The Dream Spheres

Four

In the tavern room of The Silken Sylph, Elaith Craulnober sipped his ale and watched as the staff pre shy;pared for the morning meal. Good smells filled the air: smoked fish, oat porridge sweetened with honey and dried fruits, fresh bread, and the rich, smoky tang of the apple-wood fire. The tavern was exceedingly well run and very prosperous. Elaith had seen to that. It was a happy coincidence that his quarry had gone to ground in this particular den, but the elf would have found him regardless.

"Your standard fee," he said, placing a small leather bag on the table. "Good work, Zorn. Give an extra coin to the driver who brought us here so swiftly."

The mercenary's large, bronzed hand seemed to swal shy;low the bag as he hefted it to measure the coin within. Zorn was a big man, sun-browned from many years as a caravan guard. Though the warrior was thick with muscle and short on conscience, Elaith found him rather amusing. The man's head was utterly bald, but his upper lip and chin were thicketed with curly black hair. To the elf's eyes, the effect was that of a wholesale southern migration. In another few years, if matters continued apace, Zorn should be as hairy-footed as a halfling.

"Only forty gold," Zorn stated sullenly. "I've called in favors."

A prickle of irritation marred Elaith's good humor. This was the first time the man had dared imply that his compensation might be lacking. It was not a prece shy;dent that Elaith could allow to stand.

"Of course you did," Elaith said, as if he were explain shy;ing something to a slow-witted child. "That is how you gather information-which is, if you recall, what you are paid to do."

Zorn scowled behind his beard. "You didn't give me much time," he complained. "Twenty men and more have I roused from their beds. Some demanded double fees, and some swore they'll not deal with me again."

"Soothe their tempers with those coins, and they will be ready enough when I have need of you and you of them."

"Do you know what'll be left for me?"

Elaith's patience was at an end. "Your life, provided you silence your whining tongue at once!"

The mercenary sat back. A dull flush rose from behind his beard and stained his face with suppressed rage. "As you say," he muttered as he hauled his massive frame from the chair.

With a curt bow the man turned and walked from the tavern. Elaith sighed and nodded toward the small, watchful woman who sat in the shadows of the cloak shy;room. The apparent servant rose and slipped out after Zorn. She would allow him to finish his business, then ensure that this task was his last.

A shame to lose a good informant. Zorn had contacts among the city's mercenaries and carriage guild, and he was adept at coaxing or bullying information from hired guards, but Elaith had many such men in his employ.

His stewards and lieutenants would pay at least a dozen similar purses before highsun. And no man would know of the efforts of the others.

That was the way of things. Elaith saw his business concerns as a deep, underground river fed by the trickle of many converging streams. The loss of Zorn would not greatly affect the whole, and Elaith knew better than to suffer even a fledgling challenge. His hirelings were utterly loyal because they knew they would be well paid and fairly treated-and because they understood the cost of even the smallest treason.

Elaith lifted his mug in salute to the departing mer shy;cenary and then drank to his memory.

* * * * *

The white whirl of magical travel faded away. Danilo found himself standing in a dark, cold room-not the comfort he expected from his lavish townhouse or from Monroe, his capable halfling steward.

Danilo was too heartsick to care overmuch about domestic incompetence. Monroe could burn the damn place down, for all he cared. He closed his eyes and heaved a profound sigh.

"What are you doing here, and at this hour?" demanded a low, furious, and slightly accented male voice.

Khelben Arunsun's voice.

Danilo's eyes popped open, then narrowed as he peered at the large, dark figure at the far side of the room. "Uncle? Is that you?"

"Considering that this is Laeral's bedchamber and that I expect her back directly, I should hope that it is no other! Explain yourself, boy, and be quick about it."

Danilo's hands flashed through the gestures for the globe of light cantrip. In response to the minor casting, a glowing sphere bobbed into life between them. A mixture of light and shadows revealed the strong, stern features of Waterdeep's archmage.

Khelben Arunsun appeared to be a man in vigorous middle life, tall and broad and well-muscled. His hair shy;line was in retreat, but what remained was thick and black and only lightly threaded with silver. His beard was full and neatly trimmed, with a distinctive silver stripe in the middle. Dark brows drew together in a scowl of consternation over nearly black eyes.

Even in his current state of mind, Danilo could see a certain humor in the situation. "I swear before Mystra, Uncle, you are the only man alive who could manage to look formidable when clad only in his nightshirt."

The archmage's scowl deepened. "Only a handful of mortals can pass the magical wards that guard this tower. If you wish to remain among them, speak quickly and speak sense!"

Danilo's wan grin disappeared. Without doubt Khel shy;ben deserved some word of explanation, but if Danilo had devoted serious thought to the matter, he could not have contrived a place, a person, or a conversation he would rather avoid.

"A miscast spell, Uncle, nothing more. Accept my apologies, and I'll be on my way."

The archmage would not let the matter lie. "What has come over you? Are you ill? Bewitched? Utterly given over to stupidity? I heard tell of the jest you played at Cassandra's party-as who did not?"

