The Dream Spheres

by Elaine Cunningham

  any chance, was Simon Ilzirnmer at Oth's presentation the night of the Gemstone Ball?"

  "Possibly. His cousin Boraldan was there. I heard several voices I couldn't name. One was very deep, with a bit of a rumble to it that almost hinted at dwarven speech."

  "That does sound like Simon. Would you recognize that voice if you heard it again?"

  "I think so," she said shortly.

  Danilo smiled faintly. "Judging from your expression, you would rather take another stroll through the city's sewers."

  She did not deny his words. Actually, they expressed her feelings rather well Among her contacts in the city were a number of women who worked in the taverns and bathhouses. After some of the stories she'd heard about the Ilzimmer lord, she could hardly imagine herself sipping wine and making polite conversation.

  Danilo seemed less bothered by the prospect. They went directly to the small, brooding manor that was home to Simon Ilzimmer. The bells in the nearby Temple of Ilmater tolled solemnly as Danilo left his card with the servant. Arilyn idly counted the rolling peals, wondering as she did why anyone would devote his life to so dreary a creed as that of the God of Suffering. By the time the call to worship faded into silence, the servant returned with word that Lord Simon would receive them.

  At first glance, Simon Ilzimmer did not fit his dark reputation. He was a tall, broad man who appeared to be no stranger to the disciplines of sword and horse. His manners were faultless, and he received his guests with every courtesy. He and Danilo sipped warmed zzar and chatted about mutual acquaintances and recent events with apparent candor and good humor.

  Despite his genial manner, he was indeed one of the merchant nobility who had attended the meeting in the

  Thann villa. Arilyn easily recognized the deep, resonant voice. Now that she faced Simon Ilzimmer, she found the man exceedingly difficult to read. Indeed, she doubted that he was entirely sane. There was an emptiness to his eyes, an utter lack of connection between his words and any discernible emotion. On the other hand, she sensed the seething energy of the man. His gaze seemed to skitter away without actually moving, and he had a sort of brooding intensity about him that reminded her of the portentous quiet before a sea squall. It was as if he were two men, one altogether too controlled, little more than a shell, the other a violent storm, likely to strike without warning.

  His study supported this impression. Though the furniture was sparse and practical, the walls were lined with disturbing pictures—dark, twisted visions from a madman's mind. Danilo walked over to consider a rendering of two red dragons entangled in fierce mating amid the burning ruins of a village.

  "Fascinating," he murmured. "Was this painted from life?"

  Arilyn sent him a warning look. Chances were that the Ilzimmer noble was not overburdened with a sense of humor. "We are trying to retrace the goods stolen from the air caravan," she said frankly, for she was tired of the inconsequential talk and growing increasingly uncomfortable in Simon's presence. "Anything you could tell us might be helpful."

  The storm behind the man's dark eyes kindled and flashed. "You accuse me in my own home?"

  "No one is making accusations," Danilo said mildly. "We are merely trying to gather together the pieces of this puzzle. Since your family also suffered losses, is it not in our best interests to work together?"

  Simon eyed him with deranged cunning. "Lady Cassandra is shrewd. Sending you here nosing about was a brilliant ploy. Everyone knows that you have little to do

  with the family's business, and all know you are her favorite son. A brilliant way for her to deny involvement."

  "Why should she need to do such a thing? Thann had no part in the theft," Danilo said with as much conviction as he could muster. "For that matter, the Lady Cassandra does not know of my presence here."

  The mage snorted. He was about to say more, but his eyes widened with mingled surprise and horror. He leaped to his feet, pointing with a shaking finger. "Threaten me, will you? Here in my own place, no less! I won't have it! All of you, leave at once! Get out, out!"

  Simon's voice rose on the last words into near hysteria. "We should do as he says," Danilo said in a low voice. "He is a mage, and I'm in no position to challenge him."

  Arilyn needed no urging. She turned to leave the chamber and immediately fell back onto her heels.

  She stood nearly face to face with the ghostly image of an elven wizard. He was a tall elf whose silver hair had been woven into scores of tiny braids. He held a shadowy moonblade, point down, and he was leaning on the hilt as a wizard might rest upon his staff. His translucent blue eyes were watchful, and he was gazing at Simon with a quiet intensity that gave substance to the mage's fear.

