The Dream Spheres

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 iden shy;tified 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 por shy;tent 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 schol shy;ars, 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 instruc shy;tions 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 oppor shy;tunity 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 fit shy;ting 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 pre shy;pared to make, "here by my invitation and protected by the rules of hospitality."

"Do not lecture me on proprieties and social obliga shy;tions," 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 war shy;rior 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."

This pronouncement startled Danilo for a number of reasons. He addressed the easiest issue first. "You saw through the pretense. I did not think anyone in the family did."

The woman sniffed. "Do you think I know so little of what happens under my own roof? I understand more than you think. As it turned out, your decision to play the fool in the service of the Harpers dovetailed well with the family interests. Wine merchants must know the trade. That you have learned, probably quite by accident, while meddling with Khelben's projects."

"One tavern at a time," Danilo agreed, making a jest to cover his surprise. "There is no substitute for first shy;hand knowledge."

"Indeed," she said dryly. "And now you are acclaimed as a bard, after all those years of tormenting your tutors and music masters! In all, I would say the choices you made for your life were not so very different from those I would have chosen for you. Until recently, of course."

Her implication was unmistakable and supremely irritating. Danilo set down his wineglass with exagger shy;ated care to compensate for his urge to heave it against a wall. "Which brings us to several other questions," he said evenly. "Why are you so opposed to Arilyn?"

"I suppose I have nothing against her personally. As a traveling companion, you could hardly have chosen better. However, it is time that you considered finding a consort. A half-elven mercenary is not suitable for a man of your position."

"Then I shall change my position," Danilo returned. "Anything I do for this city or this family can be done by another. Why should I not follow my own inclinations?"

Cassandra threw up her hands. "Why stop now?"

He let that pass. "I am also puzzled as to why you think Arilyn erred in giving aid to one of the Thann's guests. Would you have felt differently about this matter, had the target of the tren attack been some nobleman's daughter?"

The noblewoman gave the question more consideration than Danilo expected-more, he thought, than it warranted. "That is quite different, of course, but even so, she should not have interfered."

Danilo shook his head in astonishment. "You are surely not in favor of giving assassins free reign of the estate!"

The look Cassandra sent him was somber. "You should have listened," she said softly, "to the lessons I tried to teach you in your boyhood."

"Guild Wars, assassinations, chaos," Danilo said impatiently. "Yes, I remember it well."

His mother shook her head. "We are never quite done with the past. Who should know that better than a bard?"

Danilo studied her for a long moment. "There is an untold tale here."

"Better it be so," she said. An expression of chagrin crossed her face, as if she regretted yielding even that much. Her chin lifted, and her eyes cooled to their usual expression of serene control. "Leave it, my son. There is no tavern song here."

"Perhaps there is," he countered. "A man died today. Oth Eltorchul was the victim of another tren attack. Arilyn and I carried word of this to Lord Eltorchul. We were followed and attacked by tren shortly after we left the Eltorchuls' Sea Ward manor."

The color drained from Cassandra's face. "Have noth shy;ing more to do with this."

He briefly considered telling her about the attack at Arilyn's lodging. "Finally you give me advice I desire to heed!" he said with dark humor. "I fear, though, it will prove difficult to follow."

"I have none better to offer."

Her tone rang with finality. A long moment of silence passed between them, and Danilo rose to leave. Cas shy;sandra followed him to the door, her expression more somber than any she had shown even in the aftermath of his worst boyhood pranks. She caught his arm as he was about to open the door.

"One thing more. Do not ask any more questions about this matter, not of me or any other. Content your shy;self that you are better off without this knowledge."

He patted her hand and gently disengaged himself from her grip. "Strange words, coming from a lady who prides herself on her scholarship."

"I prize my skin far more highly," she said bluntly. "Though you often give me cause to wonder why, I would like to see yours remain firmly attached."

Danilo gave her a puzzled look.

"Those boots you are wearing. I suppose the leather is some sort of lizard?"

"Yes, that's right. Why?"

