The Dream Spheres

The woman sniffed. "Do you think I know so little of what happens under my own roof? I understand more than you think. As it turned out, your decision to play the fool in the service of the Harpers dovetailed well with the family interests. Wine merchants must know the trade. That you have learned, probably quite by accident, while meddling with Khelben's projects."

"One tavern at a time," Danilo agreed, making a jest to cover his surprise. "There is no substitute for firsthand knowledge."

"Indeed," she said dryly. "And now you are acclaimed as a bard, after all those years of tormenting your tutors and music masters! In all, I would say the choices you made for your life were not so very different from those I would have chosen for you. Until recently, of course."

Her implication was unmistakable and supremely irritating. Danilo set down his wineglass with exaggerated care to compensate for his urge to heave it against a wall. "Which brings us to several other questions," he said evenly. "Why are you so opposed to Arilyn?"

"I suppose I have nothing against her personally. As a traveling companion, you could hardly have chosen better. However, it is time that you considered finding a consort. A half-elven mercenary is not suitable for a man of your position."

"Then I shall change my position," Danilo returned. "Anything I do for this city or this family can be done by another. Why should I not follow my own inclinations?"

Cassandra threw up her hands. "Why stop now?"

He let that pass. "I am also puzzled as to why you think Arilyn erred in giving aid to one of the Tha

The noblewoman gave the question more consideration than Danilo expected—more, he thought, than it warranted. "That is quite different, of course, but even so, she should not have interfered."

Danilo shook his head in astonishment. "You are surely not in favor of giving assassins free reign of the estate!"

The look Cassandra sent him was somber. "You should have listened," she said softly, "to the lessons I tried to teach you in your boyhood."

"Guild Wars, assassinations, chaos," Danilo said impatiently. "Yes, I remember it well."

His mother shook her head. "We are never quite done with the past. Who should know that better than a bard?"

Danilo studied her for a long moment. "There is an untold tale here."

"Better it be so," she said. An expression of chagrin crossed her face, as if she regretted yielding even that much. Her chin lifted, and her eyes cooled to their usual expression of serene control. "Leave it, my son. There is no tavern song here."

"Perhaps there is," he countered. "A man died today. Oth Eltorchul was the victim of another tren attack. Arilyn and I carried word of this to Lord Eltorchul. We were followed and attacked by tren shortly after we left the Eltorchuls' Sea Ward manor."

The color drained from Cassandra's face. "Have nothing more to do with this."

He briefly considered telling her about the attack at Arilyn's lodging. "Finally you give me advice I desire to heed!" he said with dark humor. "I fear, though, it will prove difficult to follow."

"I have none better to offer."

Her tone rang with finality. A long moment of silence passed between them, and Danilo rose to leave. Cassandra followed him to the door, her expression more somber than any she had shown even in the aftermath of his worst boyhood pranks. She caught his arm as he was about to open the door.

"One thing more. Do not ask any more questions about this matter, not of me or any other. Content yourself that you are better off without this knowledge."

He patted her hand and gently disengaged himself from her grip. "Strange words, coming from a lady who prides herself on her scholarship."

"I prize my skin far more highly," she said bluntly. "Though you often give me cause to wonder why, I would like to see yours remain firmly attached."

Danilo gave her a puzzled look.

"Those boots you are wearing. I suppose the leather is some sort of lizard?"

"Yes, that's right. Why?"

"The tren have their own notions of fashion, as appalling to us as ours probably are to them. They do not always dispose entirely of their victims. It is possible that one or more of your ancestors ended up as a tren garment or gear bag."

"Ah. I am touched by your concern, but I have no intention of ending my days as some tren's leather loincloth," Danilo said dryly. "It seems to me that some lady recently remarked on the choices I have made and how closely they arrived at the destinations of her own hopes and goals. That same lady gave the opinion that her youngest son is no fool. Trust me to find my way to the end of this path."

"I do," said Cassandra, and her face was clouded by emotions Danilo could not begin to read. "I fear that nearly as much as I do the tren."

* * * * *

In the craggy mountains that surrounded Silverymoon, the trees were ancient and sociable—huddled together like aging warriors around a hearth fire, exchanging tales of feats long past. So thick was the forest, and so relentless the passage of wild water over rocks and through gorges, that the cloud-going caravan circled the area several times seeking a place broad and tame enough to settle upon.

Elaith saw the hilltop clearing well before the caravan master began the circling descent. He tightened his grip on the rim of the sky chariot as the driver—a gold elf in the employ of Lord Gundwynd—guided the pegasus team down in ever-tightening spirals.

Given the nature of their journey, Elaith had expected the caravan to make a general, immediate, and grateful dismount. However, everyone stood or sat as he was, gazing down in silence at the famous Moonbridge, which led into Silverymoon.

A shimmering expanse, more like a child's soap bubble than the usual, solid comfort of stone and wood, rose in a soaring arc over the River Rauvin. The last tints of sunset seemed to linger in the insubstantial structure. Beneath the bridge—and through it—one could see the churning waters of the Rauvin as they tumbled over rock and shoal in a headlong race to the south.

"I'm not for crossing that thing," a

This comment broke the spell. Bronwyn slid carefully down from her griffon mount. "There was less than that under you all the way from Waterdeep to Silverymoon," she pointed out, reasonably enough.

The dwarf snorted. Before he could respond with more complaints, Rhep leaped from his sky chariot and strode into the center of the merchant band. "We camp here tonight and ride into the city first thing in the morning."

A chorus of murmured protest met the caravan master's words. All of them, other than the Eagle Riders and the grooms in Lord Gundwynd's employ, were new to flight. Two days had they traveled, under conditions that were both exhilarating and terrifying, and every person was primed for a night's revelry. Few places in the Northlands offered more enticements than Silverymoon. To add further inducement, it was common knowledge that the hills beyond the city were riddled with orcs, wild beasts, and other a

It seemed odd to Elaith that they would travel so far in a mere two days, using such an unusual and expensive means of transport, only to risk all with their destination fully in sight.

Nor was Elaith the only person to entertain such thoughts. Many of the merchants gave loud protest, which the big mercenary answered only with a glare. A caravan master's word held the force of law, even to the merchants who hired him. Rhep stalked off and began shouting orders to the guards, and after a few moments the protest subsided.