"Uncle-"

"And now this! Have you not incurred enough wrath to enliven one evening? I do not imagine Cassandra was amused by the skyflower trick, or Arilyn either, for that matter. If you must play these frivolous jests, you would be wise to inflict them on those less able to retaliate. Furthermore- "

"Uncle." Dan cut off the wizard's tirade with a sharp tone and an upraised hand. "Believe me, I did not design the skyflower spell as a prank. Nor did I intend to come here."

The cloud of ire slowly lifted from the archmage's face, to be replaced by dawning concern. "This is plain truth?"

"Unadorned."

Khelben nodded slowly, his eyes intent upon the young mage. "This could be serious. There are some magicks-not many, Mystra be praised-that can have such effects. Have you bought another singing sword or some such nonsense?"

"No, nothing. Must we speak of this now?"

The archmage merely lifted one brow. Danilo sighed and began to gather words to explain what he suspected-and what he had done. "As you know, the magic of Arilyn's moonblade has not always been stable," he began.

"That is true enough, and I perceive the feel of elven magic about you."

It was on the tip of Danilo's tongue to confess that the moonblade's magic had also been affected, until he remembered his mother's words, and Oth's, and Regnet's, and the many other small remarks that had warned him away from following his heart. Anger surged through Danilo at the thought that Khelben would add his considerable weight to the argument.

"You need not concern yourself," he said angrily. "I would not ask Arilyn to choose between me and the moonblade. That is the only thing in this world or any other that would make me foreswear her, half-elf though she may be. If that notion offends you, I would thank you to keep it to yourself."

Khelben looked genuinely surprised. "Why would it? Arilyn is a good woman. Probably far better than you deserve."

This was not the response Danilo had anticipated. "You approve?"

A wry smile touched the archmage's lips, and he made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the bed shy;chamber and came to rest on the portrait of a wondrous, silver-haired lady. "How could I not? You know that Laeral's mother was half-elven."

"No, I didn't," Dan responded. In truth, little was known of Laeral, one of the famed Seven Sisters.

"Laeral's mother was a fine woman, though like many half-elves, she did not have an easy life. Nor did my father, for that matter," Khelben continued.

That bit of intelligence stole the starch from Danilo's legs. He sank down on the edge of Laeral's bed and regarded the archmage with astonishment.

"Your father was half-elven," he said in wondering tones, regarding the mage from whom he had descend shy;ed. "So there is elven blood in the Arunsun family! The Lady Cassandra carries it and passed it to me."

"Yes, that sounds like the normal order of things," Khelben said testily. "However, there is reason why Cas shy;sandra would not thank me for telling this tale or you for repeating it."

Danilo smothered a grin. Though Khelben Arunsun was not, as was commonly believed, Cassandra Thann's younger brother, he still seemed to hold the woman in genuine awe.

"Your secret is safe, and I thank you for speaking it," Danilo said from the heart. A small thing, perhaps, but it seemed to him nothing less than a key to most of his life's questions. Since boyhood, he had been drawn to all things elven and knew not why. He better understood why an elf woman had claimed his heart so completely-and why he cared enough about elven ways that he was prepared to give her up if he must.

"What will you do now?"

The archmage's question surprised Danilo, as did the gentle tone in which it was broached. Usually Khelben gave opinions and orders or asked questions designed to extract information. He was particularly strict with Danilo, in whom he took an oppressively paternal inter shy;est, but the archmage's normally stern face was softened by genuine concern. All of this prompted Danilo to do something he had not done for many years: ask advice.

"What do you suggest?"

Khelben's gaze shifted to the portrait of Laeral, then back to the young man. "Find Arilyn and set right this matter between you. If things are as you suspect, and the moonblade's magic has gone unstable, then she will have need of your counsel and aid. But be wary in the use of magic. Perhaps you should devote yourself entirely to bardcraft until this matter is settled."

"Strange words indeed," Danilo murmured.

"Not at all. Magic is a great gift, but some things are more important."

"I am glad to hear you say that, my lord," said an amused, silvery voice behind them. Both men turned to regard Laeral, who stood listening without shame and who seemed not at all concerned by the fact that she was clad in little more than her own silvery hair. She nodded to Danilo, then turned a smile of such intimacy upon Khelben that the younger man wondered if she had truly seen him at all.

Danilo rose at once. "I must be going."

Neither of the great wizards of Blackstaff Tower gave any indication that they had heard him. Despite Khel shy;ben's warning, Danilo quickly summoned magic's silver path and stepped into the weft and warp of it. This time the spell held true, and he emerged in his own study.

A low fire glowed in the hearth, and a tray of break shy;fast pastries had been arrayed under a glass dome and placed on the table beside his favorite chair. All was as he had come to expect from the capable Monroe.

Danilo sank into the chair and rubbed both hands briskly over his face. His unintentional interview with Khelben had not given him much hope. The archmage had mentioned that he felt elven magic at work. Arilyn and Elaith had been the only elves in attendance. That left the moonblade as the most likely source.

