The Dream Spheres

Five

A premonition raced through Arilyn like a winter chill, or the shadow of a passing ghost. "You think Oth Eltorchul was killed for the dream spheres?"

"In all truth, I wouldn't lay odds one way or another," Dan responded. "Remember, I knew the man. He might just as well have incurred the wrath of a former student or a fellow mage, but it is possible, yes."

"Everyone at that meeting I overheard last night was opposed to the sale of dream spheres. Perhaps one of them hired the tren. Find out who was there, and we've got a place to start looking."

Danilo folded his arms and scowled. "Wait a minute. A place to start? You intend to go after the killer?"

"Don't you?"

"I fail to see how this fits any definition of service to the elven people."

"Maybe not." She shrugged. "Nonetheless, one way or another I might not have a choice."

He gave her a keen look. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"No." She began to pace, picking her way through the clutter. "I can't make sense of this. At first I assumed that the tren attack at the Gemstone Ball was directed against Elaith. But I was there first, and then the same tren showed up at my lodging house. It is possible that second attack was the tren's vendetta-I killed a couple of his clan, I wounded him-but it's also possible that I, not Elaith, was his original target." She blew out a long breath. "There's another possibility. As you pointed out, the markings that led us here to this tower room seemed a little too convenient."

Danilo looked puzzled, so Arilyn reluctantly contin shy;ued. "It's well known that some assassins occasionally work with tren. The tren provide muscle as well as a means of disposing of the body. You know my reputa shy;tion. Some people might ask why I just happened to be the first one on hand after a tren attack. The Eltorchul clan is going to want to know the answer to that."

His face clouded. "Surely you have left those rumors behind at last! I have not heard anyone speak of you as an assassin for years."

"Nor would you," she retorted. "Yet I don't imagine that even now your peers are eager to accept me into their midst!"

"Only because you're half-elven," he said heatedly. A look of utter mortification crossed his face as he real shy;ized what he had said.

Arilyn quickly turned away, before any reaction of hers could add to Dan's regret. She understood the impli shy;cations of their friendship in the young nobleman's world, probably far better than he did. To forestall any further discussion, she began kicking at the debris with more force and fervor than the task required.

After the first moments, Arilyn became genuinely absorbed by the puzzle before her. She began to circle the octagonal room, studying the chaos in search of some small pattern.

The wizard's tables had been overturned, and shards of pottery lay scattered on the floor along with a variety of weird spell components that Arilyn could not begin to name. Oddly enough, none of the shelves had been dis shy;turbed by the struggle, as if the mage had deliberately avoided damaging any of the contents. That seemed to fly against logic, but Arilyn had heard of people who protected their possessions more fiercely than their own lives.

"What is the worth of all that?" she asked, pointing to the orderly shelves.

Danilo's gaze swept across the rows of glass and silver bottles, carved wooden boxes, and carefully stacked scrolls. "Almost beyond estimation," he admitted. "This is a most impressive study."

"Worth dying for?"

"I wouldn't say so. Oth might have. I see your point, though. This was an unusual struggle. Another thing puzzles me: there is far less blood than one might expect."

"Not unusual for tren attacks," Arilyn corrected. "They're … tidy. They also feed with astonishing speed. On the other hand, it is possible that Oth died else shy;where and that his hand was left here for someone to find."

"That someone being you." Danilo frowned. "I am finding more to dislike about this situation by the moment, but we cannot dismiss the possibility that Elaith was the target of the first tren attack. Perhaps we should see what he knows."

Arilyn had no desire to seek out the rogue elf, but she could see the sense in that. She nodded toward the one door that led out of the room and drew her sword. "The tren is long gone, but we might not be able to leave this place without meeting opposition."

"One moment." He took a carved wooden box from the shelf, emptied the dried herbs it contained onto the floor, and then, to her astonishment, pushed the disem shy;bodied hand into it. He carefully fastened the clasp and then tucked the box under one arm.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"It is better that I turn this matter over to the Watch than you," he explained. "After all, I once studied with the Eltorchul family, and I could contrive a reason for entering Oth's tower. No one need hear of your presence here."