"The tren have their own notions of fashion, as appalling to us as ours probably are to them. They do not always dispose entirely of their victims. It is pos shy;sible that one or more of your ancestors ended up as a tren garment or gear bag."

"Ah. I am touched by your concern, but I have no intention of ending my days as some tren's leather loin shy;cloth," Danilo said dryly. "It seems to me that some lady recently remarked on the choices I have made and how closely they arrived at the destinations of her own hopes and goals. That same lady gave the opinion that her youngest son is no fool. Trust me to find my way to the end of this path."

"I do," said Cassandra, and her face was clouded by emotions Danilo could not begin to read. "I fear that nearly as much as I do the tren."

* * * * *

In the craggy mountains that surrounded Silverymoon, the trees were ancient and sociable-huddled together like aging warriors around a hearth fire, exchanging tales of feats long past. So thick was the forest, and so relentless the passage of wild water over rocks and through gorges, that the cloud-going caravan circled the area several times seeking a place broad and tame enough to settle upon.

Elaith saw the hilltop clearing well before the cara shy;van master began the circling descent. He tightened his grip on the rim of the sky chariot as the driver-a gold elf in the employ of Lord Gundwynd-guided the pega shy;sus team down in ever-tightening spirals.

Given the nature of their journey, Elaith had ex shy;pected the caravan to make a general, immediate, and grateful dismount. However, everyone stood or sat as he was, gazing down in silence at the famous Moonbridge, which led into Silverymoon.

A shimmering expanse, more like a child's soap bubble than the usual, solid comfort of stone and wood, rose in a soaring arc over the River Rauvin. The last tints of sunset seemed to linger in the insubstantial structure. Beneath the bridge-and through it-one could see the churning waters of the Rauvin as they tumbled over rock and shoal in a headlong race to the south.

"I'm not for crossing that thing," announced Ebe shy;nezer, with what seemed to Elaith to be typical dwarven cowardice.

This comment broke the spell. Bronwyn slid care shy;fully down from her griffon mount. "There was less than that under you all the way from Waterdeep to Silverymoon," she pointed out, reasonably enough.

The dwarf snorted. Before he could respond with more complaints, Rhep leaped from his sky chariot and strode into the center of the merchant band. "We camp here tonight and ride into the city first thing in the morning."

A chorus of murmured protest met the caravan master's words. All of them, other than the Eagle Riders and the grooms in Lord Gundwynd's employ, were new to flight. Two days had they traveled, under conditions that were both exhilarating and terrifying, and every person was primed for a night's revelry. Few places in the Northlands offered more enticements than Silverymoon. To add further inducement, it was common knowledge that the hills beyond the city were riddled with orcs, wild beasts, and other annoyances. With the coming of night, any securely walled city was attractive.

It seemed odd to Elaith that they would travel so far in a mere two days, using such an unusual and expen shy;sive means of transport, only to risk all with their des shy;tination fully in sight.

Nor was Elaith the only person to entertain such thoughts. Many of the merchants gave loud protest, which the big mercenary answered only with a glare. A caravan master's word held the force of law, even to the merchants who hired him. Rhep stalked off and began shouting orders to the guards, and after a few moments the protest subsided.

There was not much to unload, as most of the cargo seemed to be small, precious items. The guards made short work of the task, then encircled the treasure with the sky chariots. The formidable steeds they tethered just beyond, reasoning that the fierce pegasi, griffons, and giant eagles would be a greater deterrent to theft than any human guards Lord Gundwynd could muster. In the next circle the guards and merchants set up camp, some sharing the companionship of scattered fires, others, less eager for company, finding relative privacy on the outer edges of the clearing.

Elaith picked the least hospitable spot for himself. Uphill from the clearing, near the edge of the trees, was a spot strewn with tumbled rocks and fallen limbs. The boulders formed a barrier between him and the com shy;pany, yet the site offered good visibility over the clear shy;ing and well into the tree line behind him. It was a highly defensible place, which the elf bolstered with a few snares and half-moon traps-an abomination to most elves, but effective for all that.