  They quickly left the estate, the shadowy Triage walking soundlessly behind them. As soon as they were beyond the gate, Arilyn commanded the elfshadow manifestation to return to the sword. To their relief, the ghostly image dissolved into silvery motes. These swirled out into a neat line and disappeared into the moonblade one by one, like a row of ducklings slipping into a pond.

  "This is getting out of hand," Arilyn muttered as they hurried back toward Danilo's home.

  At least the elfshadow is gone. You can still control

  the sword," he said in the tone of one who was searching for good news in unlikely places.

  "Not really," she said, then shot a quick glance over her shoulder. "I still feel as if we're being followed. The moonblade's magic is getting more and more unstable. How can I go about my business, knowing that one of my ancestors might come calling at any moment?"

  "Look on the bright side," Danilo suggested.

  "That is?"

  "Well, at least we're not being followed by tren."

  "Don't be so sure about that," she said grimly as she glanced at the cobblestones at her feet. "Remember, you're a sixth son. I'm your half-elven companion. Can you think of a more expendable target for reprisal?"

  For a moment he looked as if he would protest, then his face turned thoughtful. "Belinda was the youngest Gundwynd child."

  She turned to him, her face deadly serious. "That had occurred to me, too."

  * * * * *

  "The woman is a positive marvel," Elaith murmured as he read the note Myrna Cassalanter had sent by trusted messenger and fast horse.

  Even the most unlikely of her rumors had borne fruit. Just that day, not more than a few hours before, Simon Ilzimmer had been arrested by the Watch for the murder of a courtesan-in one of Elaith's establishments, no less. Simon was noble, and the men and women who would give testimony against him were common servants, but the end result would be the same. A minor Ilzimmer lord would hang from the city walls.

  It bothered Elaith not at all that Simon Ilzimmer was innocent of this particular crime. His death would be true justice, even if the facts did not tally in every particular. Best of all, no one would trace the man's death

  back to Elaith's door. His servants would give true and earnest testimony to what they had seen—or believed that they had seen. Magical examination would bear that out. Simon's reputation would supply the extra nudge needed to push him over the Hangman's Leap.

  The pot was simmering nicely, Elaith concluded as he turned back to the note. Reprisals would be soon in coming, and the noblemen would be busily employed for some time to come.

  His brow furrowed as he read on. With great relish, Myrna recounted the death of a tavern wench, a by-blow of Rhammas Thann. Rumor had it that the girl's body had been claimed by Danilo Thann, who insisted that she be laid to rest in the family tomb.

  Elaith reached for the bellpull. His elven steward came promptly to the call. "Send a message to Lord Thann," the elf said. "Tell him I require an immediate audience at . . ." The elf thought quickly, then added. "The steps of the Pantheon Temple."

  The servant bowed and disappeared. Elaith hurried to the temple complex, hoping that the unspoken message would not be misunderstood. Danilo had reason to distrust him, especially if he had pieced together t
he story of the Mhaorkiira. Bronwyn had no doubt reported back about the magic-rich ruby she had found in Silverymoon and about Elaith's interest in it. It was likely that Arilyn would recognize the kiira from its description and know those who held it could be twisted to evil. Reason indeed for concern-at least, to those whose knowledge of the kiira was limited to legend.

  He found a quiet place in the courtyard just below the sweeping marble stair and fell into apparent contemplation of a statue of some goddess or other. This reflective pose did not at all mirror his state of mind, but it was common among the elves who came to the temple for a few moments' respite from the frenetic pace of the human city.

  Even the dull sensitivities of the humanfolk perceived some of the tranquil calm of this elven haven. Those who strolled by softened their step and quieted their chatter. Elaith watched as Danilo reined in his horse at a respectful distance, then swung down and paced quietly over to the waiting elf.

  "A matter of some urgency, your messenger said," Danilo prompted.

  The human did not look well, Elaith noted. It was difficult to call him pale, in comparison to a moon elf's complexion, but the signs of several sleepless nights were etched on his face, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes. That, and nothing more. There was no warmth, no humor, none of the growing friendship that had come to mean more to the elf than he cared to admit.