Arilyn started to protest, but she recognized the im shy;placably stubborn expression in her friend's eyes. She turned and walked toward the door. "Good thing you're giving up that Lord's helm," she muttered. "I wouldn't call this upholding the laws of the city."

"You haven't actually broken any, have you? Recently?"

"I just got here," she said with a bit of grim humor.

"Well, then," he said, his tone suggesting that the matter had been settled.

She led the way down a winding stairs into the main hall. The building that supported the wizard's tower was small, just a center hall with a few rooms to either side for servants and household functions. There was no sign of anyone in the building, and they slipped out into the courtyard without challenge.

Since they had come that far, Arilyn deemed it safe to begin the search for Oth's killer. She nodded toward the carriage shed, from whence drifted a faint murmur of sound. Tucking away her sword, she went to inquire.

A thin man with lank, yellow hair was busy digging a stone from the hoof of a bay horse. Three matching steeds munched hay in tidy stalls, and a fine carriage stood nearby, its undercarriage still grimed with a layer of street dust.

The man looked up when Arilyn's shadow fell upon him. His lip curled disdainfully, and he brandished the small knife as if he were shooing off an importunate stray dog.

"Be off with you," he snarled, "and be quick about it. There is no work for you here. My master would sooner turn the likes of you into a lizard than hire you."

Dan stepped around her. Even in his current bedraggled state, he was unmistakably a man of wealth and position. The coachman leaped to his feet, chagrin on his thin face as he recognized the raven-and-unicorn heraldry on the young man's pendant as the mark of a noble family. "My lord," he stammered. "I did not-"

"You apparently speak for Lord Eltorchul," Danilo said, cutting off the man's apology. "Perhaps then you can tell me where he is. No one answered our knock."

"Nor will they, my lord," the man said quickly, obvi shy;ously eager to undo whatever ill will he had caused. "Lord Oth gave the servants a day's holiday to enjoy the harvest festivals. I delivered him myself to the Thann estate last night."

"And from thence?"

The coachman hesitated, clearly at conflict whether or not to speak of his master's business. Danilo held up a large silver coin. "I have forgotten already what you are about to tell me. Try to convince me to overlook the insult you offered my lady."

The man's eyes shifted incredulously to Arilyn. She supposed she could understand why he'd come to the conclusion he had. Clad in worn leather breeches and boots, wearing no ornaments but an elven sword, she looked like any one of the hundreds of mercenaries who thronged the city and made their way the best they could.

The coachman caught the coin Dan flipped him and nodded his agreement to the bargain. "I took Lord Oth to a tavern in the Sea Ward. The Silken Sylph. There was a woman with him." A quick grin jerked across his thin features, and his hands traced a voluptuous outline in the air.

"I am acquainted with the general concept," Danilo commented. "Can you offer something a bit more specific?"

"Red dress, black hair, big dark eyes," the man remi shy;nisced. "Dark skin, but not as dark as a Calishite. Nose' like a scimitar. Slender, but not scrawny, if you know what I mean." As if there could be any doubt, he cupped the air several inches from his chest.

Arilyn hissed through clenched teeth. Isabeau Thione, beyond doubt. Was it possible the troublesome wench had progressed from thievery to murder?

Yes, she concluded, entirely possible. Arilyn did not know what complaint Isabeau had against Oth, but she had an excellent reason to hire an attack on Elaith Craul shy;nober. Earlier that very summer, the elf had vied with Arilyn and Danilo over Isabeau's fate. Had the matter been resolved differently, Elaith would have sold the woman to whatever faction in Tethyr offered the best price. It mattered not at all to the elf whether the bidders wished to use the Thione bastard as a political pawn or to remove her entirely from the picture. Given Elaith's dark reputation, Isabeau had no reason to believe the elf would not yet do what he had once set out to accomplish. If she found a way to strike first, she would probably take it. Nor did Isabeau hold much affection for Arilyn. What better way to deflect attention than to place both attacks at the doorstep of a half-elven assassin?

