The Dream Spheres

by Elaine Cunningham

  "The magic won't hold long," he managed, hard-pressed to keep up with the more agile half-elf.

  Even as he spoke, the green globe dissipated like a child's soap bubble. The freed tren scuttled down a side street, its former quarry in close pursuit.

  Suddenly the creature stopped and hunched over. Its massive arms corded as it strained upward.

  "I don't think so," Arilyn muttered, running straight for the tren.

  Before Danilo could guess her intent, she leaped at the creature without pausing to draw her sword. She landed so that she was nearly face to fang with the tren and standing on whatever it was trying to lift. Danilo glimpsed the gleam of steel in her hands, then saw her knife flashing toward the tren's heart.

  The tren's muscles bunched and heaved. Lock and hinges gave way with a shriek of metal, and the sewer cover burst free. The tren straightened abruptly, sending Arilyn tumbling up and over its massive shoulder. Danilo noticed that her knife was no longer in her hands.

  The sudden movement had spoiled her aim. The tren turned back and tugged the weapon out of one shoulder.

  Contemptuously it flung the knife aside, its long black tongue flicking out as if to taste the half-elf's scent.

  "Mine," the creature rumbled in dire promise, then dropped into the sewer tunnels below.

  Arilyn was on her feet and starting down the ladder before Danilo recovered from the shock of her bold attack. He let out a colorful oath and strode toward her. "What now?"

  She looked at him as if he'd turned as green as the tren. "We follow"

  Danilo regarded his fine suede boots and groaned. They were new and as good as ruined, but there was no help for that. Arilyn would go, whether he accompanied her or not.

  Danilo had heard much about the sewers of Waterdeep. Part public necessity, part hidden highway, they wove an intricate web under the city. This was his first direct experience with them, and much of what he saw was surprising. Some tunnels were finished with carefully dressed and fitted stone and might well have been corridors in some castle or dwarf's stonghold. Others were simply dug into the rock. Twists and turns were frequent, and in moments he had lost all sense of direction. Nor was this the only level. More than once the stone floor gave way to iron grating. Stones kicked by their passing fell far to land sometimes with a muffled click of stone on stone, sometimes with a splash. Water marks rose high on the wall, indicating that the tunnels were flushed. After what seemed to be hours wading through ankle-deep sludge, Danilo concluded that it was high time for another such cleansing—provided the mysterious powers who handled such things didn't mind waiting until they had vacated.

  "At the risk of sounding ignorant," Danilo said, his voice muffled by the hand he held clasped over his nose, "precisely how are you tracking this thing? Surely not by scent! What are we looking for?"

  Arilyn stopped at a cross tunnel and considered her path. "I'll let you know when I find it."

  "Oh, splendid," he said, throwing up his hands in disgust. "In all fairness, my dear, I should inform you that the mood is now thoroughly broken."

  The half-elf nodded absently, then strode forward to study some marks on the wall. "This way."

  Danilo sighed and fell in behind. "What are we following?"

  "Trail sign. The tren who attacked us was a clan leader. He left marks to direct the rest of the clan." She darted a somber look back over her shoulder. "They met here earlier and split up to attend to different tasks."

  "Thoughtful fellow to lead you right past those marks," Danilo commented. "A trap, perhaps?"

  "It's possible," she admitted, but her pace did not slow. Danilo shook his head and followed.

  They slogged down the tunnel to its end, then climbed a ladder out into the city. This one did not lead them into an alley but into a narrow, dark passage that rose straight up.

  Arilyn gritted her teeth in annoyance. "A garbage shaft," she said shortly. She tapped at the fresh claw marks on the stone. "Up we go."

  The shaft was a long one. Climbing it was slow going, for the stone was smooth and the blocks tightly fitted. They tested each possible handhold or footrest carefully, for often what appeared to be a small stone ledge was nothing more than an accumulation of caked-on powder. Danilo soon began to suspect their destination from the scents and substances that layered the stone.

  "The good news," he gritted out as he hauled himself up to the next secure handhold, "is that this is not a privy shaft."