It was true that Khelben had not advised Dan to stay away from Arilyn, but he had evoked Laeral to support this reasoning. That was hardly reassuring. Not too many years back, Khelben had given up a con shy;siderable amount of his own power in a struggle to wrest Laeral from the Crown of Horns, an evil artifact that held her completely in its sway. Danilo agreed that Laeral was worth any cost in magic lost. So was Arilyn. He would gladly strip his hard-won skill down to the most basic cantrip and count the loss as nothing.

But what other magic? Elf and moonblade were insep shy;arable, joined in mystic bonds. How could he possibly justify disrupting that, and what would be the cost to Arilyn if he did?

He pondered these questions until the fire burned down to ash and the night sky faded to silver. When all the argument had been made and countered, not once but a dozen times, Danilo merely stared at the eastern window, praying that the coming of dawn might bring illumination.

* * * * *

The rising sun burned through the sea mist that shrouded the port city and curtained the upper win shy;dows of The Silken Sylph. Through it all, Isabeau feigned sleep-no easy task once Oth Eltorchul awakened and discovered his loss.

She held her false repose while he searched and mut shy;tered and cursed and fumed. She lay unmoving until he seized her shoulders and shook her. With a gasp, she sat upright in bed, hoping that her expression was suffi shy;ciently dazed and frantic for credulity.

"You are alive," he said grimly, staring into her wide eyes. "Good. I was beginning to fear that the thief had smothered you in your sleep."

"Thief?"

Isabeau's hand flew to her throat, as if seeking her necklace. She lunged for the bedside table where she'd left her jewels, palmed them, and then came up on her knees with both empty hands fisted and flailing.

"How could this happen?" she shrieked as she pum shy;meled the startled mage. "Did you not set wards? Have you no servants to stand guard? My rubies! Gone, all of them!" Her voice rose into a wail, then broke into impas shy;sioned weeping.

Oth tossed her aside and began to pace again. "This was no common thief," he fretted. "It would take consid shy;erable magic to overcome the wards I placed upon the doors and windows. Perhaps there is a hidden door. I did not think to check."

He hurled an accusing look at Isabeau, as if blaming her for the distraction she offered. Not willing to give up the offensive, she tossed back her head, wiped her eyes, and returned his glare with equal heat. "What do you intend to do about this?" she demanded.

The question set Oth back on his heels. Isabeau had expected that it would. If the nobles and wizards were as opposed to dream spheres as Oth claimed, they would not be pleased to learn that a score or so of the forbid shy;den objects would soon be in circulation. Nor would they believe Oth was innocent. The theft of his precious dream spheres, so soon after his presentation was soundly rejected, would appear far too convenient a solution.

"Well?" she pressed. "Will you call the Watch and report this, or shall I?"

After a moment of intense, silent struggle, the mage snatched up her clothing and tossed it to her. "Forget the matter. It is of no consequence."

Isabeau stopped in the act of pulling her chemise over her head, as if his words had stunned her into immobility. She tugged on the undergarment with a single quick, furious motion and rose from the bed. Stalking over to Oth, she stabbed him in the chest with an angry forefinger.

"My rubies were of considerable consequence! If you wish me to remain silent on this matter, I insist upon reparations."

Oth's narrow face turned pale with fury. "Extortion is hardly a wise course of action for a woman alone."

There was a cold, dangerous note in his voice. Isabeau's frightened expression was not completely feigned. She took two steps back, her hands turned palms up in supplication.

"I meant no such thing, my lord. I was distraught over the loss of my gems. You have my word that I will say nothing of this matter. I would not in any case, for fear of damaging your good name and mine. There were many who saw us leave the Thann estate in one carriage."

She kept her gaze wide and ingenuous while Oth tried to ascertain whether her words held a second, subtler threat. Finally he threw up his hands in sur shy;render. "Shed no more tears over your baubles. The Eltorchul family will see to their replacement. Before you carry tales, though, know that your new rubies will place a geas of silence upon the wearer!"

A little fact that Isabeau did not intend to pass along to the fence who would resell these gems. She sank into a low curtsy. "More than I dared ask, my lord."

Oth hauled her to her feet. He stripped a ring from his finger and pressed it into her hand. "Take this. Show it to the seneschal of any of the Eltorchul estates and bid him handle the matter."

Isabeau took the proffered ring. "Will you see me safely on my way, my lord?" she asked in tentative tones.

The mage scoffed. "The thief has come and gone. What more can he take that you have not lost? Or eagerly given," he added in nasty insinuation.

She gasped in genuine outrage. "You are no gentleman!"

Oth sneered. "I will not gainsay you. How could I? Though you have not been long in Waterdeep, I dare say you have already sampled enough of my peers to be con shy;sidered an expert in the matter."

Isabeau lunged for the oil lamp and hurled it at the mage. He stood his ground and made a short, sharp ges shy;ture with both hands. The lamp shattered in mid air and fell to the ground in a shower of glass shards and droplets of scented oil. Without another word, Oth turned and stalked from the room, leaving Isabeau shaking with rage.

And fear. And triumph and excitement blended in a sudden, wonderful, waterfall burst of relief.

The moment she was alone, Isabeau flung herself back onto the bed and opened her mouth in a long, silent scream of victory. She had done it! Oth's treasure was hers, and no suspicion would touch her!