Arilyn shifted impatiently from one foot to the other as she waited for Danilo to finish the transaction. After a few more questions, he flipped the man a second coin, and they walked together into the street.

"Isabeau hated Elaith. She was with Oth," Arilyn pointed out. "As far as tren attacks go, that's two out of three."

"And you the third. Why?"

She thought back to Isabeau's rescue and the vicious resistance that the tavern pickpocket had waged when Arilyn had caught up to her outside the gnomish strong shy;hold. "Once Isabeau realized what was awaiting her in Waterdeep, she was in favor of rescue, but getting to that point was like reasoning with a mule. Sometimes you have to hit it over the head with a stick to get its attention."

"Ah. Knowing Isabeau, I'm guessing you had to use a fairly big stick."

"You could say that. It's possible that she's holding a grudge. There's more." She hesitated a moment, not wanting to give words to what seemed incomprehensible behavior. "You didn't seek her out on the trip to Waterdeep. I don't think she's accustomed to being ignored. Since she's not one to blame herself for much of any shy;thing, I wouldn't be surprised if she has a grudge on that score. Creating trouble for me would balance the scales for your inattention."

Danilo looked coldly furious. "I am beginning to regret the pledge I took from Elaith for Isabeau's safety. Speaking of whom, we'd better see him at once-provided I can remember which of his properties he cur shy;rently inhabits!"

He hailed a passing carriage. The crest of the Car shy;riage Guild was painted on the door, marking it as available for hire-as did the presence of its halfling crew. The stout little driver tilted his plumed cap and pulled the horses to a halt. A second halfling scrambled down from the coachman's seat and opened the door, smiling expectantly up at Arilyn.

Too tired to argue, she climbed in and settled back against the plush seat. With a jerk, the carriage took off toward the south to seek out whatever rock the elven snake happened to be sunning himself on this particu shy;lar morning.

* * * * *

Elaith Craulnober was not in good humor. He was never so when going over his account books. The numbers therein would have sent many a merchant lord dancing giddily into the streets, and in truth Elaith was not un shy;happy with the results of his recent ventures in Skullport. It was the ciphering itself that he loathed.

A pity he could not trust another to tend such mat shy;ters for him. There were scribes, of course, and men who wrote up bills of sale and tallied the day's transaction. There were other men who collected this information and passed it along to their superiors, who in turn passed it along. Groups of men, some small, some num shy;bering in scores, tended Elaith's vast concerns, but each group was like a single room with windows and doors to the outside word-and none at all to the corridors that led to those other rooms. Only Elaith knew the whole of his empire.

The small brass bell suspended above his door chimed musically. Almost glad for the interruption, Elaith tugged at the embroidered bellpull to grant permission for audience.

The door opened soundlessly. Just as quiet was the elderly elven servant who glided up to Elaith's desk and offered a small, silver tray.

Elaith glanced at the engraved card and smiled faintly. Young Lord Thann had come calling, no doubt with a bottle of elven wine and an apology that would be peppered with foolish anecdotes-but no less sincere for all that. Elaith's words to Arilyn the night before had been simple truth: he did not believe that Danilo had issued the invitation in order to lure him into an ambush. He would not, however, hold other members of the Thann family above suspicion. There was no reason for Danilo to know that, of course.

"Send him in."

"Them, my lord. The moonfighter is with him," the servant said, showing Arilyn the respect due any elf honored with a moonblade. If the servant had an opin shy;ion about whether a half-elf deserved this honor, he wisely kept it to himself.

Elaith rose as the unlike pair entered his study. His words of welcome died as he regarded their disheveled appearance. They both looked as damp and road-sore as horses run too long and too hard. A wide variety of sub shy;stances besmudged their clothing, which to all appear shy;ances had been donned hastily and without the aid of servants. Arilyn's black curls fell to her shoulders in wild disarray, and her white, angular face was streaked with grime. Both looked as if they had thrust their hands into a gnome's sausage grinder, so torn were the skin and nails.