The elf finished up by hiding several throwing knives here and there and then quickly built a fire. He pushed aside some of the burning wood and placed a small travel pot amid the glowing embers. Into this he emp shy;tied some water from his drinking flask as well as some dried mushrooms and herbs. While that simmered, he settled down to enjoy the solitude-and to watch his fellow travelers.

Bronwyn busied herself with the caravan's bundles, setting to work along with the guards. She exchanged jests with several of the men and slapped away a few grasping hands-but with easy good humor that left most of her companions standing alone, but smiling. The elf had to admire her aplomb in this matter, not to mention her good taste in refusing to have anything to do with the louts.

He was not pleased, however, when the woman began a purposeful approach to his campsite. She paused at the very edge of the circle of firelight and cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder.

"Mind if I join you?" she said tentatively. When he hesitated, she added, "I am the only woman in this camp."

Elaith's eyebrows flew up. "You hardly need to offer that as an inducement. Many would seek you out in a crowd of courtesans."

This response brought a wry chuckle from Bronwyn. "I suppose that did sound like an offer," she admitted. "It wasn't intended to. In truth, I'd like to get some sleep tonight, and I'm looking for a safe place."

"This is it?"

She shrugged, following his meaning. "I haven't crossed you in business, and I've got nothing worth stealing. By all reports, you've got little interest in human women. As I see it, that adds up to about as safe as I'm likely to get. If you've an objection, I'll find another spot."

"None whatsoever." Now that he considered the matter, Elaith could see a definite advantage in keeping a close watch over his probable rival. "Do have a care near that jagged boulder."

She skirted the large rock, nodding approval when she caught sight of the circle trap. "Got many of those around?"

"A few."

"Good. I'll sleep more soundly for knowing it."

Elaith made room for her at the fireside. "Where is the dwarf?"

"Around," she said vaguely. "He pulled first watch. Oh, will you look at that!" she exclaimed suddenly, pointing.

The elf followed her gesture. At the far side of the clearing, a large fire leaped into the night. Multicolored lights and intricate patterns danced amid the flames. Silhouetted against the fey light were the lithe forms of the Eagle Riders. Garelith was telling the tale, judging from his animated face and hand gestures.

"Fireside tales," Elaith reminisced. "A small magic, often taught to elven young."

"This puts to shame all those hours I've spent star shy;ing into the flames," Bronwyn said, her tones rounded with wonder and delight. "How I wish I could hear their stories! But the elves would never tell them before me."

"No doubt you are right." A peal of bawdy laughter punctuated the elven tale, and the flames turned blue and rose into improbably entwined figures. "Not neces shy;sarily for the reason you think," Elaith added.

Bronwyn peered at the fire for a moment, then sat back looking impressed. "Huzzah! I'll always regard centaurs in a whole new light."

The elf saw no particular place for that conversation to go, so he dipped up soup in his travel mug and handed it to his guest. She produced a similar cup from her bag and handed it to him. For a few moments they ate in silence.

Finally Elaith's curiosity prevailed. "You strike me as exceedingly forthright, yet you haven't asked me my business in Silverymoon."

This amused her. "I'd probably be better off not know shy;ing! Truthfully, this has been a busy season for me. I have a great deal of business to attend. It's all I can do to watch my own affairs, much less mind anyone else's."

"You'll be staying on in Silverymoon for a while, then."

"As long as it takes. A few days, perhaps."

At the far side of the clearing, the Eagle Riders began a raucous game of dice. Bronwyn responded with a quick, sympathetic smile. Her reaction prodded the elf's suspicions about her knowledge of elves, and her true reasons for the trip.

"Their behavior doesn't seem to surprise you," Elaith commented.

"Should it? They're young, high-spirited, and enjoy shy;ing good company. They are entitled to their fun."

"Most humans do not consider high spirits to be an elven virtue," he persisted. "I think you're more familiar with our ways."

She shrugged again. "I've done business with all sorts. It helps to know the customs."

"I can see how it would," he agreed, approaching the question from another side. "Your work must often pres shy;ent challenges. Forgive me, but I find it difficult to envi shy;sion the fey folk entrusting their lost treasures to a human."

