The Dream Spheres

Nine

The scent of autumn was strong in the wind that whipped along the city streets, whirling the bright fallen leaves in small eddies and tugging at the skirts of passing women.

Danilo clapped one hand to his head to keep his hat at the angle dictated by current fashion. "You picked an unfortunate time to develop a love of the shops," he told his companion.

Arilyn impatiently brushed a dark curl off her face. "What if street rumor is right? What if the per shy;fume merchant sells more than scents and oint shy;ments?"

"It is hard to credit. Diloontier has a fine reputa shy;tion. Many of the merchant families do business with him. His scents hold true, and the few potions he sells are harmless and reliable. Believe me, the wizards' guild keeps a wary eye on his affairs, as they do anyone who traffics in minor magic."

"What of the tunnels?" Arilyn persisted.

"My dear, this city is built over a veritable anthill. Creatures of all sorts have been digging tunnels under Waterdeep Mountain since dragons ruled the land. It does not signify."

Arilyn shrugged and pushed open the door to the shop. She stopped so abruptly that Danilo bumped solidly into her.

Cassandra Thann regarded both of them over the exquisite bottle in her hands. After a moment's hesita shy;tion, she handed it back to Diloontier.

"The blend is not quite right. Too much spice. I have no wish to go about smelling like a winterfest pudding."

"I will see to it at once," the merchant said. He made a quick bow to her, then turned aside and snapped his fingers at one of his apprentices. "You, Harmon. See to this gentleman while I repair this perfume."

He bustled off, leaving the two women eyeing each other like swordsmen in need of their weapons.

"I'm fond of winterfest puddings," Arilyn commented. "Since that perfume didn't suit you, perhaps I should buy it."

Cassandra looked nonplussed for a moment. She quickly covered her reaction with a cool smile. "My dear, that scent is far too. . formal for you. Surely there is something in this shop that would suit you better."

The subtle insult held an opportunity. The noble shy;woman was aware of Arilyn's dark reputation. The half-elf decided to play upon that knowledge. She folded her arms and let her gaze go flat, cold, and deadly-the stare of a hunting hawk or a hired killer.

"So I hear. I have no immediate use for such things, but I would be very interested to know who might."

They regarded each other for a long, measuring moment. Cassandra glanced back at her son. She took a small vial from the shelf and handed it to him. "Take this as a gift for your … lady, and go. You would do well to heed my advice."

Cassandra pulled on her gloves and sailed out to her waiting carriage.

Danilo waved away the perfumer's assistant. He led the way out into the street, then turned an apologetic gaze upon his friend. "I suppose you realize she was not referring to perfume," he murmured.

"The thought occurred to me," Arilyn said with a touch of sarcasm. "Does Cassandra have a general aver shy;sion to half-elven assassins, or did she have some other, more specific advice in mind?"

"I'm not entirely certain," he admitted. "She was most insistent that I not involve myself with Oth's death, but I put that down to her abhorrence for scandal. She is concerned about my choice of companion, probably for much the same reason. As you have observed, some of the nobility look askance at alliances between their peers and other races."

This was the first time Danilo had openly admitted that a problem might exist. Arilyn decided it was time to put her cards on the table. "I spoke with Arlos Dez shy;lentyr yesterday."

Danilo looked at her sharply. "He told you about his first wife?"

"So you have heard that story," Arilyn said. "I'd won shy;dered. Yes, her death made quite a stir among the elves. Many were indignant when no real attempt was made to find her killer."

"If, indeed, she was murdered."

"Sibylanthra was a young elf in apparent good health and happy with her work, her husband, and her young children. What else could it be?"

When Danilo offered no argument, she continued. "You admit that your peers are unhappy to see you with a half-elf. Someone was unhappy that Arlos Dezlentyr married an elf woman. Tren tunnels link the Dezlentyr estate with Diloontier's shop. Shall we find out why, or would you rather spend the rest of your life checking shadows for a tren ambush?"

"There is something in what you say," he said slowly.

"Do we have any reason to believe that the tren attacks were directed at anyone other than Oth Eltorchul and those who happened to have recent dealings with the man? Once the truth of his death is known, there will be no further need for concern."

Arilyn sniffed.

"Truly," Dan continued earnestly, "no one among the nobility wishes you ill. Some might be displeased by my choice of companion, but they could hardly see our future children as a threat to the peerage. After all, the line for the Thann family title is as long as a dwarven ballad."