"What in the Nine bloody Hells have you been about?" Elaith demanded.

Danilo threw himself into a chair, then placed what appeared to be a large, wooden snuffbox on the table beside. "Fighting tren, traversing sewers, climbing walls. Nothing out of the ordinary. How was your morning?"

Consternation swept through the elf. He looked to Arilyn for a straight answer. "There was another tren attack?"

"Two." In a few terse words, she described the situa shy;tion.

Elaith nodded thoughtfully. The pieces fit. Indeed they did.

"Oth Eltorchul and Isabeau were at The Silken Sylph last night," Arilyn said in a flat, even tone.

The elf knew what was coming next. "I suppose you stopped there looking for me, and you were informed, though not without some persuasion, that I was seen in conversation with Lord Eltorchul."

Danilo quickly entered the conversation. "We came here to learn what you know of the matter, not to make accusations. Three tren attacks, in the space of a single day, all of them threatening Arilyn's safety or reputa shy;tion. There are other common threads: all those attacked were at the Gemstone Ball, all had dealings with Isabeau Thione. Can you see something I might have missed?"

"Nothing more than I said last night," Elaith said. "This was not the first time someone took steps to hasten my departure from this world. Nor, all things consid shy;ered, will it be the last. I do not know what occasioned this particular attack, nor have I any knowledge of the other two."

"We will be looking into this matter," Arilyn stated.

Obviously she suspected him, whatever Danilo might say to the contrary. That knowledge stung the elf more than it should.

Elaith gave her a faint smile and a courtly bow. "I will consider myself warned. Lord Thann, what is that box?" he asked, more to distract the conversation than from any real interest.

Danilo shifted uneasily. "It's all that remains of Oth."

"Ah. Turning evidence over to the Watch. Very com shy;mendable," the elf murmured without much interest.

"Actually, I thought I'd turn this over to the Eltorchul clan for possible resurrection."

Outrage, quick and sharp and utterly elven, surged through Elaith. He noted that Arilyn's expression mir shy;rored his thoughts. In this, at least, they were of like mind.

Resurrection, was it? Typical human arrogance! The elf could think of nothing more self-centered or more repug shy;nant than disturbing the afterlife of friend or kindred.

"Why do you humans persist in doing this thing?" he demanded.

"Because we can, most likely," Danilo responded wearily. "It is hard to accept that a loved one is lost when magic exists that will call him back."

"You could have mentioned this earlier," Arilyn snapped.

Danilo shrugged and glanced from one angry elf to the other. "I always like to break bad news when I'm grossly outnumbered. It keeps me in good trim."

Elaith stepped between them before the argument could escalate. "Although I regret to hear of your troubles, I can offer you nothing that would assist you. Have you considered the possibility that I have no real part in this drama? That the tren in the Thann tunnels were tracking Arilyn, not lying in wait for me?"

"I have," admitted Arilyn. A wary look entered her eyes. "Lying in wait. They had reason to expect you?"

The elf cursed himself for the misstep. If the persist shy;ent half-elf learned that he had been lured to the tunnel, she would not rest until she found out who had sent the note. In the process, she would no doubt come across the connection between him and the dream spheres. That, he could not permit.

"I was speaking from your vantage point," he said smoothly. "Of course you could not know that I caught a glimpse of you in the halls and followed you into the tunnels. You appeared to be lost. I merely wished to offer assistance."

Arilyn shot a quick, almost guilty glance in Danilo's direction, then returned a level gaze to Elaith. "If you think of anything that might help, you will contact Dan?"

It did not escape the elf that Arilyn removed herself from the chain of information. Elaith inclined his head in another bow. "Always at your service, Princess."

His visitors left soon after. As soon as the study door closed behind them, Elaith paced over to the hearth and stared at the fire with unseeing eyes.

What was he to do now? The dream spheres he would and must have; that need had not changed with Oth's death. Now, however, he would have to sidestep, if not actively contend with, the efforts of these two people. Under any circumstances, he would rather count them as allies than adversaries. He had made pledges to them both, evoking the deepest bonds known to elves and stirring the very core of his forgotten honor.

