The Dream Spheres - Elaine Cunningham [2]
Her home was a small, dark chamber graced by neither window nor hearth. It boasted a narrow, sagging cot, a cracked washbowl, a cast-off mirror in dire need of resilvering, hooks on the wall to hold her two spare dresses and her clean chemise. In a room down the hall, Peg sawed away at her old fiddle, which retaliated with squawks of protest that brought to mind a stepped-on cat.
Lilly entered the room shaking her head, as if she could deny the dreary reality around her. She shut the door and sank down on the cot. Reaching under the coverlet, she patted the lumpy stuffing until she found the particular lump she sought. From its hiding place she drew a small globe of iridescent crystal.
For a moment it was enough just to gaze at her treasure, to know that she, a simple tavern wench, could possess a dream sphere. This was a new thing in the city, a wondrous magical toy. They could not be found in the bazaars, of course. Naturally the city's wizards frowned on magic that could be purchased and used without coin crossing their palms. There was nothing, though, that could not be purchased in the City of Splendors, provided one knew where to look.
There was little about Waterdeep's hidden byways that Lilly did not know. She had bought dream spheres before and counted every copper well spent. This one, however, was special-a gift from her lover. A nobleman, he was. Surely he had chosen this particular dream with great fondness, knowing how she longed to enter his world!
Lilly closed her eyes and willed the man's handsome, roguish face to mind. As she closed her fingers around the glowing sphere, she slipped into the waking trance that was the corridor into the dream.
She heard the music first, lovely music that was far removed from the occasional tune brayed out by patrons of the Pickled Fisherman. The poor chamber faded away. Lilly raised her hands, turning them this way and that as she marveled at their unblemished whiteness. Wonderingly she smoothed them over the cool blue silk of her gown.
Suddenly, she was standing in a great hall filled with glittering guests. She saw her lover at the far side of the room, sipping wine and scanning the crowd with obvious anticipation. His face lit up when he saw her. Before she could move toward him, another gentleman broke away from the dancers and approached, dipping into the courtly bow that no woman of her lowly station ever received. Lilly nodded graciously and floated into his arms. Together they joined the intricate circle of the dance.
Her lover watched from the sidelines, smiling fondly. When the first dance was through he came to claim her. Together they danced and made merry until the melting wax of the hundreds of scented, glittering candles hung from the silver chandeliers like fragrant lace. Lilly knew every dance step, though she had never learned them. She remembered the taste of sparkling wine, although no such vintage came within a giant's shadow of the rough tavern where she spent most of her waking hours. She laughed and flirted and even sang, feeling more beautiful and witty and desirable than ever she had been in her life. Best of all, she was a lady among the nobility of Waterdeep, those lofty beings who glittered like winter stars and who would never, ever see her as one of their own.
Except, of course, in dreams.
The squawk of an old fiddle insinuated itself into the lilting rhythm of the dance music. Startled by this intrusion, Lilly missed the step and stumbled. Her lover's arms tightened around her waist to steady her. His eyes were warm with approval at what he clearly thought was a flirtatious ploy.
The dream was fading, though. There would be no time to fulfill the promises offered by her lord's bedazzled smile.
A surge of bright panic assailed Lilly. She tore herself from the gentleman's embrace, gathered up the skirts of her silken gown, and ran like a dock rat.
Frantically she raced down the sweeping marble stairs that led to the anonymity of the streets. She had to get away before the dream faded! She would die if she