  Suddenly the task was harder than Elaith had anticipated. The elf turned aside and clasped his hands behind his back. "I heard of the loss to your family. I am sorry."

  Danilo's eyes clouded with grief, as well as a flicker of anger. "No loss to my family," he said shortly, "but on Lilly's behalf and my own, I thank you for your sympathy."

  "Sympathy is a cheap gift. In your position, I would prefer vengeance," the elf said. "You have the look of a hound that's picked up the fox's scent."

  "A skunk, more like it. Yes, I will run this vermin to ground."

  The elf expected this response, but he did not like the grim set of the man's face. He recognized that look of absolute, relentless stubbornness. Once, those traits had saved Elaith's life. He feared that now they could mean the end of Danilo's.

  "Perhaps I can be of some assistance," he said, schooling himself to feel no remorse over the sudden leap of hope and gratitude in the man's eyes. Help he would

  give, but to the fox and not the hound. Better to send Danilo off following another scent than to allow him to come too close to the heart of the matter. If the hound lived to hunt another day, he reasoned, the Mhaorkiira's master would find a suitable use for him.

  "You know that I do considerable business in the Dock Ward. I have some knowledge of the young woman," he said. "She had a sporting nature, and from time to time she found her way into my gambling dens. Since I make a point of knowing my customers, I learned her name, if not her heritage. But she has more in common with you than appearance might indicate."

  "The point, please, and swiftly," Danilo implored.

  "It will not be easy to hear," the elf cautioned. "More than once, I have seen her in the company of one of your peers. A friend of yours, I believe."

  The flash of stunned recognition, the sudden bleak flood of loss and then the cleansing surge of anger, told Elaith that a name was not necessary. Nevertheless, he gave it. "Regnet Amcathra has been known to make an occasional visit to The Pickled Fisherman. He has been seen in Lilly's company, there and elsewhere."

  Elaith let the man absorb this, then took a small package from the folds of his sleeve and unwrapped a blackened dagger. "One of my warehouses caught fire. The structure stood firm, but everything inside was burned, as was no doubt the intention. This was found between the charred ribs of a man in the employ of the Ilzimmer family. Do you recognize the workmanship?"

  Danilo took the dagger and turned it over in his hands. He gave it back after a quick perusal. "My first sword was an Amcathra blade, as is nearly every weapon I own," he said evenly. "They are incomparable."

  "Nearly as good as elven weapons," Elaith agreed. He saw the sudden leap of surprise and speculation in Danilo's eyes and wondered what it meant. The resolve returned, as suddenly as it had fled, now tempered by a

  new layer of sadness. "I am sorry to bear this news," the elf said. "What it means, I cannot say."

  "Rest assured that I will find out."

  The elf's resigned sigh and look of concern were not entirely feigned. "I thought as much. Have a care. The Amcathra clan is subtle and canny. Who would think them capable of such deeds?"

  Those words were true enough to cloak the elf's deception—and hide another truth layered beneath it. Elaith knew full well that the Amcathra clan deserved its sterling reputation. There was no better quarry to set this particular hound upon, for Danilo would follow this path with dogged determination—and that would keep him and Arilyn out of Elaith's way. Of course, the cost to Danilo would be the loss of a lifelong friendship, but in Elaith's opinion Regnet Amcathra was a highly expendable pawn.

  "Regnet Amcathra. Who would have thought?" Danilo echoed with a faint, pained smile. He extended his hand to the elf. "Hard words to speak, but I thank you for them."

  Elaith took the offered handclasp and met the human's steady gaze. "What are friends for?" he said with apparent warmth and deliberate irony.

  * * * * *

  Regnet Amcathra lived in the Sea Ward, a sedate sector of the city that was nonetheless close to the roiling life of the docks. It seemed to Danilo that this contrast suited his old friend. The Amcathra family was obscenely wealthy, and Regnet, like Danilo, was a younger son and not involved directly in family affairs. Although Regnet was as fond of luxury and as complacently serene in his position as any man of his class, he had a fondness for adventure. A few years back, he had founded the Deep Delvers, a group of bored young nobles who

  went into the tunnels beneath Waterdeep in search of adventure.