They walked in silence for several moments before he spoke again. "Your mention of Lady Dezlentyr took me aback. Lady Cassandra reminded me of that story a few nights past," he said slowly. "At the time it was apparent she meant it as a cautionary tale. Although it pains me to say this, I am not certain whether it was intended as warning or as threat."

Arilyn did not respond at once, giving him time to absorb the impact of his own words before she added another painful layer. "That perfume your mother rec shy;ommended. Would you recognize the bottle if you saw it on the shelf among others?"

"I suppose so. Why?"

"Lady Cassandra was quick to give it up when she saw us. If we wish to prove that Diloontier sells things other than simple perfumes, this might be a place to start. You heard what I said to her in the shop."

"Heard, yes. I'm not sure I understood what went unsaid between you."

"I implied that her potions or others in the shop might be poison. I told her I had no use for them at the moment but was looking for those who might. An assas shy;sin hunting down assassins. She heard and warned us."

"I know people who can test it for me, see what it is and how it works. It will take a few days for me to get back the answer, but it would be information worth having."

Danilo digested this in silence. "Do not misunder shy;stand me when I say that testing the perfume would be effort wasted."

"But-"

He cut her off with an upraised hand. "Diloontier took the bottle into the back room, promising to 'repair the scent.' By now the contents have been altered. We must look elsewhere."

Arilyn could not refute his logic. She gritted her teeth and acknowledged it with a curt nod. There was no more speech between them, though she could not help but wonder if Danilo was relieved at finding a wall at the end of this particular alley.

She had her moonblade and her duty to the elven people. Danilo had title and privilege and a nobleman's loyalty to family and peers. Of one thing she was grimly certain: Before this matter was settled, either she or Danilo would be called upon to sacrifice something of deep value. She only hoped it would not be each other.

In all truth, though, she did not see how it could be otherwise.

* * * * *

Lilly walked quickly down the streets of the Castle Ward. She seldom had reason to come to this posh dis shy;trict of Waterdeep, but her determination sustained her, just as it had through the horrid trip back to the city.

This ward was almost as foreign to her as the tun shy;nels and caves had been. There was little work to be had in the Castle Ward, since the taverns hired serving girls with more polished speech and manners. Nor did she dare ply her trade as thief so close to the castle and the horde of guards and watchmen who patrolled the area.

She nervously smoothed her hands over the skirt of her best dress and hoped that she did not look too con shy;spicuous. More than one masculine glance lingered upon her and followed her as she turned onto the Street of the Sword. Usually Lilly would look upon such things as nature's course, a compliment paid without words. Today she feared the stares meant she was out of place.

Worse yet, under scrutiny.

The thought sent her blood skittering through her and set up a humming in her ears like that of a dozen whining mosquitoes. "I'm in a dither, that's all. No call for it," she assured herself in the most stouthearted tone she could muster.

Tossing back her head, she walked the rest of the way with feigned confidence and entered Balthorr's Rare and Wonderful Treasures as if she did so twice every tenday.

The proprietor glanced up. Lilly rocked back on her heels, unprepared for the man's scarred visage. She'd heard that Balthorr had lost an eye in a battle with a chimera, but she didn't expect that he would flaunt his loss as proudly as a family crest. He wore a glass eye, striking in that it was nothing but a white sphere. To Lilly, it was eerily reminiscent of the dream spheres.

"I have come to sell," she said, more abruptly than she had planned.

Balthorr studied her with his one good eye. He rose and jerked his head toward a curtained room.

Lilly followed him, then quickly spilled her coins onto the table. "These are platinum. Not many will accept them from the likes of me without asking questions. Can you exchange them for lesser coin?"

The man studied one of the large, shining disks. "Two hundred silver," he offered.

She worked out the exchange in her head and decided the deal was fair enough. "This, too," she added, placing the ruby on the table.

Balthorr picked up the gem and studied it. "Very pretty. Too big to be real, though."

For a moment Lilly's heart sank, but she quickly gathered herself, bolstered by her conviction that this stone was something very special, almost a living thing. It was not so very big-not much bigger than the nail on her smallest finger. "It is a precious stone," she said severely. "I heard tell you knew about such things."

The man spread his hands and shrugged, as if to say that she could not blame him for trying to make the best bargain. "Two hundred gold, paid out in trade-weight bars. Not a copper more."