Bronwyn accepted this with a nod. "Some do feel that way. Others respect results and pay well for them. Why do you ask?"

"I might wish to engage your services some time," the elf said vaguely. He glanced up at the stars to measure the hour, then inclined his head in apology. "I am being a poor host. I have kept you talking, when you ex shy;pressed desire to sleep."

She stopped in mid-yawn and then reached for her bedroll. "I won't argue with you."

Elaith sat by the fire long after the woman's soft, steady breathing indicated that she slept. From time to time he drifted into reverie, that watchful dreaming that renewed and restored the fey folk.

However, there was little respite for Elaith this night. For the first time in many years, he saw in reverie the leaping white towers of the Moonstone Palace as he rode his silver-gray horse through the streets of Ever shy;meet's royal city. His heart swelled with the pride befit shy;ting one of his race and rank and talents, and it beat with quick anticipation of the meeting ahead. Amnes shy;tria, the youngest daughter of King Zaor and Queen Amlaruil, had been pledged to him in betrothal. She had sent word that she was eager to meet with her betrothed when the moon rose.

The crunch of heavy boots against stony ground roused Elaith from his dream. His keenly honed senses recognized the portent of danger, but for a moment or two he didn't care. The dream was so vivid, so poignant, that it left behind a sense of loss that dwarfed all other considerations.

Evermeet was lost to him. Amnestria was long dead. Her half-elven daughter despised him, and not without reason. What could possibly matter, in light of all that?

Elaith watched without interest as a large figure broke away from the trees and stalked toward his camp. A small movement nearby drew his eyes. Bronwyn's small hand curled around a knife. Other than that, she might have been asleep. She did not move and her breathing was slow and even.

"Expecting trouble?" the elf said softly.

"I warned you of the possibility," she responded. Her eyes opened a crack, and fell upon the large, bearded man who was creeping toward them.

"Rhep," she said resignedly. "Some men understand the word no only when it's accompanied by a stab wound or a fireball spell."

Elaith found this notion distasteful. He had never been able to understand why any male would wish to force attention upon an unwilling female. There was no joy in such games, and little sport. On the other hand, the prospect of battle offered a diversion, a familiar respite from his despair.

"I would be delighted to distract him," the elf offered.

"Thanks, but I don't want you to get in trouble on my account. No offense, but who will believe that you fought to protect my honor? I'll set up a fuss, and the others will intervene."

"Don't be so sure," he cautioned her. She looked puzzled, so he added, "Rhep is in the employ of the Ilzimmer family. He is caravan master, which means that, although Lord Gundwynd has supplied the mounts and some of the guards, Ilzimmer is funding the dragon's share of this journey. Most of the mercenaries report to Rhep. You would receive little assistance from that lot. Nor would you find recompense, afterwards. The Ilzimmer clan is known for its distasteful habits and would not be particularly concerned about the behavior of its hirelings. If you were a woman of their class, they might manage to dredge up a sense of out shy;rage. As matters stand, you can expect nothing."

Bronwyn did not flinch. "Harsh words, but good knowledge to have. I'll circle back to camp." She slipped from her bedroll and wriggled like a snake behind the stand of boulders that separated Elaith's camp from the trees beyond.

Rhep scowled as his gaze fell only on the watchful elf and the ashes of a solitary campfire. "Where's the woman, elf?"

Elaith rose, a stout stick in his hand. This he tossed in the direction of the approaching man. A circle trap snapped shut, splitting the wood and sending two neatly sheared pieces flying into the air. The mercenary shied back, both hands flung up to ward off the leaping wood. His furious expression deepened as he realized how his response might be read.

"The camp is warded," Elaith said calmly. "You would be wise to stay where you are."

"Coward!" Rhep grated, as if eager to place that name upon another. "Leave your toys and traps and come out in the open! Name your place, if you're not afraid to fight a real man."

"The forest," Elaith said shortly, and then he turned and led the man away from Bronwyn's hiding place. After a moment, he heard behind him the heavy but cautious tread of the mercenary's boots. He heard also the stealthy rasp of metal against metal as Rhep drew his sword.