  Arilyn glanced back at him. "That much I already knew. What's the bad news?"

  "Unless I very much miss my guess, this is a wizard's

  tower," he said grimly. "You'd better let me go in first."

  She nodded and let him take the lead. Before much longer, he caught sight of a faint, fading blue glow in the tower ahead. It beckoned them on, grim evidence of a magical battle waged—and most likely lost. Danilo redoubled his efforts, hoping to get to the unknown wizard while there was still something left to save.

  Finally he reached the ledge. He cautiously peered over the edge, alert for attack from either a triumphant tren or an angry wizard.

  The room was silent and empty. Danilo dragged himself over the ledge and rolled onto the floor. He reached down and pulled Arilyn up into the room, then turned to survey the tower.

  It was a well-equipped study, octagonal in shape. Neat rows of vials and boxes and pots filled the shelves that lined four of the walls. Several small tables had been clustered about. These had been overturned in the struggle, their contents tossed onto the polished stone floor. A faint, acrid scent, like that left by a hundred bolts of lightning, lingered in the air—evidence that defensive magic had been cast. However, there was no sign of the tren, or of the wizard who had fought him.

  Arilyn's eyes were sharper. She strode forward and kicked away some of the debris. "Look at this," she said in a grim voice, pointing.

  He came forward and swallowed hard. A severed human hand lay on the ground, palm up, fingers curved as if in a final gesture of supplication.

  "It's a sign," the half-elf explained in a flat, even voice. "Tren eat their victims, unless their employer wishes to leave a warning or message. Then they leave a single hand or foot."

  "There is a ring on the hand," Danilo pointed out.

  She prodded the grisly thing with her boot, turning it over. The hand was pale as bleached bone and slightly freckled. A few red hairs on the lower finger joints stood

  out starkly against the pallor. The ring was gold, and on the rose-colored quartz was engraved a small, leaping flame surrounded by a circle of seven stars.

  "Mystra's symbol," Arilyn commented. "That accounts for the wizard."

  The ring was familiar. Danilo crouched down for a better look. He gingerly found the clasp and opened the hidden compartment. As he'd expected, the outline of a wizard's tall-peaked hat was engraved into the inner lip. The hidden compartment was empty.

  He stood up. "I recall what you told me of last night's overheard conversation. It would appear that Maskar Wands was more right than he knew when he named the Dreamspheres as dangerous toys."

  When Arilyn sent him an inquiring look, he pointed to the severed hand. "That is—or strictly speaking, was—Oth Eltorchul."

  A premonition raced through Arilyn like a winter chill, or the shadow of a passing ghost. "You think Oth Eltorchul was killed for the Dreamspheres?"

  "In all truth, I wouldn't lay odds one way or another," Danilo responded. "Remember, I knew the man. He might just as well have incurred the wrath of a former student or a fellow mage, but it is possible, yes."

  "Everyone at that meeting I overheard last night was opposed to the sale of Dreamspheres. Perhaps one of them hired the tren. Find out who was there, and we've got a place to start looking."

  Danilo folded his arms and scowled. "Wait a minute. A place to start? You intend to go after the killer?" "Don't you?"

  "I fail to see how this fits any definition of service to the elven people."

  "Maybe
not." She shrugged. "Nonetheless, one way or another I might not have a choice."

  He gave her a keen look. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

  "No." She began to pace, picking her way through the

  clutter. "I can't make sense of this. At first I assumed that the tren attack at the Gemstone Ball was directed against Elaith. But I was there first, and then the same tren showed up at my lodging house. It is possible that second attack was the tren's vendetta—I killed a couple of his clan, I wounded him—but it's also possible that I, not Elaith, was his original target." She blew out a long breath. "There's another possibility. As you pointed out, the markings that led us here to this tower room seemed a little too convenient."

  Danilo looked puzzled, so Arilyn reluctantly continued. "It's well known that some assassins occasionally work with tren. The tren provide muscle as well as a means of disposing of the body. You know my reputation. Some people might ask why I just happened to be the first one on hand after a tren attack. The Eltorchul clan is going to want to know the answer to that."