Lilly's head swam with the enormity of it. Never in her life had she imagined owning such a sum! Why, with that money she could go as far west as Cormyr, with enough left to take lessons in speech and deportment and buy some respectable clothes. She could find work in a fine shop and make her own way without recourse to thievery.

"I'll take it," she said, knowing she should barter but not willing to risk that life-saving sum. She watched intently as the man counted out a hundred gold coins onto a scale, then balanced them with several small shining bars to show her the trade bars measured up in weight to the actual coin. These he placed into a small sack.

When he was finished, she fairly snatched up the sack, startled by how heavy that much gold could be.

Lilly was too eager to be off to be overly concerned with proprieties. She hiked up her skirts and attached the bag to the belt that cinched her chemise. The shop shy;keeper glanced in her direction, but he seemed far more interested in the ruby and platinum coins that he had just acquired.

With a fistful of silver coins at the ready, Lilly fled from the shop and searched about for a carriage. It was an extravagance, but one she could ill afford to pass up.

Under the watchful eye of Hamish Half-ogre, her tavern room was the safest place she knew. Better to waste a few coins to ride back to this haven than to risk losing all among her fellow thieves.

Three guild carriages passed by without responding to her hail. Finally one drew up, and a pair of halfling grooms hopped down to help her up. The carriage was not empty, but Lilly did not expect to have it to herself. A man and woman sat nestled cozily together on one seat. She settled down on the opposite seat, keeping her eyes politely averted to give her fellow travelers a bit of privacy.

"Doing a little shopping, are we?"

The voice was darkly accented, edged with ice, and chillingly familiar. Lilly started and turned a guilty gaze upon her partner.

"That I am," she babbled, trying without success to hold Isabeau Thione's hard, black-eyed gaze. "Sold one of the dream spheres, I did, just as we agreed. The coins bought me a lovely dinner, and this new hat-"

"Spare me. I've been following you, and you went nowhere near a tavern or a milliner. I'm guessing you sold all seven dream spheres. I'd like to see what they are worth."

Isabeau nodded to her companion, whom Lilly recog shy;nized as the captain of the bandit band-and the only thief who had survived the raid. "Hold her."

Lilly lunged for the door handle, intending to leap into the street. A large hand clamped on her wrist and flung it high and back. The thug seized her other hand and raised it over her head. With one hand he pinned her firmly against the carriage wall.

"I'll scream," Lilly threatened.

"You'll die," riposted Isabeau. For good measure, she tugged a large silken kerchief from her pocket and wadded it. She seized Lilly's jaw and pinched it hard, then forced the gag into her mouth.

Lilly sat in silent, frustrated outrage as the woman's deft hands explored her, finding the hidden bag in a few quick pats. Isabeau pulled a small, narrow knife from the coils of her hair and sliced open Lilly's dress. She took the bag and dumped the contents into her silken lap. Her black brows rose in a supercilious arch.

"Quite the merchant, aren't you? I never dreamed you could get so much for a few dream spheres-which we agreed you would keep for yourself."

Lilly watched helplessly as Isabeau slipped the bars into her pockets. "Normally, I would insist upon an equal split," the woman said with a sweet, false smile, "but since you saw fit to change our agreement, I think I should take the whole as penalty. That is fair, hmm?"

The false smile dropped from her face like a dis shy;carded cloak. "Your greed and carelessness could have brought this back to my door. Do not cross me again-ever. I hope you realize you can never speak of what we did without condemning yourself to hang from the city walls."

Lilly nodded her head emphatically, though this threat was far less potent than the grim demonstration the tren monsters had given.

"Good. We understand each other. I'll contact you when I need you again." She turned to her henchman. "You can let her out at the next alley."

The bandit reached for the door of the carriage. With shy;out waiting for it to stop, he wrenched it open and hurled Lilly through the door.

She hit the cobblestones and rolled, coming to a painful stop against a pile of wooden crates. The car shy;riage moved smoothly down the street, its passage cov shy;ering the brutal exit.

Lilly's head throbbed from the impact with the stone, and the world spun madly as she rose to her feet. She col shy;lapsed with a cry of pain-her ankle had been wrenched in the fall. Even without this injury, she doubted she could have stood for long. Quickly she took inventory of the damage. A long, raw scrape marked her arm, and one cheek stung. Her ears rang, and sharp sparkles of color popped and exploded through her vision. Her dress was torn, in addition to the rips Isabeau's knife had made. She had no money to ride, and her first ten shy;tative step sent bright shards of pain exploding through her battered body.

