The tren got its knife down for the parry, catching the sword again in the curved guard. It brought up a massive, clawed foot over the joined weapons, clearly intending to stomp on the captured sword.
Arilyn twisted away, turning the blade so that the edge greeted the tren's foot. The tren could not halt its momentum in time and roared in rage and anguish as the sharp edge sliced deep. She threw the sword up hard and high, cutting through the thick pad of scale, severing bone. A clawed toe fell to the cobblestone.
The creature again began to circle her, limping now and emitting panting little hisses of rage. Arilyn turned with it, her sword in guard position. She suspected what its next tactic might be. Sure enough, as soon as the tren had maneuvered her so that her back was to the gaping hole, it tucked in its head like a charging bull and leaped at her, massive arms outstretched in a deadly embrace.
Arilyn deftly stepped to the side and pivoted on her outer foot. Her sword slid along the ribs of the lunging creature, drawing a long deep line. She pulled the blade up high and back, and then plunged it between the beast's ribs.
Holding the sword with both hands, she braced her feet at the edge of the hole and held on for life. The sharp pull of the falling tren's weight almost tore her arms from her shoulders, and the sudden release when its body fell clear sent her staggering back.
She stumbled into Danilo's arms. It occurred to her that he had a grip on her belt—and that he had probably seized it the moment she'd stabbed the tren.
"You shouldn't interfere during battle," she reminded him. "What if things had gone differently, and I'd pulled you down with me?"
He turned her to face him. "That would have saved me the trouble of jumping in after you."
She acknowledged this with a nod, then glanced toward the hole. "We'd better move on. Listen to that. The other tren will be finished soon."
"Finished?" His face took on a pained expression as the meaning of her words came clear to him. "You don't mean to say that these creatures eat their own?" he demanded, although the faint sounds emanating from the tunnel below made the question unnecessary.
"The price of failure," Arilyn said as she kicked into a trot. "I'd say there's at least five or six down there. Now the others will only be more determined. It's a matter of honor now. As tren reckon honor, that is."
Danilo fell in beside her. "Keen motivation! As well, one should not discount the bracing effect of a good meal."
She sent him an incredulous look, but she saw a certain logic in his grim humor. "There's that, too," she agreed.
They ran until they reached a wide, busy street. Danilo flagged down a carriage and promised the halfling driver double his hire if he could get them to the North Ward swiftly. The halfling set a pace brisk enough to inspire angry shouts from some of the passersby.
Arilyn relaxed against the plush seat, certain that their hired driver could outrun any tren that cared to give pursuit.
Why, then, was she still beset by the conviction that she and Danilo were not alone?
Seven
After leaving Arilyn at her lodging, Danilo headed for the North Ward and the Thann family villa. For once the sedate, quiet streets did not have their usual effect on him—the familiar mixture of exasperation and ennui, and the numbing certainty that nothing particularly dangerous or entertaining could possibly occur.
It was an odd belief, one that Danilo had never identified before. Strange, he mused, how a long-held notion could continue to color his thinking, long after he knew it to be false.
The North Ward's serenity was deceitful to one who knew the city and its long, often violent history. Danilo had been well schooled in such matters, and so the repeated tren attacks struck him as having greater portent than they might otherwise have held.
Not many generations had passed since Waterdeep had been torn by the Guild Wars. The merchant families had hired mercenary armies and fought each other in the streets. Many other nobles fell to assassins, poisons, and magic. Entire clans had been destroyed. Though this era was past, Danilo knew enough of history to understand that the pattern was not a line but a spiral. Old wounds festered, sometimes for generations. The last time tren assassins had been used in any number was during the Guild Wars. It was entirely possible that their return signified some sort of holdover from the days of the Guild Wars, the ambition of one family against another.
That was a most disturbing possibility, but if that were true, it provided a possible connection between all the tren attacks. Only one attack had been fatal—that which had killed Oth—but all the others seemed related to the Eltorchul mage. A tren attacked Elaith, who had dealings with Oth. Arilyn had assisted Elaith, thus drawing the ire of the tren clan, and she and Danilo were investigating Oth's death. Twice they had interfered. That was probably enough to add their names to the tren runes scratched in the hidden places beneath the city.
In all, it was a disturbingly plausible explanation. Danilo intended to test it against a mind other than his. Although he knew many of Waterdeep's sages and scholars, he could not name anyone who knew more of the city's history than Lady Cassandra.
The conversation ahead would no doubt prove . . . interesting. In times not long past, she had been very interested in inflicting this knowledge on her youngest son. Dan supposed he had seemed the most likely to follow his mother's scholarly leanings. Somehow, he doubted that at this late date his mother would regard his sudden interest without skepticism.