Coward indeed, the elf thought scornfully. He subtly quickened his pace to keep his back beyond the reach of the man's treacherous sword.

When he judged they were far enough away that battle would not rouse the camp, Elaith turned to face his challenger. As he did, he pulled a knife from his sleeve and slashed in a single smooth movement so fast it defied the eye to follow. The sharp edge sliced through the shoulder strap that supported Rhep's weapons belt. Belt and weapons sank toward the ground.

Rhep instinctively stooped to grab the falling belt. The elf seized a handful of hair and jerked the man's head down. At the same moment, he brought his knee up hard. The man's face smashed into the thigh greave that reinforced Elaith's travel leathers. Bone was no fit challenger for elven metal, and it gave way with a sat shy;isfying crunch.

Elaith flung the man aside. Rhep tripped and fell heavily back, clutching at a garishly broken nose. His sword clattered to the rocky ground.

The elf hooked a toe in the guard of Rhep's sword. One kick sent it spinning up. Elaith caught the descend shy;ing blade easily and held it at arms' length for inspec shy;tion. His lip curled as he regarded the pitted edge, then he stalked in.

"You drew first," he stated. "I defended myself as best I could." This remark he flavored with heavy irony-and punctuated with a vicious kick to the man's ribs. "You would have defeated me but for the fact that you tripped in the darkness and fell upon your own sword. A tragic tale, is it not? To think that you had the honor of hearing it first."

Rhep rolled blindly away. The elf aimed a final kick at the base of his spine and raised the crude weapon for the killing stroke.

A small, stubby hand seized his ankle and jerked him to a halt. Elaith released the sword and twisted, catlike, in an effort to retain his balance. He shifted his weight-and his furious gaze-back toward the direc shy;tion of the interference.

The red-bearded dwarf whom Bronwyn had called Ebenezer clicked his tongue in reproach.

"Man's down," he pointed out. "Me, I like to see games played on an even field."

Elaith kicked out viciously, but the dwarf released him and danced back out of reach with surprising agility. The meddling little toad lifted Rhep's sword in mock challenge, then he handed the weapon to its owner.

"Set to, if that's what you've a mind to do," the dwarf continued. "I'm all for a bit of fun."

So, apparently, was Rhep. Using the sword like a cane, the mercenary rose unsteadily to his feet. His broken nose was beginning to swell, and his breath whistled wetly through the shattered protuberance, but there was livid hatred in his eyes, and that served to focus and steady him.

The elf pulled twin daggers from sheaths hidden beneath his leg greaves. He whirled toward the mangy pair, one knife coming in high and intended for Rhep, the other aimed at the dwarf's throat.

He heard the heavy thud of a dwarven body hitting the ground and sensed that Ebenezer was rolling toward him. He leaped over the thick, stubby body and leaned into the attack on Rhep, but the evasion had stolen his rhythm, and his stabbing attack on the mercenary fell short of its target. Rhep easily parried the elf's knife and then punched out hard over the enjoined blades.

Elaith leaned away from the blow, but it glanced off his shoulder and spun him to one side. The mercenary leered in triumph and lunged.

The pitted sword never came close. A dwarven axe spun in, knocking Rhep's sword wide. Man and elf turned to regard Ebenezer with astonishment.

"Play fair," the dwarf admonished as he scampered around the combatants to retrieve his weapon. "Looks like it's your turn, elf. Make it good, now!"

Elaith needed no prompting. Ignoring the dull ache in his shoulder, he stood and fought with a quick and ignominious finish in mind.

His opponent seemed equally determined. Rhep used his vast size to advantage, chopping and hewing at Elaith as if the elf were an oak he was determined to whittle into arrow shafts. For all his speed and skill, Elaith was forced to take the defensive. His twin blades flashed in the gray gleam of dawn, catching the first slanting rays of the morning sun. Neither fighter could seize advantage. The dwarf continued to intervene, first on one side then the other, keeping the balance level.

Suddenly Elaith knew the dwarf's game. Bronwyn was long gone-and her companion was making sure that Elaith was kept too busy to follow.