To Danilo he owed the pledge of Elf-friend. No elf Elaith knew in fact or in legend had ever set aside that pledge. Arilyn, half-elven though she was, Elaith regarded as both kin and liege lady. The Craulnober clan was a sept-a minor branch-of the royal elven house. Elaith's first sword had been sworn in service to the Moonflower family, and Arilyn was the daughter of the disgraced and exiled Princess Amnestria. She should have been his daughter, but for his own private disgrace.

The elf firmly set aside these thoughts. Despair lay at the end of that path. He had not thrived all these many years away from Evermeet by ruing what was past.

It was easier to ponder the death of Oth Eltorchul. There were few who deserved the fate more and many who might have ordered it. Several powerful wizards had cause to hate the mage. Rumor spoke of several women angered by his treatment of them. Elaith knew of at least four noble families who had reason to squelch the proposed trade in dream spheres-for much the same reason that opposition to his own enterprises in Skullport was growing. Legal trade in Waterdeep was strictly regulated. Illegal trade was even more sternly enforced.

All in all, Elaith's fancy settled upon the crystal mer shy;chant, Mizzen Doar. Mizzen had already offered a drunken confession of sorts. Elaith had reason to con shy;nect the man's boast of the "elf gem" to Oth Eltorchul's magical toys. If the gem was what Elaith suspected it to be and if the crystal merchant was truly in possession of it, Mizzen was the most likely suspect to murder that Elaith could conceive.

It occurred to him, briefly, to reconsider the wisdom of seeking out the gem. Not long ago, Mizzen had pos shy;sessed a sterling reputation. Recently Elaith had heard rumors of shady dealings that ranged from counterfeit shy;ing to outright fraud. Murder was not out of the ques shy;tion for one under the thrall of the elven stone.

"I am sufficient to the challenge," he muttered.

Was he? A few years ago, he would have undergone this venture in confidence. After all, had he not removed himself from all things elven? The gem would have been to him a rare and legendary treasure, no more. Posses shy;sion would have been enough.

That was before he had remembered the value of honor, before he had looked into the face of his tiny daughter and dreamed for her things he had long for shy;gotten. It was before he had undergone a quest to re shy;awaken the Craulnober moonblade and hold it in trust for his heir, before he saw and honored the royalty in a rough-edged half-elf. Before he had forged the sacred bonds of Elf-friend.

In doing these things, Elaith had torn pieces from his carefully constructed armor. Ironically, in allowing pockets of virtue into his life, he had opened himself up to the very real danger posed by the twisted magic of the elven gem. If there was yet good in him, the gem would seek to win him. If he were truly a creature of evil, the gem would submit to his will, for that would be the best way of creating mischief. Either way, it would change his life immeasurably, but at least, at last, he would know.

"Better to embrace evil without reservation than to be overcome by it," Elaith mused.

Even as he spoke, the spiral of his thoughts turned again. If he were to deny the only honor remaining him, would he not be overcome indeed?

The elf's mind whirled with the confusion of it. This was not the sort of puzzle that normally occupied him. In his world, a thing was, or it was not. He was an hon shy;orable elven warrior of Evermeet, or he was utterly dis shy;graced and dissolute. He could not be both.

Yet he was.

Elaith stalked over to his desk and hurled the ledgers into the open chest beside it. The books disappeared and would not return except to his call.

"Thasilier!" he bellowed.

The elven steward came to his call. "Send word to my captains," snapped Elaith. "I would have them meet me at highsun at Greenglade Tower. Those who lodge there have until that hour to make other arrangements."

Astonishment overcame the steward's inscrutable calm. "My lord?"

"Do it," Elaith said in a cold, dangerous voice.

The elf bowed and turned away, obedient even in this, the dissolution of one of the last elven havens in the city. Elaith owned the enclosed garden and tower, and he would use it however he saw fit.

He was no longer a Guardian, captain of the royal elven guard. Let the elves of Waterdeep fend for them shy;selves, as best they could.