She quickly finished dressing, then slipped down the back stairs and dived through a hidden exit in search of a man who could market these treasures for her and set her feet more firmly on the path that she had chosen.

* * * * *

When Oth Eltorchul came storming down into the tavern room of The Silken Sylph, Elaith was waiting for him.

"A carriage," the mage demanded of a serving maid, "and wine while I wait. One small goblet. Mark me, I do not wish to wait long."

Elaith caught the woman's eye and held up two fin shy;gers. She moved off to tend to the amended order. The elf rose and came over to the mage's table, sliding silently into the empty chair.

The mage studied him with ill-concealed distaste. "The tavern is nearly empty, elf. Surely you could find another seat."

Before Elaith could reply, a large, well-armed tavern guard stepped forward and nodded politely to Oth. He then leaned down and said confidingly, "Lord Craul shy;nober can sit wherever he pleases. He owns this tavern, you see."

"Ah. I do indeed." Oth smiled thinly across the table at his host, who spread his hands in a parody of self-deprecation. "It would appear that I am your guest."

"A paying guest," Elaith said cordially, just so there would be no misunderstanding on the matter.

"Quite." The mage looked up when the servant brought a bottle of wine, and his face darkened when she placed two goblets on the table. "Won't you join me," he invited through gritted teeth.

"How very kind." Elaith took up the bottle and poured two generous portions of elven wine. Usually he would not waste the precious liquid on a human, but the light, almost floral taste of the wine masked a kick more pow shy;erful than that of an angry centaur.

Oth drank more deeply than prudence dictated. When the goblet was empty, he thunked it down on the table and glared at his host. "What manner of establishment do you run here, elf?"

Already his tone was fuzzy, lacking focus. Certainly his judgment was affected, for he would not otherwise dare to speak with such belligerence. Elaith let the insult pass for the moment.

"It is my desire that the service at The Silken Sylph be without peer. If you have reason for complaint, speak, and the matter will be set right."

Oth snorted and held out his goblet for a refill. "So easy, is it? What was taken from me cannot be replaced."

Elaith began to see the shape of things. He poured a second goblet and waited until the mage had drained it.

"Perhaps it could be recovered."

"Hmph," scoffed Oth, but without much conviction. His face went slack with despair, as long and morose as a pack mule's.

"If you were robbed during your stay, then the reputation-and the profitability-of this fine estab shy;lishment is at risk. Confide in me," Elaith said earnest shy;ly, "and I will ensure by any means available to me that your loss is made right, and avenged, if you are so minded."

Oth peered at him with drunken cunning. "No small foe," he cautioned. "The treasure was stolen while I slept, despite wards I myself placed."

The elf carefully hid his surprise and anger. He had anticipated a tale that pointed to a misplaced belong shy;ing. Guests were more inclined to ascribe their losses to theft than to their own carelessness, but the inn should have been protected against a theft. If Eltorchul's tale were true, Elaith's servants would answer for it.

"Do not concern yourself over the finding or the foe. Only tell me what is missing, and I will carry on from there."

"Some coins, perhaps a hundred platinum," Oth said in a sly tone. Elaith suspected the amount was probably a third of that. "A few pieces of jewelry: a gold ring, an embossed wrist bracer, also of gold. A ruby necklace set in silver filigree, with ear drops and rings to match."

Elaith pricked up his ears. "A lady was with you? Where is she now?"

"Gone," Oth said shortly. "She was most unhappy about her loss."

"I can imagine," the elf murmured, making a note to find out the identity of this lady. "Was that the extent of your loss?"

The mage hesitated. Indecision waged battle on his face, then gave way before the potent persuasion of greed and elven wine. "There was more. Dream spheres, at least a score of them."

"Dream spheres," Elaith repeated.

"Small crystal orbs," Oth explained. "They hold magic. A single illusion, which is experienced as a vivid dream in which the dreamer places himself."

Elaith had heard rumors of the things for quite some time now. They were becoming quite popular among the city's servants and mercenaries. The tale Arilyn told had raised enormous possibilities in Elaith's mind and convinced him to track these new magical toys to their source.

"An ingenious notion. I imagine many in this city would pay a small fortune for such a thing."

"Would and do," Oth boasted. He leaned toward the elf. "You offered to help. Find them. Return them. I'll make it worth your while."

Elaith tamped down a surge of elation. This was more of a concession than he had expected from the mage. Perhaps he could do better still. He tilted his head to one side as if considering. "I could do that, of course."

Apparently Oth was not entirely overcome by elven wine. His sharp-featured face became wary. "But?"

The elf smiled apologetically. "I am in business. When confronted with the potential for great profit, should I be content with a simple reward? No matter how gen shy;erous that might be," he added in a conciliatory tone.

Oth considered the matter, and a sly smile stole across his face. "I have heard of your business affairs. You are not overly hampered by respect for law."

"Laws are admirable things and are often quite con shy;venient. Just as often, they are not."

"Quite." Oth suddenly made up his mind. "You find the dream spheres. I will supply you with others. You will find channels through which these might be sold-channels so convoluted that the sales could not be traced back to me. This can be done?"