Rage swept through him as he realized how he had been tricked. He quickly mastered the bright surge and studied his opponent. The mercenary's eyes still burned with determination, but he was blowing like a beached whale. The elf parried a heavy, slashing attack and retreated several steps.

"I have had enough of this dwarf," Elaith said firmly. "Why should we fight to amuse him? Let's kill him quickly, then have done with this."

"Nay." Rhep spat bloody foam at the elf's boots. "I wouldn't join you in a lifeboat!" He drew back his sword for another stroke.

The elf ducked under a slashing backhanded blow. As he came up, his sword sliced a thin line from the man's shoulder to elbow.

"Good hit," Ebenezer congratulated. "Took you long enough."

The dwarf's taunting stung, though Elaith took it as more an insult to his wits than his fighting prowess. Determined to end the matter, Elaith landed a stinging smack to Rhep's cheek with the flat of his dagger.

"Listen," he snapped and then stepped back.

The sounds of a caravan readying for departure drifted to them, barely audible over Rhep's labored breathing.

"I do not intend to walk to Silverymoon," Elaith said. "If I kill you now, that's what I'd have to do. Leave this for another time, and let's get on with the matters at hand."

He sheathed his daggers and began to walk back to camp. Rhep let him pass, then lunged at the elf's back.

The attack was drearily predictable. Elaith's patience snapped. He sidestepped and seized the man's wrist as it thrust past. He turned, twisting the arm behind Rhep's back. The sword clattered to the ground, and the mercenary fell to his knees, his arm held unnaturally high. Elaith jerked up higher still. Rhep's arm parted from its shoulder with an audible pop. The man shouted once in pain and outrage, then sagged to the ground, senseless.

Elaith whirled toward the dwarf, but Ebenezer had disappeared.

For a moment Elaith considered pursuit, but he had little doubt of the plan laid against him. The dwarf would no doubt return to the caravan, bearing word that Bronwyn and Elaith-who had been seen sharing a secluded campfire-had decided to go off on their own. If Elaith showed up without her, he would be called upon to explain what had become of the woman. No one would believe he was innocent of foul play. Certainly not once they managed to round up their captain and saw the state he was in.

With a hiss of frustration, Elaith turned aside and melted off into the trees. Moving lightly among the forest shadows, he skirted the camp and headed toward the city below.

The sun was high above the Moonbridge when Elaith arrived in Silverymoon, alone and in a foul temper. He asked directions of a passing town crier, then wove through the streets to a shop bearing a sign depicting a multifaceted gem.

He strode into the antechamber and toward the locked door. The two guards flanking it eyed the grimly ap shy;proaching elf warily. Elaith threw a pair of knives with shy;out breaking stride. Both men jerked upright, pinned through their throats to the door frame.

The elf batted aside the flailing hand of one of the dying men. He pivoted on his right foot and kicked out hard with his left. The door flew open with a sound like a thunderclap.

Mizzen himself was behind the counter, stroking his billy-goat beard with apparent satisfaction. He froze when the elf exploded into the shop, then let out a little bleat of alarm. With a quick, frantic burst of speed, he lunged for the bellpull behind him.

Elaith kept coming, another knife poised in his hand. He hurled it, pinning the cord to the wall. "For form's sake," he told the shrinking merchant. "The alarm would do you little good."

"The guard-" began Mizzen.

"My apologies," the elf said with a mocking little bow. "They are still standing at their post, if that is any consolation."

The merchant paled, then panicked. He reached under the counter, seized handfuls of crystals and gems, and began to pelt the elf with them.

Elaith batted aside a few of the missiles, then snatched a large hunk of jasper from the air and hurled it back. The rock caught Mizzen on the forehead. Both his eyes turned inward, as if the merchant wished to identify the specific rock that struck him, then he tilted slowly back and crashed into a shelf laden with what shy;nots. Crystal trinkets rained down upon their creator like multicolored hail.

Muttering, the elf found a half-full pitcher of wine and threw it on the senseless man. Mizzen came to, sputtering with indignation. His protests stopped abruptly as he recalled his circumstances and his attacker.

