Элейн Каннингем - Silver Shadows

At length she noticed that the dwarf, who was still half submerged in the water, was regarding her with a baleful stare. “You pulled me beard,” he pointed out. “You shouldn’t ought to do that.”

“You’re welcome,” Arilyn returned pleasantly.

“That too,” he muttered. “Name’s Jill, by the way.

It was more thanks than the half-elf had expected, even without the introduction. Dwarves often declined to give any name, even one as abbreviated and obviously spurious as this. Arilyn rose to her feet and extended a hand to help drag her new friend out of the water.

“Jill?” she repeated in an incredulous tone.

“That’s right. Gotta problem with it?”

“Well, no. I was expecting something a bit … longer, I suppose. More earthy. And possibly masculine.”

“ ‘Twas me mother’s name,” the dwarf proclaimed in a reverent tone that left very little room for discussion.

There was one more thing on Arilyn’s mind, however. “Now that you’ve seen the treasure, I suppose you’ll be back for it?” It was a logical question, considering that dwarven people generally rivaled dragons in their love for hoarding treasure. Arilyn wanted to return to the treasure hold someday, and while the loss of a single tiara and one dwarven servant might go unremarked, the ravages caused by a band of dwarven looters would almost certainly ensure that her hard-won entrance to Assante’s palace would be ascertained and secured against future incursion.

But Jill merely huffed. “Been in that pink prison fer ten years. Don’t plan on going back, not ever. If’n there’s anything you want in there, elf, yer welcome to it. Just don’t git yerself caught. There ain’t nothing in there worth that. ”

As he spoke, his eyes roved toward the east—and to the Starspire Mountains that were his home. Arilyn was inclined to believe him.

As they scrambled up the steep hill, she told him, briefly, what awaited them at the other side of the tunnel. The rapt expression on Jill’s face as he contemplated these wonders far outshone his treasure-inspired greed.

“I thought you were eager to be back under the Starspires,” Arilyn said. Even as she spoke, however, she slipped Jill a handful of silver coins. It would not do to have him pay Mistress Penelope’s girls with coins taken from Assante’s treasure trove.

The dwarf shrugged and pocketed his loot. “Been gone from those tunnels ten years, and I’m a-comin’ back with pockets full o’ treasure. Ain’t no one gonna begrudge me a coupla hours more, or ask me how I spent yer silvers!”

Lord Hhune held the tiara in his plump hands, eying it with satisfaction as he turned it this way and that.

“The relic of a long-gone age,” he breathed reverently. “This was the bridal crown of young Princess Lhayronna, who became queen to her cousin, King Alehandro III. A reminder that those who wear a crown must face the sword!” he said piously, quoting a common Tethyrian proverb.

A reminder that he himself was unlikely to heed, Arilyn noted in cynical silence. Lord Hhune was a powerful man in Zazesspur. Not only was he a wealthy merchant and head of the shipping guild, but he was also a member of the Lords’ Council, which carried out the edicts of Pasha Balik. It was therefore likely that he’d been part of the recent attempt to organize a guild takeover of the city. Arilyn might not have persisted in her furtive assault upon Assante’s stronghold, but for the prospect of meeting Lord Hhune face-to-face when the task was complete so that she might take his measure.

With each moment she spent in Hhune’s presence, Arilyn’s distrust of the man deepened. Rumor had it that this man had killed a red dragon. Arilyn was ready to accept that, provided that the dragon in question had still been in the egg at the time. Hhune was a large man, but he looked as if he spent more time downing pastries than wielding a sword. Even so, a less observant person might think him distinguished, even lordly. His dark, costly garments were carefully tailored to disguise his bulk, and his hair and thick black mustache were neatly groomed and just beginning to take on a bit of gray. His small black eyes were filmed over with a veneer of civility. Arilyn, however, had known many coldly avaricious men and was not fooled by this one. Hhune was not a man likely to be content with his current level of power. Nor, she suspected, was the tiara merely a treasure to be admired. Arilyn knew enough Tethyrian history to suspect what Hhune had in mind.

With the fall of the royal family of Tethyr, many of the royalists had fled to Zazesspur. For several years there had been a quiet underground movement to restore the monarchy, perhaps with a new royal family. Balik seemed well on the way to becoming just that, but Arilyn doubted the self-proclaimed pasha would enjoy the royalists’ support for long. Pasha Balik’s southern sympathies were becoming more and more apparent, and his inner circle was increasingly made up of men from Calimshan and even Halruaa. It would not be long, Arilyn suspected, before Pasha Balik was deposed and yet another powerful man or woman sought the crown. That was no doubt where the tiara came in. Possession of an item of such significance to the old royal family could help Hhune endear himself to nearly any faction or family that happened to rise to power. He might even use it as a prop in making his own bid for royalty.

And why not? Arilyn’s mare possessed a more noble pedigree than the man seated before her, yet Hhune was accounted a lord for no better reason than the country estate he’d purchased a few years back. Nor was Hhune an exception. In Tethyr, land was valued above all other forms of wealth, and possession of enough of it granted instant nobility. In the years following the destruction of the royal family—as well as the decimation of many of the ancient noble houses that possessed royal blood ties—manorial lands, counties, and even duchies changed hands like trinkets at a country fair. Men and women who had enough money to purchase land—or sufficient might to seize it—earned themselves instant titles. Tethyr was peppered with ersatz barons and countesses.

This offended Arilyn’s elven sensibilities, her deep respect for tradition, and her unspoken longing for family. But what disturbed her most about this trend was that even petty nobles were beginning to show signs of ambitions that reached far above their newly purchased stations. The threat of a guild takeover had been thoroughly, even ruthlessly, suppressed, but already Zazesspur buzzed with whispers of this baron or that lord gathering strength and supporters.

Ambition counted for a lot in Tethyr, and Hhune had it in abundance. Arilyn saw dreams of glory in his eyes as he regarded the amethyst tiara. She noted that it would be wise to watch this man and, if necessary, curb his ambitions.

At last Hhune placed the crown on his desk and turned his full attention upon the half-elf. “You have done well. I will pay you half again your original fee if you tell me how you got into Assante’s palace!”

Arilyn had expected this. To refuse might earn her the same sort of fate that had befallen Assante’s servants, so she had prepared a credible half-truth. She manufactured a smile that was both cold and seductive—a useful expression she’d copied from Ferret—and turned the full force of it upon Hhune.

“Assante has new women brought in from time to time. It was a small matter to include myself among them.”

Hhune’s black eyes gave her an appreciative sweep. “Yes, I can see how that would be so,” he said gallantly. “But tell me of the treasure room!”

This, Arilyn had not been expecting. But she marked the greed in Hhune’s eyes and decided to exploit it. With a little encouragement, perhaps he might offer to fund her next expedition!