As Elaith intended to do.

* * * * *

Isabeau Thione swept down the street toward the elegant stone building housing Diloontier's Fine Per shy;fumes. She had never had occasion to visit this shop or, for that matter, the coins to finance a purchase. Thanks to Oth Eltorchul, she now possessed both.

She tried not to look impressed as she entered the shop, despite the rows of glittering bottles that lined the walls and the rare, costly spices and tinctures that scented the air. The front room was furnished as well as any noblewoman's parlor. A large, arched door led into the back room, where stood tables heaped with rare, fresh flowers. Two young apprentices were busy with mortar and pestle, crushing blossoms and herbs into paste. Another lad carefully placed herbs or bits of citrus peel into vials of strong spirits, in order to draw off tinctures.

The proprietor bustled up to greet her. Diloontier was a small man, not much taller than Isabeau. He was exceedingly thin of limb and face but wore his belt low under a small, tightly rounded belly. His dark hair had been oiled back, and his thin-lipped smile was exceed shy;ingly broad. On the whole, he rather resembled a frog. Isabeau gave him a cool nod, then tugged off her gloves and presented her wrist to him.

"This perfume was blended for me in Zazesspur," she said, speaking not fact, but code. "Can you match it?"

The little man sniffed delicately. "Patchouli, citrus, and snowflower," he mused, "and perhaps one thing more."

It was the agreed-upon response. A wave of relief swept through Isabeau. She had gone to great trouble and expense to seek out such a man, and it was gratify shy;ing to know her efforts had been well spent. Diloontier's words indicated that he was available to sell things not offered in the fine shop: poisons, potions, and a variety of services.

Isabeau cast a glance back toward the door to ensure that they were not observed, then took the sack of dream spheres from her bag. "This is the one thing more," she said. "I believe you can sell them for me."

The perfumer reached into the bag and drew out one of the gleaming spheres. His eyes widened. "Indeed I can. I have heard tell of these. So have some of the gentry, and I've had enough discreet inquiries to enable me to move these quickly, as well as any more you might happen upon," he said.

"At what price?"

Diloontier looked scandalized. "A lady of quality need not concern herself with such details. I will handle all, and report faithfully to your steward."

Isabeau refused to be flattered or patronized. She strolled over to a shelf glittering with decorative silver vials and took from it a small, plain bottle. Turning to face the perfumer, she slowly, deliberately dropped the vial into her bag.

"Half," she specified coldly, staring down the sud shy;denly wary man. "I expect to receive half the purchase price of each dream sphere you sell. Do not attempt to cheat me."

"My lady!" he protested.

"Do not," she said in a low tone as she patted her bag, "or I will feed you one of your own poisons. Now that we are properly acquainted, let us discuss some other mat shy;ters you can help me with. . "

* * * * *

Arilyn and Danilo walked down the long, black marble stairs that led from the front door of Blackstone House, one of Elaith's favorite residences. Unlike most houses in the city, this one had no windows or doors on the first level. Guests were obliged to climb a steep, narrow stairs to the front door. No rails lined the stairs, which were smooth and slick as a ballroom floor.

Arilyn had to admit that it was a clever design and extremely defensible. Anyone who wished to storm the elf's abode would be obliged to do so one at a time. No one could stand and fight on so precarious a perch, and she would not be at all surprised if the stone griffons that flanked the stairs on the ground below were mag shy;ical constructs, waiting to pounce upon any who might fall.

Arilyn all but leaped down the stairs and hastily climbed into the waiting carriage. "He's lying," she said flatly.

Danilo did not disagree. He climbed into the seat, leaned forward and gave the halfling driver his address, then slid shut the wooden door. "At least he does not hold the Thann family responsible. I would not care to renew that particular enmity."

"They call him the Serpent, and not without reason," she pointed out. "A snake still strikes whether you name him friend or foe. It's his nature."

"I am not so certain," Danilo argued. "There are some things even Elaith holds sacred. He did not lightly name me Elf-friend. I believe he will honor that pledge."