She had no choice, though. She told herself that as she struggled to rise, trying to beat back the waves of darkness. But her body would not obey her. She was only dimly aware of the approach of heavy boots, the smell of leather armor as two men crouched over her.

"What have we here?" one of them said. He twined a lock of pale red-gold between his fingers. "A strawberry tart, you might say, but a bit far from the bakery."

The other man slapped his hand aside. "You stupid sod! Look at that face. This is one of the Thann brood, or I'm a three-legged ogre. If Lady Cassandra hears you offered insult to one of hers, she'll have our stones set in silver and wear them in a tiara."

His companion grunted. "Best get her home, then. You got the price of a carriage hire on you?"

"Not bloody likely! The Watch doesn't pay that well. Wait-I've got three silver. You?"

As the men pooled their coins, Lilly tried to protest. The best she could manage was a little mewling sound as one of the men hauled her into his arms, hailed a car shy;riage, and set a brisk pace toward the North Ward and the Thann estate. The thing she had wished for all her life was before her. She was about to meet her father, and the prospect filled her with terror.

Her father.

She had never really thought to meet him, much less ever once considered going to him for help. She fully expected him to reject her-if indeed she managed to find her way into his presence. Lilly would far rather be lying in that alley than faced with the disdain she antic shy;ipated. That thought followed her into the darkness, and haunted her dreams.

* * * * *

Lord Rhammas Thann turned the wooden device over in his hands, running his fingers over the raised carving of a raven perched on a horse's head. It was well crafted, but not a precious piece. A man might throw such a thing aside on any number of whims. "This is indeed my family crest, and I seem to remember this pendant. How did you come by it?"

Lilly put a hand to her throbbing temples and took a deep, steadying breath. "My mother passed it on, sir, along with her story."

"Which, I can only assume, you intend to share with me. My time is limited, so please get on with it."

Lilly was hard pressed to understand the nature of these limitations. The room to which she had been brought was a gentleman's study of sorts, but she saw no evidence that it had witnessed any serious study. A few books lay on a shelf, but their leather bindings were not creased and seamed by reading. A dusty quill tilted out of a glass inkwell that contained nothing but a dry stain. The only object that showed evidence of use was the set of dog-eared cards scattered about the table.

The gentleman himself showed similar signs of ennui. Rhammas Thann must have been a handsome man once, and he still cut a rather dashing figure. His hair was thick and silver, and his eyes, though rather bleary-whether from an excess of morning ale or a lack of interest in the life he led, Lilly could not say-were a striking shade of silvery gray. She could understand why her mother had spoken so wistfully of this man.

"My mother gave this to me, along with my name. She said to seek you out and tell you both these things if ever I was in dire need. I am that, but you can believe me when I say I never intended to come."

"You said your name was Lilly," he remembered. "I am sorry, but I do not see the significance."

"Do you recall a place called the Dryad's Garden? It was a tavern in the Dock Ward, long since closed. All the girls were given names of flowers. Marigold, Pansy, Rose. My mother's name was Violet. Her hair was of like color to mine, if that helps."

Memory flickered in the man's eyes, and then wide-eyed chagrin. He looked at her closely for the first time. "Violet's child-and mine, I suppose. Yes, of course. The resemblance is there to see."

"So your steward said, as he rushed me out of sight," Lilly said in a wry tone. When she had been presented at the servants' entrance, the steward-an austere fellow who looked as if discretion was the sum and essence of his moral code-took one glance at her face and then hustled her into a private room. He'd tended her injuries, fed her a vile-tasting healing potion, and heard her tale. Next he'd hurried off to arrange the interview, not even asking to see the pendant she offered as proof.

"Good man," the lord murmured absently. He sighed and fixed a troubled gaze upon her. "Now that you are here, what is it that you want?"

A family. A home. A name.

Lilly spoke none of these things. "I'm in a bit of trouble, sir. I don't want to bother you, but it's needful that I leave town as soon as possible."

This idea clearly appealed to him. "Yes, that would be best. I'll have someone see to it. Stop by on your way out and speak to the steward-no. No, that won't do at all," he muttered. "Cassandra keeps the accounts and would mark any unusual sum and not rest until she knew the whole of it. No, that is impossible."