"You would be surprised how much business is trans shy;acted in this city in just such a fashion," Elaith said, speaking for the first time with complete candor.

"Settled, then," the mage said. The decision made, he abandoned his struggle against the compelling lullaby the elven wine was singing in his veins. He rose un shy;steadily and looked about the tavern, his face wearing the expression of puzzled concentration as he tried to remember what he sought.

Elaith gestured to the serving girl. "Summon a car shy;riage for Lord Eltorchul," he bade, "and pour him into it," he added in a voice too low for the human to hear.

She nodded and slipped an arm around the mage's waist. "This way, my lord," she said, leading him to the front door and the waiting carriage.

The elf rose and slipped out the back door. He circled around to the back of the building and ran his hands over the smooth stone of the wall. A hidden door swung open. As he suspected, the cobwebs that should have festooned it hung in ragged shreds. Some enterprising thief had discovered the door and used it to good effect.

That made his task all the easier. Anyone skilled enough to find this back way into the building would also be adept at moving the stolen goods. Coins, gems, and magical items. There were perhaps four fences in Waterdeep who could handle them all with moderate risk and at a good profit. Elaith would have the dream spheres in hand before the day was out.

He would not return them to Oth Eltorchul. Nor would he see them sold as yet another mindless amuse shy;ment in this city full of humans who believed that dreams could be purchased rather than earned.

He wondered if any of the fools, Oth Eltorchul included, understood the true price of these fleeting dreams. Unless he missed his guess, Oth Eltorchul had no idea what sort of tiger he held by the tail. Unless Elaith was very, very wrong, the dream spheres could be the most valuable and the most dangerous magical items he had sought in his long and infamous career.

More important was the promise that he might hold in his hands the elven artifact that he suspected was behind their magic. He would test himself against the power of the elf gem and in doing so would answer once and forever the question that had haunted him for more than a century. He would know for a certainty whether the remnants of his elven honor were a wishful illusion or if he was a creature given over wholly to evil. Either way, the elven gem would light the path to greatness.

"Now there is a dream," he murmured with dark irony, "that is well worth pursuing."

* * * * *

Arilyn welcomed the rising sun as a marker that the worst night of her life was finally at an end. She was not by nature an introspective person, but since leaving the Thann villa she had wrestled her way to several impor shy;tant conclusions. Now all that remained was to per shy;suade Danilo to her way of thinking.

His townhouse was a long walk from the lodge where Arilyn stayed, but it was a pleasant walk. The air was thick with the scent of breakfast fires and the clatter of carts hauling goods to the market. Most of the city's folk were abed when the Gemstone Ball had scarce begun, and half their day's work would be finished before the revelers emerged to face the day.

Arilyn could not help but note that this was yet another difference between her and Danilo. He was accustomed to the patterns of city life, while she spent much time on the road and was attuned to the sun and stars. It was no small consideration, but at this moment it and all other matters seemed insignificant.

She cut up the street behind Danilo's townhouse and climbed the stone fence. She dropped lightly into the enclosed garden and instinctively scanned the area for danger. Finding nothing to hamper her, she plucked a blue rose and crept toward the many-paned window of Danilo's favorite room.

As she had anticipated, he was in his private study. She hauled herself up over the window ledge and eased into the room.

"You were wrong," she said.

Danilo started, then sat staring as if she was an apparition. His eyes dropped to the moonblade at her hip. "Wrong?" he repeated.

"Don't sound so surprised. Surely it has happened before," she said in an attempt at lightness. Without waiting for a response, she let the rest of it rush out. "I am not saying that you are wrong about the sword. Its magic is … complicated. It has been compromised before, and I won't claim that it couldn't happen again, but I do not accept that you are responsible."

He shook his head. "What if I am right? I won't let you take that risk."

"Let me? You can't keep me from taking it! I'm not finished," she said when Danilo began to interrupt. "Think back. If I'd had my way, we would have parted ways the first day we met. The first hour!"

His lips twitched with rueful amusement. "Yes, I seem to recall a certain lack of enthusiasm."

She began to pace. "Exactly. You, however, persisted, and we learned to work together. We became friends, which must have been like pushing a boulder uphill. Every step of the way I fought you. Always it has been you pushing, pursuing, getting me to go along by being funny or charming or just plain stubborn. Because of that, I suppose you think this all just stops when you say it does." She leveled a glare at him. "Well, it doesn't. Get used to it."

Danilo rose and walked over to her, stopping just a pace away. "You wish to remain together?"

She huffed and folded her arms. "Didn't I say just that?"

She waited for him to speak or to make some sort of move toward her. When he did not, she continued. "I don't know how we are to go about this. You were right in saying that I cannot give up the moonblade. That means I will be on the road more often than not. You offered to leave the city with me, but do you understand what that will mean? Some communities of forest elves might accept your presence. Most will not. Many times you would have to languish in small towns at woods' edge, while I go into the trees alone."

As she spoke, Danilo began to see the path her rea shy;soning was taking. He could see the logic in it, but he did not like it at all. "So you believe that we should pro shy;ceed as we have these past four years. You pursue your duties, I follow mine, and we are together only for a few short days here and there."