"As long as it's convenient." Arilyn slumped down in the seat and stretched her booted feet out before her. The look she sent in Danilo's direction bordered on pleading. "At least consider the possibility that I'm right."

"This much I will do." Danilo reached up and tapped on the wooden door. "Change of plan," he informed the beaming halfling driver. "Take us to The Curious Past, on the Street of Silks."

The half-elf sat upright, surprised to hear him name the posh shopping district. "What is this?"

"The dream spheres hold part of the answer to this puzzle," Danilo explained. "Of that much, I am fairly certain. Perhaps Elaith has more involvement in this matter than he is willing to admit. I will have someone follow him, and we will see."

Arilyn nodded. That was more of a concession than she had expected to get. "A Harper?"

"One of the agents assigned to my direction," he agreed, "and recently released to tend her own affairs. You have not met Bronwyn. She is a finder of lost things, a scholar of sorts but ready for just about anything that comes her way. She is most knowledgeable concerning treasures both ancient and modern and deals frequently with the gem and crystal merchants. These dream spheres had to be mined and cut and polished. She would be able to find out who did these things-as would Elaith, if indeed he plans to follow this path."

Arilyn nodded agreement to this plan and settled back to watch as the city rolled past. The carriage swung eastward toward a place of elegant shops and taverns. The tang of the sea deepened as they rode, and it mingled with the savory odors wafting from the taverns and bakeries and pastry shops that offered respite to those who strolled the broad streets.

The day was fine, and the shops were crowded with people eager to enjoy the last warm days. Before the moon waned and waxed twice, many of the revelers would quit the city in search of softer climes. They poured into the streets for one last, hectic bustle of commerce and festivity.

So many people milled about the streets that passage by carriage was impossible. Danilo settled with the halfling driver and led the way through the crowd toward an elegant, dark-timbered building.

A tilted hourglass decorated a carved and painted sign, and markings proclaimed it to be The Curious Past, using not one language but three: the trade lan shy;guage known as Common, beautifully rendered Elvish script, and the squat, emphatic figures of the dwarven runes. Behind the small-paned windows, each of which was etched with the same hourglass design, was a pleasing jumble of trinkets and treasures.

Arilyn liked Bronwyn at first glance. The Harper was of average height for a woman, nearly a head shorter than Arilyn. She wore neither the weapons nor the manner of a trained fighter, but there was no hint of weakness about her. She was compact and trim and was sensibly clad in tunic and breeches of a matching russet hue. Her large, chocolate-brown eyes were lively with intelligence, and her gaze managed to be both warm and direct. The small hand she offered Arilyn in response to Dan's introduction was ornamented only by ink stains and calluses.

"A pleasure," Bronwyn said with genuine warmth. "Dan has spoken of you."

"And of you, a scholar and adventurer," she repeated, seeing the truth of both.

The woman laughed. "Fine words! That's a sure sign that he wants something from me."

"Guilty," Danilo said with a grin. He quickly described the situation.

"I know of Elaith Craulnober," Bronwyn murmured. She turned a dry smile upon her friend. "Either you have a very high opinion of me or a very low one."

"Dealing with Elaith often requires the best of both philosophies," he admitted.

"Well, that's why you're here," Bronwyn said matter-of-factly. "As it turns out, I do have a legitimate errand to attend-or more accurately, an illegitimate one."

She went to a case and removed from it a waterfall of glittering, pale green stones, artfully woven into a neck shy;lace. "The stones are peridot, considered only semi shy;precious in the north but highly prized in Mulhorand and the lands of the Old Empires as gems fit for royalty. Lovely, aren't they?"

Arilyn shrugged. Jewelry was nice enough, but irrel shy;evant.

"Good eye," Bronwyn congratulated her, misunder shy;standing her lack of enthusiasm. "There are exactly two genuine peridots in this lot. The rest are crystal. The gem merchant who hired me wants more of the same. If Elaith is nosing about among the crystal merchants, I'll have a reason to follow-or at least bump elbows."

"Splendid," Danilo agreed happily as he rose to leave.