  His face clouded. "Surely you have left those rumors behind at last! I have not heard anyone speak of you as an assassin for years."

  "Nor would you," she retorted. "Yet I don't imagine that even now your peers are eager to accept me into their midst!"

  "Only because you're half-elven," he said heatedly. A look of utter mortification crossed his face as he realized what he had said.

  Arilyn quickly turned away, before any reaction of hers could add to Danilo's regret. She understood the implications of their friendship in the young nobleman's world, probably far better than he did. To forestall any further discussion, she began kicking at the debris with more force and fervor than the task required.

  After the first moments, Arilyn became genuinely absorbed by the puzzle before her. She began to circle the octagonal room, studying the chaos in search of some small pattern.

  The wizard's tables had been overturned, and shards

  of pottery lay scattered on the floor along with a variety of weird spell components that Arilyn could not begin to name. Oddly enough, none of the shelves had been disturbed by the struggle, as if the mage had deliberately avoided damaging any of the contents. That seemed to fly against logic, but Arilyn had heard of people who protected their possessions more fiercely than their own lives.

  "What is the worth of all that?" she asked, pointing to the orderly shelves.

  Danilo's gaze swept across the rows of glass and silver bottles, carved wooden boxes, and carefully stacked scrolls. "Almost beyond estimation," he admitted. "This is a most impressive study."

  "Worth dying for?"

  "I wouldn't say so. Oth might have. I see your point, though. This was an unusual struggle. Another thing puzzles me: there is far less blood than one might expect."

  "Not unusual for tren attacks," Arilyn corrected. "They're . . . tidy. They also feed with astonishing speed. On the other hand, it is possible that Oth died elsewhere and that his hand was left here for someone to find."

  "That someone being you." Danilo frowned. "I am finding more to dislike about this situation by the moment, but we cannot dismiss the possibility that Elaith was the target of the first tren attack. Perhaps we should see what he knows."

  Arilyn had no desire to seek out the rogue elf, but she could see the sense in that. She nodded toward the one door that led out of the room and drew her sword. "The tren is long gone, but we might not be able to leave this place without meeting opposition."

  "One moment." He took a carved wooden box from the shelf, emptied the dried herbs it contained onto the floor, and then, to her astonishment, pushed the disembodied hand into it. He carefully fastened the clasp and then tucked the box under one arm.

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  "It is better that I turn this matter over to the Watch than you," he explained. "After all, I once studied with the Eltorchul family, and I could contrive a reason for entering Oth's tower. No one need hear of your presence here."

  Arilyn started to protest, but she recognized the implacably stubborn expression in her friend's eyes. She turned and walked toward the door. "Good thing you're giving up that Lord's helm," she muttered. "I wouldn't call this upholding the laws of the city."

  "You haven't actually broken any, have you? Recently?" "I just got here," she said with a bit of grim humor. "Well, then," he said, his tone suggesting that the

  matter had been settled.

  She led the way down a winding stairs into the main hall. The building that supported the wizard's tower was small, just a center hall with a few rooms to either side for servants and household functions. There was no sign of anyone in the building, and they slipped out into the courtyard without challenge.

  Since they had come that far, Arilyn deemed it safe to begin the search for Oth's killer. She nodded toward the carriage shed, from whence drifted a faint murmur of sound. Tucking away her sword, she went to inquire.

  A thin man with lank, yellow hair was busy digging a stone from the hoof of a bay horse. Three matching steeds munched hay in tidy stalls, and a fine carriage stood nearby, its undercarriage still grimed with a layer of street dust.

  The man looked up when Arilyn's shadow fell upon him. His lip curled disdainfully, and he brandished the small knife as if he were shooing off an importunate stray dog.

  "Be off with you," he snarled, "and be quick about it. There is no work for you here. My master would sooner turn the likes of you into a lizard than hire you."

  Danilo stepped around her. Even in his current bedraggled state, he was unmistakably a man of wealth and position. The coachman leaped to his feet, chagrin on his thin face as he recognized the raven-and-unicorn heraldry on the young man's pendant as the mark of a noble family. "My lord," he stammered. "I did not—"

  "You apparently speak for Lord Eltorchul," Danilo said, cutting off the man's apology "Perhaps then you can tell me where he is. No one answered our knock."