"If there truly is a conflict between your magic and mine, that might be the best course." She hesitated. "There is another way."

"I am most eager to hear it."

Arilyn nodded, but glanced uneasily around the study. "Can we go to my room? I can't help wondering when that steward of yours is going to sail in with a tea cart."

Danilo extended his hand. Arilyn took it, and to shy;gether they melted into the roar and rush of the silver-white pathway that he had laid between his sanctum and hers. The trip took but a moment, but Arilyn was relieved to feel the firm reassurance of wood planks beneath her boots. Danilo did not comment on her aver shy;sion for magical travel, but his eyes dropped to her clenched hand and the blue rose she had crushed.

Inspiration struck her, and she stepped over to her cot and let the fragrant petals fall onto the coverlet.

Danilo quickly averted his eyes from the bed and cleared his throat. "You have my full attention."

"For many days now, since I set my course for Waterdeep, I have had no dreams, no summons from the Tel'Quessar. That could mean that all is well. It might also mean that the sword's magic was compromised before I reached the city, in which case it's unlikely that you are the cause. There is a third possibility. Perhaps there is a task for me here, in the city. If so, that will give us time to determine what is disrupting the moonblade's magic and yours. No sense running from a foe you have not even named."

That brought a faint, rueful smile to Danilo's face. "When you put it that way, I sound like a coward and a fool."

"I've noticed that humans often err on the side of caution when dealing with the well being of those they love, but I am puzzled. You can accept that I make my way as a warrior, but not the possibility that my sword's magic might falter. I wonder what you trust: my skills or my sword."

He regarded her with bemused respect. "I had never considered the matter in that light. Your logic is remarkable."

She shrugged. "Problems are like enemies: you name them, track them down, and do whatever it takes to kill them."

Danilo threw back his head and laughed. As he did, the heavy burden of indecision lifted. Perhaps he could not yet see a way clear for them to be together, but Arilyn's forthright approach to the matter made him believe that one did indeed exist. "So what do we do now?"

"Assume that my task is in Waterdeep. As long as I tend the needs of the elven folk, I doubt that any but the most dire emergencies will summon me to the forest."

Hope began to dawn in Danilo's heart. He took her hand and led her over to the cot, and he kept her hand in his as they sat together. "And if the forest elves have need of you, they will have to take me into the bargain. It is that simple."

"I wouldn't put it quite that way," she cautioned him. "Where elves are concerned, nothing is ever simple."

Danilo reached over and cupped her cheek in one hand. "What dream worth having is easily gained?"

"True, but-"

He stopped her argument by sliding his hand over her lips. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"

"That's rich, coming from you," she mumbled through his fingers.

She did not seem inclined to further conversation. Her eyes drifted shut as Danilo began to stroke her along her jawline with gentle fingers, then moved back up to trace the elegant points of her elven ears. Few humans understood the intimacy of this gesture. Years ago, in the first bright flush of young manhood, Danilo had been well schooled in such matters by an indulgent elven harp mistress.

Arilyn sent him a look of mock suspicion. "How do you know such things?"

"The benefit of a well-rounded education." He held up both hands, palms toward her.

Without hesitation, the half-elf placed her fingertips to his. Slowly their hands eased together until they were palm to palm. It was a simple contact but far more intimate than any kiss or embrace they had yet shared, for it was the beginning of the elven handfasting, a per shy;sonal ritual as old as the seasons. Their eyes locked, their hearts opened to each other, and the circle was begun.

"The summer is nearly past, the harvest moon beck shy;ons the night," she said in a soft, wondering voice, begin shy;ning the traditional words of the pledge they were about to make.

Danilo wondered if she realized that she was speak shy;ing in Elvish. It was an unconscious acceptance, one he was determined to honor as well as any human man might. By elven standards, their time together would be short. He would die when she was still young; did that mean that he was never to live? Perhaps nothing about elves was ever simple, but this one thing was plain: for him, to deny Arilyn was to deny life.

Their fingers linked, and he repeated the next words of the handfasting pledge. There were more words, accom shy;panied by graceful movements that held the power of spellcasting and the subtlety of starlight. Danilo was not certain when their words melted into silence, and he did not care.

The elven patterns were exquisitely slow, torturously sweet. At some point, the ritual melded with a deeply personal, shared pattern of their own creation, one that was no less sacred for its newness.

Arilyn's patience with elven subtleties shattered before his. She pulled away and tore at her confining shirt with fierce abandon and utter disregard for the laces.

The sound of ripping linen startled her. Danilo burst out laughing at her befuddled expression, and after a surprised moment she joined in. Further bound together in the mirth only he seemed able to inspire in her, they sank down together to her cot, bathed in the mystic blue light of the moonblade's magic.

A moment passed before the implication of that fey light pierced their shared oblivion.

Arilyn sat up abruptly. "Damn!" she spat, glaring at the inconvenient sword.