Lilly's heart sank. She rose and dipped into a small, graceless curtsey. "Then I'll be on my way, sir, and it's sorry I am to be bothering you."

His eyes focused on her again, and this time there was a bit of emotion in the gray depths, and a hint of regret. "I won't turn away any child of mine, however begotten. I'll send someone to you who can take care of this."

She bobbed another curtsey and turned to leave.

"One more thing," the lord said. Lilly sent an inquis shy;itive look back. "Your mother. She is well?"

"As well as any dead woman can be, sir. She is long gone, but I'm sure she would appreciate you asking about her."

The words came out as a reproach, though she had not intended to speak them. Rhammas merely nodded, as if he expected-deserved-this jab.

The bleak acceptance in the man's face disconcerted her more than would a cruel denunciation, or accusa shy;tions of fraud. She had expected both. She had not expected to find this shell of a man, worn down to noth shy;ingness by relentless petty concerns and easy luxury.

This was not the father she had imagined or the life she had dreamed of living. Lilly turned and fled back toward the servants' quarters and the discreet rear exit the steward pointed out for her. For the first time since the theft, she did not regret the loss of her coin. If this was the price of wealth, it was too dearly bought.

* * * * *

Elaith strode into the enclosed garden late that after shy;noon, congratulating himself on his decision to use Greenglade Tower as a meeting place. A group of his mercenary captains awaited him. Some of them had been waiting for hours. It was never wise to have large groups gather all at once, for fear of drawing attention. One or two men at a time, their arrivals spaced over time, were less likely to raise attention.

The remnants of a feast lay scattered on the long table and littered the garden floor. Hounds gnawed at discarded bones, and serving girls cleared away the empty trenchers. A few women-and a couple of hand shy;some youths-had been hired for other tasks. Some were draped across the mercenaries' laps, while others had quit the table entirely for the relative privacy of alcoves once tended by careful elven hands.

"Enough," snapped Elaith as he strode up to the table. The mercenaries stood like puppets pulled by a single string, some of them spilling their hired companions to the ground along with other discarded memories of their revelry.

This did not seem to bother the escorts. They gath shy;ered up their scattered belongings and the threadbare remnants of their dignity and slipped through the garden gate.

The largest of his captains-a woman of the North shy;lands with hair the color of flame and various passions of similar hue-cast a wistful look toward the departing youth. Elaith settled his ire upon her.

"You, Hildagriff. Your report."

The woman hauled in her attention. "This from Castle Ward: Balthorr acquired the big ruby. He wants six hun shy;dred gold."

This was the news Elaith had been waiting to hear. The dream spheres he had already located, and the kiira gem was the last, vital part of Oth Eltorchul's scheme. The elf gave no sign of the importance of this intelligence, but he rushed his other captains through their reports and sent them on their way.

As soon as he was alone, he set a swift course to the fence Hildagriff had named. This was a task too impor shy;tant to entrust to an underling. No one else could be trusted to handle the Mhaorkiira, the dark gem.

Later that day, Elaith was not certain that he himself could handle the elven gem. It was a beautiful thing-far surpassing the images his mind had painted of it. Its color was clear and flawless, and it had been perfectly cut and faceted to catch light. The kiira was a marvel of elven gemcraft. And elven magic.

He was disturbed by the dark, compelling power in the stone. Not even the dire legends he had heard from his boyhood fully prepared him for the impact of the Mhaorkiira Hadryad. This stone had twisted and ulti shy;mately destroyed an ancient elven clan. Only the last-born, a mage of such utter evil that he might as well have been an orc or a drow or other such abomination, could bend it fully to his will. The gem had been found several times since then, but always slipped back into oblivion with the destruction of the elf who dared to take it up. This was an enormous gamble. Elaith knew he was quite literally putting his life on the line. Was it truly so important that he know his own deepest measure?

"You want it, or don't you?" Balthorr had asked, seeing his reluctance. "I could sell it easy if you don't. Two, three people looked at it this afternoon."

That had interested Elaith. "Any make an offer?"

"No," the fence had admitted, and Elaith had let the matter go.

