The Dream Spheres - Elaine Cunningham [111]
"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 Thann tomb?"
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 Thann villa, leaving Danilo to battle Lady Cassandra over the details of Lilly's final arrangements. She tracked Isabeau to the orchard farm and confirmed from the farmers the tale that Hector had passed to Danilo.
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 running a horse full-out on such rough terrain.
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.