  "Nor will they, my lord," the man said quickly, obviously eager to undo whatever ill will he had caused. "Lord Oth gave the servants a day's holiday to enjoy the harvest festivals. I delivered him myself to the Thann estate last night."

  "And from thence?"

  The coachman hesitated, clearly at conflict whether or not to speak of his master's business. Danilo held up a large silver coin. "I have forgotten already what you are about to tell me. Try to convince me to overlook the insult you offered my lady."

  The man's eyes shifted incredulously to Arilyn. She supposed she could understand why he'd come to the conclusion he had. Clad in worn leather breeches and boots, wearing no ornaments but an elven sword, she looked like any one of the hundreds of mercenaries who thronged the city and made their way the best they could.

  The coachman caught the coin Danilo flipped him and nodded his agreement to the bargain. "I took Lord Oth to a tavern in the Sea Ward. The Silken Sylph. There was a woman with him." A quick grin jerked across his thin features, and his hands traced a voluptuous outline in the air.

  "I am acquainted with the general concept," Danilo commented. "Can you offer something a bit more specific?"

  "Red dress, black hair, big dark eyes," the man reminisced. "Dark skin, but not as dark as a Calishite. Nose like a scimitar. Slender, but not scrawny, if you know what I mean." As if there could be any doubt, he cupped the air several inches from his chest.

  Arilyn hissed through clenched teeth. Isabeau Thione, beyond doubt. Was it possible the troublesome wench had progressed from thievery to murder?

  Yes, she concluded, entirely possible. Arilyn did not know what complaint Isabeau had against Oth, but she had an excellent reason to hire an attack on Elaith Craulnober. Earlier that very summer, the elf had vied with Arilyn and Danilo over Isabeau's fate. Had the matter been resolved differently, Elaith would have sold the woman to whatever faction in Tethyr offered the best price. It mattered not at all to the elf whether the bidders wished to use the Thione bastard as a po
litical pawn or to remove her entirely from the picture. Given Elaith's dark reputation, Isabeau had no reason to believe the elf would not yet do what he had once set out to accomplish. If she found a way to strike first, she would probably take it. Nor did Isabeau hold much affection for Arilyn. What better way to deflect attention than to place both attacks at the doorstep of a half-elven assassin?

  Arilyn shifted impatiently from one foot to the other as she waited for Danilo to finish the transaction. After a few more questions, he flipped the man a second coin, and they walked together into the street.

  "Isabeau hated Elaith. She was with Oth," Arilyn pointed out. "As far as tren attacks go, that's two out of three."

  "And you the third. Why?"

  She thought back to Isabeau's rescue and the vicious resistance that the tavern pickpocket had waged when Arilyn had caught up to her outside the gnomish stronghold. "Once Isabeau realized what was awaiting her in Waterdeep, she was in favor of rescue, but getting to

  that point was like reasoning with a mule. Sometimes you have to hit it over the head with a stick to get its attention."

  "Ah. Knowing Isabeau, I'm guessing you had to use a fairly big stick."

  "You could say that. It's possible that she's holding a grudge. There's more." She hesitated a moment, not wanting to give words to what seemed incomprehensible behavior. "You didn't seek her out on the trip to Waterdeep. I don't think she's accustomed to being ignored. Since she's not one to blame herself for much of anything, I wouldn't be surprised if she has a grudge on that score. Creating trouble for me would balance the scales for your inattention."

  Danilo looked coldly furious. "I am beginning to regret the pledge I took from Elaith for Isabeau's safety. Speaking of whom, we'd better see him at once— provided I can remember which of his properties he currently inhabits!"

  He hailed a passing carriage. The crest of the Carriage Guild was painted on the door, marking it as available for hire—as did the presence of its baffling crew. The stout little driver tilted his plumed cap and pulled the horses to a halt. A second halfling scrambled down from the coachman's seat and opened the door, smiling expectantly up at Arilyn.