The Dream Spheres

"We had an agreement," the noblewoman said coldly. "None of us would support the sale of these toys!"

"Arrangements for this delivery were made well before that agreement," he argued. "This was between Mizzen Doar and Oth Eltorchul. Take it up with either of them." His eyes narrowed into slits as he regarded the ball in Danilo's hand. "Where did you get that?"

"In an alley behind the bazaar," Danilo lied smoothly. "The thieves must be an efficient lot—the goods have already reached the streets."

The merchant snorted in disbelief. "I knew it!" he exploded. "The Tha

Cassandra took a long, calming breath and turned to her son. "Danilo, I am going to ask the same question Lord Gundwynd posed. Where did you get that infernal thing?"

"It was in Lilly's possession," Danilo said bluntly. "In light of Oth's death, it is reasonable to assume that the dream spheres at least in part led to Lilly's fate."

The noblewoman turned white. "Have you any idea—any at all!—of what you have done?"

"I know that I had a sister, that she was in danger and in need of my aid. I know that I failed her. Now she is dead, and I intend to know why."

"Sentimental nonsense." Her angry blue eyes settled on the watchful half-elf. "Can you talk no sense into him?"

Arilyn merely shrugged.

Cassandra hissed a sigh. "Let me paint the picture. Many caravans are waylaid. Pirates, bandits—these are hazards of the trade. This theft was unusual, but we could have quietly worked the matter through to its conclusion. For whatever reason, rumors are turning it into a parlor guessing game, in which all those involved are suspect. By presenting that . . . thing . . . while Gundwynd was ranting about the ambush, you gave him fuel for his fire. What do you suppose he will conclude when he learns what you've brought to the family villa? Do you think the pieces will not be put together? By your actions, you made it appear that Rhammas's little bastard was involved in this theft!"

"That was hardly my intent," Danilo began.

"Intentions seldom matter. Impressions, on the other hand, matter a great deal. This may well put the Tha

"How can any reasonable person draw that conclusion?" protested Lord Rhammas. "I did not even know the girl existed until after the attack! From our scant acquaintance, I would venture to say that she could not possibly have had a hand in that sordid affair."

"Oh, and I'm sure all Waterdeep will accept your word as if Ao Himself had finally spoken," the noblewoman retorted. Her angry gaze traveled from her husband to her son. "You are a pair of children, blinded to the larger issues by a worthless trollop!"

"That is remarkably callous, even for you," Danilo said with equal heat.

"Think what you like, but obey me in this. The matter dies with the girl. You and Arilyn have already stirred up more trouble than the pair of you can possibly charm, buy, fight, or spellcast your way free of."

Danilo studied his mother for a long moment. "Forgive me, my lady, but I must observe that your words could be construed as a threat."

"Could they now?" Her thin smile was as sharp as a dagger. "I am gratified to hear you say so. Evidence at last that you are not such a fool as today's events would suggest!"

"But—"

"Enough," she said in cold command. She suddenly changed tactics. "Would you be content if we acknowledged the girl as family and buried her in the Tha

This concession startled Danilo, and his anger softened somewhat. "Thank you, but in all honesty, that will not end the matter."

"Possibly not," murmured Cassandra, "but we will do what we can."

* * * * *

Arilyn rode out directly from the Tha

Isabeau had left soon after her rescuers deposited her in the safe house—but not before she had managed to insult the farmers who risked their home and their safety for the Harpers' charge. As Arilyn picked up the trail of Isabeau's horse, she wondered where the woman was bound and what sort of reception she expected to get.

It would seem that Lady Isabeau's ambitions were lifting faster than a courtesan's skirts. Just a few moons past, when they'd found her on the road north of Baldur's Gate, she was happy enough to have left the remote gnome settlement that had given her shelter all her life. Waterdeep delighted her, as did the modest wealth that had awaited her there—most of it the legacy of her mother, who had been forced to leave the city without gathering her possessions. Now it seemed Isabeau was no longer content with her transformation from serving wench to lady of station and substance. She had progressed from thief to murderer.

This Arilyn firmly believed, regardless of the facts of Oth's death. Whether or not Isabeau was responsible for the Eltorchul mage's fate, she had left Lilly to hers. To Arilyn's way of thinking, that made Isabeau as guilty as if she herself had cut the girl's throat.

Nor was the woman any more merciful to the animals under her control. Isabeau had pushed her borrowed horse at a high pace, with callous disregard for the creature's safety. The moon had been full the night before, and each of the seven gleaming shards that followed the silver orb through the sky had been as bright as will o'wisps, but no amount of light, not even the brightness of highsun, could justify ru

As Arilyn followed the trail, the road widened, and the forest gave way to fields. She rode past a few tidy cottages, through an orchard dense with late fruit, to the gates of an imposing country estate.

Whose lands these were, Arilyn could not say. Many of the merchant lords of Waterdeep had farms or stables or country manors in the northlands. One thing was certain: The owner possessed a rather dark streak of whimsy.

The manor and the wall around it had been fashioned from gray stone, a ghostly color that seemed to merge with the mist of coming twilight. Gargoyles, most of them winged cats with vampiric sneers, stood guard on the ramparts and towers. Arilyn did not bother to stop by the gatehouse to seek admission, even though the guards seemed more interested in their dice game than in their post. When a group of peasants came to the gate pulling a cart laden with late-summer produce, Arilyn left her horse in the shadows of the orchards and took a long, thin rope from her saddle.

She slipped around to the rear wall and tossed her rope. The first try fell short. With the second she snared one of the gargoyles. She gave the rope a tug to ensure it would hold, then quickly climbed the wall. Using a spreading elm for cover, she draped the rope down the inside of the wall and slid to the ground.

While the estate's cooks were haggling with the peasants over the price of carrots and cabbage and the guards' attention was absorbed by the cooks, Arilyn crept into the building through the kitchen entrance to await the coming of night. It proved to be a good choice, for the heavy tapestries and drapes intended to keep out the chill also provided ample places to hide.

When all was dark and silent, Arilyn slipped into the halls. Her passage went unchallenged, for the servants demonstrated the lax concern for their responsibilities that often marked those who labored under an absent tyrant's rule. She checked each bedchamber for occupants. Most were empty—the noble family was not in residence.