Danilo let out a long, unsteady breath and nodded in heartfelt agreement. At least the moonblade's light was blue, not the faint green glow that warned of a dream to come and a forest journey to follow. That was some con shy;solation. The danger of which it warned was close at hand. Name it, track it down, kill it. That, he could deal with.

He reached for his sword belt and boots, trying to remember precisely how they managed to end up on the floor. Arilyn was quicker and was dressed and battle ready in moments.

Her eyes took on a distant expression as she drew the elven sword. "Tren," she murmured. "Here in the building."

In a moment she was gone, shouting a warning to the dwarven guard as she raced down the stairs. Danilo fol shy;lowed, drawing his sword as he clattered after her.

The curtain concealing the guard's alcove rustled. Four enormous claws punched through the fabric and sliced down, shredding the curtain. Out leaped a hideous reptilian creature, fully the height of a tall man and at least two stone heavier.

Dan stopped, impressed despite himself. He'd heard that tren were like lizardmen, but that was true only as a dwarf could be said to resemble a human. Compact and powerful, the creature was thick with muscle and armored with leathery green hide. Spikes lined its back shy;bone and jutted from behind each elbow joint. Long, powerful arms ended in hands so enormous that each clawed finger was fully the length of a human's hand. A long, livid cut traced the bony ridge above one eye.

"This time," the creature said, addressing Arilyn in a voice that sounded like rocks tumbling downhill, "we finish this."

"Watch the claws," Arilyn snapped back at Danilo.

"Watch the dwarf," Dan riposted. He threw his weight against Arilyn and sent them both tumbling down the last few steps.

Just in time. As he suspected, the tren had already dispatched the dwarven guard. Even as Danilo spoke, the creature reached back into the alcove and hauled out two objects: a small shield and a disembodied dwarven leg-still booted. The tren hurled the latter at the attacking humans.

The gory weapon whirled over them as they fell. It crashed into the stairs with enough force to splinter wood.

Arilyn rolled and came up on her feet. She came in hard and high, sword flashing with a quick, three-stroke attack. Her moonblade clattered against the wooden shield as the tren deftly parried each blow. The creature danced back a step, then leaned forward and swiped at her with one long arm. She dodged the blow and riposted with a quick thrust. The moonblade sank deep into the tren's forearm.

With astonishing speed, the creature pivoted on one massive foot, yanking its arm free of the sword-and pulling Arilyn along. Before she could get her feet back under her, the tren hit her with a brutal shield smash.

The slight half-elf went reeling back. Danilo stepped in, his hands empty but for a bit of bright green silk. He hurled the fabric square toward the creature. Snarling contemptuously, the tren swiped at the puny missile.

However, Danilo had already begun the spell. The silk caught in midair, just beyond the slashing claws, and began to spread into a thin globe, rapidly encircling the tren.

The creature backed toward the open door, thrashing about with shield and claws in an attempt to shred its prison. Glistening beads of black oil began to gleam along its fang-lined jowls. A hint of its foul scent-weapon seeped into the room just before the magic globe closed in.

Rank, swirling mist filled the globe, and the tren's struggles redoubled as it sought to escape the full force of its own stench. The creature quickly saw that it could not escape, and its yellow eyes darted from the young wizard to the angry half-elf. Arilyn stalked in, sword level and ready.

Changing tactics, the tren dropped its shield, spun away from its attackers, and fell forward onto its hands. This sudden motion tilted the globe forward. Running on all fours, the tren set the globe spinning toward the open door. The wooden lintel groaned and shuddered as the encased tren pounded through.

Danilo raced out into the street after it, with Arilyn close behind him. She quickly passed him as they wove through the morning crowds. Not that their passage was hampered overmuch-the tren's flight took care of that. Passersby ran screaming from the weird sight. Horses shied and reared, pawing the air and whinnying in terror. A cart overturned, spilling a load of cabbages onto the cobblestone. Danilo kicked one out of the way as he ran.

"The magic won't hold long," he managed, hard-pressed to keep up with the more agile half-elf.

Even as he spoke, the green globe dissipated like a child's soap bubble. The freed tren scuttled down a side street, its former quarry in close pursuit.

Suddenly the creature stopped and hunched over. Its massive arms corded as it strained upward.

"I don't think so," Arilyn muttered, running straight for the tren.

Before Danilo could guess her intent, she leaped at the creature without pausing to draw her sword. She landed so that she was nearly face to fang with the tren and standing on whatever it was trying to lift. Dan glimpsed the gleam of steel in her hands, then saw her knife flashing toward the tren's heart.

The tren's muscles bunched and heaved. Lock and hinges gave way with a shriek of metal, and the sewer cover burst free. The tren straightened abruptly, sending Arilyn tumbling up and over its massive shoulder. Danilo noticed that her knife was no longer in her hands.

The sudden movement had spoiled her aim. The tren turned back and tugged the weapon out of one shoulder.

Contemptuously it flung the knife aside, its long black tongue flicking out as if to taste the half-elf's scent.

"Mine," the creature rumbled in dire promise, then dropped into the sewer tunnels below.

Arilyn was on her feet and starting down the ladder before Danilo recovered from the shock of her bold attack. He let out a colorful oath and strode toward her. "What now?"