He found her, predictably enough, in the library. For a moment he lingered in the doorway and observed the remarkable woman who had given him life.
Cassandra was seated on a low bench, clad in a day gown of blue linen and looking as elegant and poised as some legendary queen. Her thick blonde hair was coiled smoothly about her head, and her face was unlined and serene. The long night of revelry had left no mark upon either the woman or the villa she ruled. While half of Waterdhavian society slept, she calmly dictated instructions to a pair of stewards, a dock master, and a scribe.
She glanced up at Danilo's knock. "You are up and about early," she observed.
He sauntered into the room. "I have not had opportunity to sleep. So far this has been a most eventful day. Shall I tell you about it?"
Cassandra stiffened almost imperceptibly and glanced toward the suddenly interested scribe. Danilo suppressed a smile. Scribes were restricted by law—and often by magic—from revealing to others the secrets they entrusted to parchment, but more than one scribe made extra coins on the side by selling bits of chance-heard gossip to such purveyors as Myrna Cassalanter. That was something Cassandra Thann would not countenance.
She turned back to her servants. "Julian, you may advance our vintners in Amn the requested credit. Add an additional forty barrels of spiced winterfest wine to this year's order. Gunthur, I would like to see all Thann shipping records for the moons of Flamerule and Eleasias by highsun tomorrow, if that is convenient."
The sudden panicked expression on the dock master's face indicated that this was far from convenient. Danilo could almost hear the click of beads sliding across on the man's mental abacus as he tallied the hours such a task would take.
Without waiting for a reply, Lady Cassandra rose gracefully to her feet. "We are finished for the day. Attend me tomorrow morning at the usual hour."
She held her look of implacable serenity until the men had left the study and closed the heavy wooden door behind them. The face she turned upon her son, however, expressed a familiar blend of resignation and exasperation.
"You'd might as well tell the tale. Without the usual embellishments, if you please," she said wryly. "I am in no mind to be amused."
Danilo poured himself a glass of deep red wine from the decanter on his mother's table. He inhaled the rich, complex scent of the spices and took an appreciative sip. "Are you quite sure that an extra forty barrels will be sufficient? This is exceptionally good. After the first tasting, word will spread quickly. You will sell all within a tenday to the better taverns and have none to meet orders from wine shops, much less from those who wish to stock their private cellars. As you undoubtedly know, the bards' college will sponsor a winterfest gala for the first time this year. I can guarantee an order of twenty barrels from that source alone."
A flicker of interest warmed Cassandra's ice-blue eyes. "Very well. See to it." She arranged herself on her settee. "But this is not why you are here. I doubt you neglected your bed to improve the family fortune."
Danilo lifted the goblet in salute. "As wise as you are beautiful, my lady. That is well for me, as I find myself in need of your good counsel."
"Is that so?" murmured his mother, eyeing him warily.
"Yes. I've noticed a disturbing trend of late—or tren, to be more precise. It seems that more people are being killed and eaten than is usual custom. You have ever been one to dictate fashion, Mother, so I suppose it is fitting for this pattern to begin here."
Cassandra's face paled but for two spots of bright, angry color. "Tren? The lizard assassins, here? What is this nonsense? If this is another of your games, I assure you it is not amusing!"
"Mark me, I am not amused," Danilo said as he took the seat across from his mother. "Arilyn happened upon an attack last night. By the way, you might have your steward see to mopping the corridors between the wine vault and the old mercenary armory. I dare say it's still a bit of a mess."
The woman stared at him as if he were speaking Orcish. "An attack here, during the Gemstone Ball? Upon whom?"
Her surprise seemed total and genuine. Although Danilo had never truly believed his mother had had any part in this attack, he could not deny the sudden easing of his mind.
"Elaith Craulnober. A guest," he said firmly, cutting off the exasperated comment she was so obviously prepared to make, "here by my invitation and protected by the rules of hospitality."
"Do not lecture me on proprieties and social obligations," the noblewoman returned heatedly. "You had no business inviting that rogue to a respectable affair in the first place! Nor did your . . . companion ... do well to intervene!"
Danilo's eyes narrowed. "I suppose she should have walked on and left a lone elf to face his death at the hands of five tren assassins?"
"Five tren," Cassandra repeated tonelessly. This news seemed to dissolve some of the starch from her spine, and suddenly her posture was less that of a warrior queen than of a woman who could claim a score of grandchildren. The moment quickly passed. "What transpired?"
"They fought. Four were killed, one escaped."
"By the runes of Oghma." Having delivered that oath, Cassandra rose and began to pace, her face deeply clouded with anger and concern. "Perhaps now you will understand my reservations concerning this liaison you insist upon forming with this woman! If you do not understand it, you soon shall—unless you are as great a fool as you have always pretended to be."