"There you have it," agreed a deeper, younger male voice that Arilyn did not recognize. "You'll find no investors here, Oth. Who would pledge good money to an endeavor destined for failure?"
"Failure is not quite the word I would use," amended Lady Cassandra. "As Oth pointed out, there probably is money to be made with these toys. A prohibition would put this product into the hands of less scrupulous dealers." She sniffed. "Not our kind of people."
"You surprise me, Lady Thann," retorted Boraldan Ilzimmer. "In the past, your words and deeds have matched admirably well. Yet you speak of unscrupulous rogues, even while you entertain the elf lord Elaith Craulnober under this very roof. Consorting with elves, even if they were the honorable sort, is hardly the done thing."
"That is my son's doing, not mine," Cassandra said in clipped tones. "Perhaps I indulge him too much."
Arilyn blinked, startled by this news. She had not seen Elaith among the revelers but she could hardly blame Lady Thann for her displeasure.
Danilo and Elaith had been foes for as long as she'd known either of them. Matters had changed earlier that summer, when Danilo had repaid the elf's treachery by saving his life. Elaith might be a rogue and a scoundrel, but he was still an elf and he followed certain codes of honor. He had named Danilo an Elf-friend, the highest honor an elf could pay a human. Danilo probably thought including Elaith among his guests was the only natural thing to do. Arilyn could understand why Cassandra would think otherwise.
"I don't trust the elf, and I don't appreciate his inclusion among the peerage," Boraldan said flatly. "If any problems arise—"
"He will be dealt with," Cassandra said firmly, and with great finality. "Are we agreed that Lord Oth will not sell these toys?"
"If I do not, then someone else will," Oth said stubbornly. "Once a thing is made it cannot long be hidden. Word of these marvels will spread. Someone will find a way to profit from them. Better it be one of us."
A long, pregnant silence followed his words, one that Arilyn could not interpret. "There are strictures on trade," Cassandra Thann said carefully, "that are not always obvious to those who buy and sell in the shops and stalls. Those who try to circumvent these restraints often come to grief."
"I am heir to the Eltorchul lordship," Oth said indignantly. "Do you presume to threaten me?"
"Not at all," the woman said in a wry tone, "but you asked for an audience and for our advice. It has been given."
"I understand," Oth said in a stiff voice.
Arilyn did not, but she was not particularly interested in learning more. Nor did she wish to be discovered eavesdropping. She headed for the stairwell at the end of the hall and hurried down the tightly curving spiral. Sooner or later, she reasoned, she would reach the main floor, and the din emanating from the great hall would make tracking easy.
Several moments passed, and Arilyn judged that she had descended a depth sufficient to bring her well past the main floor, but no doors led out of the stairwell. She continued down. The stairwell tightened, and the flickering light of the torches thrust into iron wall brackets gave way to darkness. Her eyes adjusted, slipping past the need for light into the elven range, where heat registered in complex and subtle patterns.
The stairs ended in a dark and silent hall beneath the Thann estate. To one side, a vast, cool room was honeycombed with small shelves filled with dusty bottles. The Thanns were wine merchants, and Danilo had often remarked on their cellars. Arilyn spared this treasure trove no more than a glance. Her attention fixed upon the footprints that led past the door.
They were heat prints, large and faint. Several sets of them, by the looks of it. She dropped to one knee for a better look, and her eyes widened.
The tracks belonged to tren—huge, reptilian creatures that lived beneath ground, surfacing only to ply their trade. Arilyn had reason to know this. Tren were assassins, and she had crossed swords with them before. In her experience, they did not venture this far above ground without deadly purpose. She knew them well enough to realize that tren bodies warmed or cooled with their surroundings, so their heat prints were faint even when fresh.
These were very fresh, indeed.
Quietly, Arilyn rose to her feet and slid her sword from its sheath. Her own feet, elf-shod and magically protected, left no telltale marks as she began to follow the assassins' trail.
Two
Danilo glanced up at one of the tall, narrow windows that lined the great hall. The moon had risen perhaps twice its own width since his miscast spell. Arilyn was taking far more time in returning than he had anticipated.
A hearty clap on the back shook him from his reverie. A tall man with curly brown hair regarded him with mock dismay. "Look at you! Snared like a hare! Tell me, how long have you been waiting for this woman?"
Danilo turned a wry grin upon his friend Regnet Amcathra, then nodded toward Myrna Cassalanter, who was whispering tales to a woman wearing an emerald colored gown and an expression of scandalized delight. "About as long as you have been evading that one."
Regnet threw back his head and laughed. "An eternity, it would seem! And the night is still young! However, I was not speaking only of tonight. In truth, Dan, it seems years since we've gone out drinking and wenching together. There are many woman in this wide world, you know."
"One who matters." Danilo's gaze slid again to the door through which Arilyn had disappeared.
Regnet shook his head. "One woman!" he mourned. "When I consider the straits to which you have been reduced!"
"I have other vices," Danilo assured him, brandishing an empty goblet.
"Well, that's a comfort." The nobleman scanned the room, and his eyes lit up as they settled upon a pretty barmaid at the far end of the hall. "We are in luck. There's a sight to gladden us both."
They sauntered over to the table, and Regnet immediately busied himself with a flirtation. Danilo applauded his choice. The girl was a merry lass with red-gold hair, laughing gray eyes, and dimples that flashed in genuine good humor. Her voice might be rough with the accents of the shantytowns of Dock Ward, but there was nothing blunt about her wit.
"Don't be taking this amiss," she advised Regnet, "but you'd best be moving on. There's a moor fire burning this way."
Danilo followed the line of her gaze and burst out laughing. Myrna Cassalanter advanced, her gaze intent upon Regnet. With her scarlet hair and even brighter gown, she did rather resemble a wind-driven blaze. Moor fires were considered terrible omens, and in practical terms the burning bog gasses left a foul scent behind. Dan could not imagine a better description of Myrna, a gossipmonger by profession and inclination, than that supplied by the barmaid.
When Myrna had dragged her prey away to the dancing, Danilo lifted his glass to the serving girl in silent salute. She responded with a quick, impish smile and then a shrug.
"I've seen enough of such things to name them true."
"Bog fires?" Dan inquired with a grin.
"Wouldn't that be fine!" the girl replied wistfully. "No, I've never stepped beyond these city walls."
He helped himself to a bottle from the table and refilled his glass. There was no self-pity in the girl's voice, but he recognized the sound of genuine longing—and the echo of his own restless nature. "Where would you go?"
She shrugged again. "Anywhere that doesn't smell of fish and ale would suit me fine."