The kiira was his. The gem settled into his hand with an inaudible sigh of contentment, as if it had found its proper owner at last. At that moment Elaith's hope died, his heart turned to stone. He had his answer. Nothing elven remained to him but the Mhaorkiira. That would have to be enough-that, and the power it would give him.

So be it. He left the gem in his most secure property, then hurried toward the Dock Ward to meet his waiting contacts. A second group would have gathered by now, brought in through the tunnel that ran between the tower and a nearby warehouse. The members of the two groups would not know each other if they passed on the street. Such precautions, he had learned many long years ago, were necessary to those who lived as he did.

He slipped into the warehouse and made his way through the labyrinth of aisles that wove among the high-stacked crates. Without warning, the pile ahead collapsed, crashing down to seal off the passage.

Elaith spun in a half turn, so that he could see both behind and ahead. A trio of hooded men leaped from the heights as another four closed in from behind. The elf scanned the stacked crates on either side. Several other men knelt in position, nocked crossbows aimed at his heart.

Chagrin poured through the elf as he acknowledged himself trapped. He lifted his hands to show that he held no weapons and turned to face the band behind him. He addressed his remarks to the largest form among the hooded men, knowing that brute physical size was deemed important in the sort of primitive hierarchies common among human thugs.

"If you had wished to kill me, you would have done so by now," he pointed out. "Now that you have my atten shy;tion, speak your mind."

"We bring a message," intoned a gruff, familiar voice from beneath one of the hoods. "You have taken too much upon yourself. The elf lord, they call you."

"So I am, by right of birth and property," Elaith pointed out. "My concerns, both in this city and the one below, outstrip that of most of the merchant clans. Yours included," he added slyly.

The man's sudden jolt of surprise was gratifying-and enlightening. Elaith was not certain until this moment that Rhep, the Ilzimmers' mercenary captain, was beneath that hood. Well enough. At least he knew with whom he dealt.

"This is a city of laws and customs," the man contin shy;ued, as if determined to put the discussion back on his terms.

"Really." Elaith smiled blandly. "I have not heard the law permitting armed trespass. This little visit must therefore fall under the banner of local custom."

"Mind your tongue, elf," snarled Rhep. "Your welcome in Waterdeep is wearing thin. Play tavern keeper if you will, but close up your Skullport trade. This will be your last warning."

"Good," returned the elf. "I find this particular custom rather tiresome. Please, bring my regards to your masters."

He reached into a pocket sewn into the shoulder seam of his jerkin and drew out a small, silver rod. This he pointed at one of the crates stacked high overhead, which had been marked with a curving rune that none of these louts could read.

A shower of sparks leaped from the tiny staff and coalesced into a single, arrowlike shaft. This sped toward the box and exploded into a second dazzling shower. This explosion was followed by a second, as the contents of the box-smokepowder, highly illegal and as unpredictable as a dryad's romantic fancy-caught flame.

Streams of burning light arced down, spitting and whistling in their descent. The archers dropped their bows and fell to their stomachs in an attempt to hold their perches on the swaying piles of crates.

Elaith drew his sword and ran at the trio guarding the blocked tunnel. He lunged and ran one man through the gut, then shifted his weight onto his back leg and lifted his bloodied sword to meet the second man's attack. A quick twist disengaged his weapon, another deft turn brought the blade slicing across the man's throat. On the backswing he caught the final man's blade. He pushed up, forcing the enjoined blades high, and leveled his silver wand at the man's chest.

Another tiny arrow of light sizzled forth, diving into the man's chest. Elaith dove aside as the magic weapon exploded from within, transforming the man into a crimson mist.

The elf ran up over the spilled crates and raced nimbly down the other side. Quickly he found the second hidden door, one known only to him, and slipped down into the tunnel that led to a tailor's shop two streets down.

As he emerged from the fitting room, Elaith heard the tolling bells that summoned the Watch to tend the fire. He was not particularly concerned: The warehouse was constructed of solid stone and would withstand the blaze. It held little of value, and he could well afford to lose a few empty crates.

Nor did he regret the survival of some of the "mes shy;sengers." If a few escaped to bring word of his defiance to the merchant lords, so much the better. After all, he had the Mhaorkiira and the dream spheres. He now possessed the perfect weapon to strike back at those who had the best reason to send such a message.

That he intended to do. His vengeance would be lin shy;gering, highly amusing-and deadly.

The elf set a quick pace back toward his fortress home and the beckoning, compelling magic of the dark gem.