"Take it," the man pleaded, sweeping both hands in a wide arc to indicate the entire contents of the shop.

Elaith glanced around and was not particularly impressed. "Crystal dragon? Perfume bottles? I think not."

"Then w-what? W-Why?" Mizzen stammered.

"I wished to purchase the ruby you spoke of just three nights past, but I believe now that I will simply take it, since I've paid out in annoyance more than the gem is likely to be worth."

"Oh, that!" Mizzen looked relieved at the limited scope of the anticipated theft. "A young woman came in earlier. She offered me more than a ruby that size was worth. No one can blame a man of business for taking a profit," he said piously.

"Unless he sells for profit another man's goods. I believe that stone belonged to Oth Eltorchul."

"Lord Eltorchul," Mizzen repeated, his voice getting stronger as ire crept into his tones. "That stone will just about cover what he owed me. Cheat and liar, he was! Hiding behind that title, acting as if no commoner had the right to demand pay."

The story rang true to Elaith. In his experience, the wealthier or more titled a man, the less concerned he was about certain financial obligations. Since the Eltorchul clan was not overburdened with ready coin, merchants such as Mizzen were unlikely to see payment. Elaith could hardly blame the man for trying to cover his losses.

"What of the dream spheres?"

Mizzen looked surprised to hear these words, but only for a moment. "Gone," he said shortly. "Lord Eltorchul made arrangements to have them sent to Waterdeep, same way they got here."

Elaith was not pleased to hear this, but he would deal with the inconvenience later. "What of the gem? You know something of its true worth-you let that much slip when you were deep in your cups. The 'elf gem,' you called it. Why did you let it go?"

"I didn't like it," the man said bluntly.

The elf considered this a reasonable response. To in shy;spire the man to elaborate, he removed a dagger from his belt and began to toy with it, flipping it nimbly between his hands. "The dream spheres. Oth was using the Mhaor shy;kiira Hadryad-the elf gem-to create these devices."

"That's right." Mizzen spoke quickly, his eyes fixed in horrified fascination upon the flashing, spinning dagger. "He said it was an ancient elven artifact that held the memories of an entire lost clan. He placed some of these memories in the crystal spheres, to be released by a paying dreamer."

Not a release, but an exchange, thought Elaith. Each time some stupid sod used one of these toys, one of his own memories or dreams went into the kiira stone. No doubt Oth sorted through them, keeping what was useful and turning the rest back into other magical fantasies.

On the surface, it seemed an ingenious way of gather shy;ing information. Elaith almost admired the man who'd found a way to profit from the evil artifact. Oth's com shy;mand of magic clearly outstripped Elaith's. Unfortu shy;nately for Oth, he was limited by his arrogance and his human ignorance. While Elaith might be accused with some justification of the first vice, he, unlike Oth Eltorchul, knew what the gem could do, and he knew how incredibly dangerous it could be. Kiira were among the most powerful of elven magical items. The Mhaorkiira, or "dark gem," was the only one that had been twisted to evil. It had somehow absorbed the twisted ambitions of the long-dead Hadryad clan, and in the process had con shy;tributed to the demise of that ancient family.

The thought did not deter Elaith. "How are these dream spheres made?" he demanded.

"I do not know. Lord Eltorchul never entrusted the secret to me."

Mizzen understood his mistake as soon as the words were spoken. In speaking too freely, he had outlived his usefulness. His eyes grew enormous with fear, then glazed over in acceptance of death.

The elf obliged him.

On the way out, Elaith tossed aside a gilded mirror-the only ornament on the carved and polished wood of the walls. The hidden door beneath was almost laugh shy;ably obvious to his keen elven vision. He ran his fingers lightly over the carvings, found and released the clasp.

Inside the safe was a pile of gems-real gems, entrusted to Mizzen to be matched with crystals. Elaith emptied the safe's contents into his bag and slipped out the back door into the streets. It would be an easy task, finding a caravan of flying creatures. All that remained was for him to find them, and the Mhaorkiira Hadryad, and then settle with Bronwyn and her dwarven ally.