  Danilo had always admired this endeavor. At the moment, however, Regnet's deep-delving ways held too much coincidence for Danilo's peace of mind. Adventuring was often a convenient mask for roguery, and any connection with Undermountain in general and Skull-port in particular was highly suspect. He sincerely hoped Regnet had not been involved with Lilly, that he'd had no part in the business that had led to her death.

  He left his horse with the groom and walked through the iron gate, a daunting affair fashioned from three pairs of rearing pegasi. His friend's home was small, by the standards of the Sea Ward, and had once been a carriage house for a wealthy mage who owned a small fleet of pegasi. The mansion itself had burned down years ago—another casualty of magic created without thought of possible consequence—and it had never been rebuilt.

  The door opened before Danilo could knock. He smiled down at the baffling steward-a hiring trend that had become all the rage since word of Monroe's efficiency had made the rounds of Danilo's social circle. This half-ling wore a blue and red uniform that proclaimed his service to the Amcathra house, and his hair was as yellow as a dandelion. At the moment the comparison was particularly apt, for the steward's hair stood up as if he had raked his hands through it repeatedly and with great agitation.

  Danilo regarded the little fellow. "Is something amiss, Munson?"

  "You might say that, sir."

  Before the halfling could elucidate, a jaunty step behind him spoke of his master's approach.

  "Danilo! Welcome. How long has it been since you've

  stopped by? Longer than a dwarf's beard, I'll warrant."

  Though Regnet's words were a fair reflection of fact,

  there was no reproach in the man's face or voice. Danilo took the offered handclasp and returned his friend's smile with genuine warmth—and deep sadness. Regnet was an affable soul, handsome in a roguish sort of way, with curly brown hair and laughing hazel eyes. He had his faults, including a hot and ready temper, but Danilo could not believe he could be part of something as vile and needless as Lilly's death.

  His need to know deepened and se
ttled his resolve. "Have you time at present for conversation?" Danilo asked.

  "I am at leisure this whole day and yours to command. We must have a drink. Munson, is there any zzar in the house?"

  "Of course, my lord, but-"

  "Fine. Splendid. Bring some to the game room. Danilo, you haven't yet seen my new trophy." Regnet clapped an arm around his visitor's shoulders and began to lead the way.

  The halfling's eyes bulged, lending him a distinct likeness to a panic-stricken trout. "My lord, I must have a word with you."

  "Later," Regnet said firmly.

  Danilo fell into step beside his friend, listening with only half an ear as Regnet chatted about his latest adventure—something about icy tunnels, and caverns so sparkling with crystal and ice that a single torch seemed to transform the place into a house of mirrors.

  Danilo was more interested in whatever caused the halfling so much consternation. The steward followed them a few steps, his small round face a study in indecision. This Danilo could understand. Despite his good humor, Regnet had a demon of a temper-this Danilo could attest to, as he had been on the receiving end of it twice or thrice. Like many men of his class, Regnet paid scant attention to his servants as long as they followed his orders without question or hesitation. It was

  a combination that might well give pause to the most stouthearted halfling. After a bit Munson gave up the effort, sighed, and veered off into a side passage, no doubt in search of the requested liqueur.

  They reached a set of double doors. Regnet threw them open with a flourish. "What do you think?" he demanded proudly.

  Danilo peered into the room. Fine, deep chairs were scattered about, and tables of polished wood held gaming boards and neat stacks of cards. Small bowls of semiprecious gems or brightly polished crystals stood nearby as an aid in placing wagers. The most notable feature of the room was the collection of trophies. A splendid stag gazed down from over the mantle, its enormous rack casting shadows against the flickering glow of firelight on the floor beneath. A wild boar grinned wickedly from its place over the dartboard. Dangerous tusks the size and sharpness of daggers lent the beast an air of dignity that was not in the least diminished by the pair of darts that bristled from its snout. A narwhal was mounted against an enormous wooden plaque. The great fish had long been Regnet's pride, for the narwhal's size and the wicked, serrated length of sword on its snout made it the most difficult and dangerous of game fish. The narwhal had been stuffed with its tail arched beneath it, the body curved and ready for a lunging attack. It looked like a master swordsman forever frozen in guard position.