

"Five tren," Cassandra repeated tonelessly. This news seemed to dissolve some of the starch from her spine, and suddenly her posture was less that of a warrior queen than of a woman who could claim a score of grandchildren. The moment quickly passed. "What transpired?"

"They fought. Four were killed, one escaped."

"By the runes of Oghma." Having delivered that oath, Cassandra rose and began to pace, her face deeply clouded with anger and concern. "Perhaps now you will understand my reservations concerning this liaison you insist upon forming with this woman! If you do not understand it, you soon shall—unless you are as great a fool as you have always pretended to be."

This pronouncement startled Danilo for a number of reasons. He addressed the easiest issue first. "You saw through the pretense. I did not think anyone in the family did."