As Elaith suspected, Silverymoon was abuzz with word of the strange caravan, but to his dismay, his side trip through the forest had cost him. The caravan had already left the city on fresh mounts.

The determined elf sought out the stables where the caravan had taken a brief rest. A pair of elven grooms clad in Gundwynd livery tended the hooves and hides and wings of the weary pegasi.

Elaith's hand went to his sword, and then he thought better of it. These were gold elves, well armed and in good trim. Fighting them would take more time than he had to spare.

"I must have one of those horses," Elaith said flatly. "I will pay whatever you ask."

The elves looked him over, astonished at such a request from a fellow Tel'Quessar-even if he was a moon elf. "These are not mere horses," one of them pointed out. "Even if they were, they have traveled far and have earned a day's rest."

"It is important."

"What is so important that it could justify flying a tired pegasus?" the other groom inquired in a tone that marked the question as entirely rhetorical.

As it happened, Elaith had an answer. "The Mhaor shy;kiira Hadryad," he said bluntly. "A human adventurer with Gundwynd's caravan has the dark kiira."

The elves stared at him with rounded eyes. "It has been found? But how? It has been lost for-what? Three centuries and more?"

Elaith folded his arms. "Would you like to discuss the missteps of elven history, or would you prefer that I fetch this stone back before it creates any more trouble?"

The grooms gave him no further argument. One of them packed travel supplies, the other put harness and saddle on the protesting steed and led it out into the courtyard.

Mounting the beast took more time than Elaith liked, for the pegasus reared and snorted and pitched each time he approached her.

"You have not trained with pegasi, have you?" asked one of the elves in an apologetic tone. "She senses that."

More likely, thought Elaith, the winged horse had senses even more finely attuned. He carried with him the scent of vengeance and death. Undoubtedly it was this that spooked the fey creature.

The grooms kept cajoling her. Finally the pegasus quieted long enough for Elaith to climb onto her back. Immediately the enormous white wings unfurled, and the pegasus leaped into the air.

The elf clung to his seat as the pegasus rose in dip shy;ping, swooping loops. She tested him, responding too sharply to the reins, careening from one side to another, but Elaith was nothing if not determined, and he clung to her like scales to a snake. Eventually the winged horse seemed to sense, and then to absorb, her rider's urgency. When Elaith gave the pegasus her head, she set a steady, determined course for Waterdeep.

Beneath them the miles fell away as swiftly as autumn leaves before a strong wind. The day grew old, and soon Elaith had to shield his eyes against the set shy;ting sun. Though the pegasus's white sides were lath shy;ered and heaving, Elaith urged her on, hoping to find before nightfall the clearing where the caravan had made camp on the first night of the trip to Silverymoon.

He saw the caravan before he saw the clearing. Sil shy;houetted against the purple and gold of an autumn sunset, they were already in descent, whirling down toward the valley and the clear, cold water that spilled from the mountain into a deep pool.

Elaith's gaze swept the valley, setting up the battle shy;field in his mind's eye. That he would have to fight, he did not doubt. The caravan guards might not fight to protect Bronwyn's safety and virtue, but they would not allow her to be robbed by a rogue elf. Elaith could pos shy;sibly expect assistance from the elves in the caravan, but that was a last resort. Already he regretted confid shy;ing in the Gundwynd grooms. The more elves who learned that the Mhaorkiira had been found, the lower his chance of keeping the gem until its task was done.

His eye caught a bit of color and movement near the waterfall, where there should be neither-several feet from the ground, in what appeared to be sheer rock. Elaith understood at once what that meant. The northland hills were riddled with caves and passages. The elf peered closer, squinting so that his vision would pick up not the fading daylight, but heat patterns.

In the forest, almost indiscernible even to such eyes as his, were several telling patterns. He made out a group of men crouched near the mouth of a small cave, looking like hunting cats awaiting a chance to spring. Others waited on ledges and behind trees, draped in capes dyed to match stone and stump.

The caravan-his quarry-was about to land in the midst of an ambush.