She looked at him as if he'd turned as green as the tren. "We follow."

Danilo regarded his fine suede boots and groaned. They were new and as good as ruined, but there was no help for that. Arilyn would go, whether he accompanied her or not.

Danilo had heard much about the sewers of Waterdeep. Part public necessity, part hidden highway, they wove an intricate web under the city. This was his first direct experience with them, and much of what he saw was surprising. Some tunnels were finished with care shy;fully dressed and fitted stone and might well have been corridors in some castle or dwarf's stronghold. Others were simply dug into the rock. Twists and turns were frequent, and in moments he had lost all sense of direc shy;tion. Nor was this the only level. More than once the stone floor gave way to iron grating. Stones kicked by their passing fell far to land sometimes with a muffled click of stone on stone, sometimes with a splash. Water marks rose high on the wall, indicating that the tunnels were flushed. After what seemed to be hours wading through ankle-deep sludge, Danilo concluded that it was high time for another such cleansing-provided the mysterious powers who handled such things didn't mind waiting until they had vacated.

"At the risk of sounding ignorant," Dan said, his voice muffled by the hand he held clasped over his nose, "pre shy;cisely how are you tracking this thing? Surely not by scent! What are we looking for?"

Arilyn stopped at a cross tunnel and considered her path. "I'll let you know when I find it."

"Oh, splendid," he said, throwing up his hands in dis shy;gust. "In all fairness, my dear, I should inform you that the mood is now thoroughly broken."

The half-elf nodded absently, then strode forward to study some marks on the wall. "This way."

Danilo sighed and fell in behind. "What are we fol shy;lowing?"

"Trail sign. The tren who attacked us was a clan leader. He left marks to direct the rest of the clan." She darted a somber look back over her shoulder. "They met here earlier and split up to attend to different tasks."

"Thoughtful fellow to lead you right past those marks," Dan commented. "A trap, perhaps?"

"It's possible," she admitted, but her pace did not slow. Dan shook his head and followed.

They slogged down the tunnel to its end, then climbed a ladder out into the city. This one did not lead them into an alley but into a narrow, dark passage that rose straight up.

Arilyn gritted her teeth in annoyance. "A garbage shaft," she said shortly. She tapped at the fresh claw marks on the stone. "Up we go."

The shaft was a long one. Climbing it was slow going, for the stone was smooth and the blocks tightly fitted. They tested each possible handhold or footrest carefully, for often what appeared to be a small stone ledge was nothing more than an accumulation of caked-on powder. Danilo soon began to suspect their destination from the scents and substances that layered the stone.

"The good news," he gritted out as he hauled himself up to the next secure handhold, "is that this is not a privy shaft."

Arilyn glanced back at him. "That much I already knew. What's the bad news?"

"Unless I very much miss my guess, this is a wizard's tower," he said grimly. "You'd better let me go in first."

She nodded and let him take the lead. Before much longer, he caught sight of a faint, fading blue glow in the tower ahead. It beckoned them on, grim evidence of a magical battle waged-and most likely lost. Danilo re shy;doubled his efforts, hoping to get to the unknown wizard while there was still something left to save.

Finally he reached the ledge. He cautiously peered over the edge, alert for attack from either a triumphant tren or an angry wizard.

The room was silent and empty. Danilo dragged him shy;self over the ledge and rolled onto the floor. He reached down and pulled Arilyn up into the room, then turned to survey the tower.

It was a well-equipped study, octagonal in shape. Neat rows of vials and boxes and pots filled the shelves that lined four of the walls. Several small tables had been clustered about. These had been overturned in the struggle, their contents tossed onto the polished stone floor. A faint, acrid scent, like that left by a hundred bolts of lightning, lingered in the air-evidence that defensive magic had been cast. However, there was no sign of the tren, or of the wizard who had fought him.

Arilyn's eyes were sharper. She strode forward and kicked away some of the debris. "Look at this," she said in a grim voice, pointing.

He came forward and swallowed hard. A severed human hand lay on the ground, palm up, fingers curved as if in a final gesture of supplication.

"It's a sign," the half-elf explained in a flat, even voice. "Tren eat their victims, unless their employer wishes to leave a warning or message. Then they leave a single hand or foot."

"There is a ring on the hand," Danilo pointed out.

She prodded the grisly thing with her boot, turning it over. The hand was pale as bleached bone and slightly freckled. A few red hairs on the lower finger joints stood out starkly against the pallor. The ring was gold, and on the rose-colored quartz was engraved a small, leaping flame surrounded by a circle of seven stars.

"Mystra's symbol," Arilyn commented. "That accounts for the wizard."

The ring was familiar. Danilo crouched down for a better look. He gingerly found the clasp and opened the hidden compartment. As he'd expected, the outline of a wizard's tall-peaked hat was engraved into the inner lip. The hidden compartment was empty.

He stood up. "I recall what you told me of last night's overheard conversation. It would appear that Maskar Wands was more right than he knew when he named the dream spheres as dangerous toys."

When Arilyn sent him an inquiring look, he pointed to the severed hand. "That is-or strictly speaking, was-Oth Eltorchul."