"You've just got here," the merchant scolded him. "Perhaps Arilyn would like to see some of the elven pieces first?"

Danilo pantomimed a pained expression and reached pointedly for his coin bag. "Didn't I tell you she was good at her business?" he asked Arilyn.

"These are not for sale," Bronwyn said with brisk good humor as she led the way to a long, glass-covered box. "I recovered these for the elves of the Pantheon Temple. To be honest, I'm hoping you can shed some light on them. I like to know the history of the pieces I collect. These appear to be personal possessions, but there is apparently some sort of sacred significance to them."

Arilyn's heart pounded as she studied the objects in the case. There was a small flute grown from green crys shy;tal, an emerald pendant, a leather bracer dyed green and tooled with beautiful, mystic designs. There was a small, stylized sculpture of Hannah Celanil, the elven goddess of beauty, rendered in green-veined marble.

"The color is significant, isn't it?" Bronwyn went on.

"Yes." Arilyn cleared her throat. "These are Midsum shy;mer gifts, given at festival time. They are personal, as you say. They are also sacred, but not in any manner that can be explained with talk of gods and temples."

"How fascinating! What can you tell me about this festival?"

"Nothing." Arilyn softened the refusal with a faint smile. "I am sorry, but there is no way to explain it. Some elven rites are not allowed to be revealed to humans, and even if they were, they would not be fully experienced or understood."

Bronwyn took no offense. She glanced over at Danilo, who was happily leafing through some old tomes at the far side of the shop. "Humans use the Weave," she said, naming the mystic force that shaped all magic, "but elves are part of it. They are also one with the land, and the sea, and the patterns of the sun and stars. This much I know, even though I could never experience it as you would. I have heard that the times of solstice and equi shy;nox are sacred to the elves. I know that such times were celebrated with fertility rituals by many ancient human cultures. I did not mean to offend you by implying that elven festivals were the same and nothing more."

"You understand more than I thought," Arilyn responded. To her surprise, it was not only easy to speak of this, but comforting. "No offense was taken. Yes, these are times of revelry among the elves. Many marriages are made, friendships celebrated in intimate ways, but this is part of a larger, mystic connection-connection to all elves, and to the Weave of magic and the very circle of life."

"And only elves are accepted," the woman repeated. She smiled faintly. "To a limited degree, I understand. Perhaps Dan has told you of my life. I spent most of it searching for my family, my past. This meant every shy;thing to me. I found my father and lost him all in the space of a few hours, but I came away from that experi shy;ence feeling like a whole person for the first time in my life. I can't imagine what it would mean to a half-elf to be invited to take part in such a festival."

Arilyn met the woman's warm, sympathetic gaze. She took from the pocket of her breeches a small stone knife, sharp as steel and carved with a feather pattern. This she handed to Bronwyn. "Add this to the Temple's store. It is as precious as anything there."

The woman hesitated, demonstrating for the first time that her understanding was more human than elven. "You are sure you want to part with this?"

"Midsummer gifts are also part of the whole. The wheel turns, and they are often given anew with the coming of another summer."

Bronwyn nodded her thanks. Arilyn handed her the stone knife, a gift from Foxfire, the elf who had offered her the first true acceptance she had ever received from her mother's people-and who had changed her life. Without Foxfire, she would not have come to terms with her own divided nature or learned that though her soul was elven, her heart belonged to a human man.

A heavy thud drew her attention. She glanced over at Danilo. He stooped quickly to pick up the tome he had dropped, but not before Arilyn saw his gaze dart from the knife in her hand to the green treasures in Bron shy;wyn's case. Not before stunned comprehension flooded his face.

Bronwyn glanced from Danilo back to Arilyn, and her brown eyes widened with chagrin. "He didn't know."

"No."

In truth, Arilyn had never seen need to speak of that Midsummer night. The initial joy of her reunion with Dan had swept aside all other considerations. Shortly after, she had been called back to the forests to aid the embattled elves. There had been little in her life since then to bring to mind the sacred revels of Midsummer.

Now she tried to see the matter as Danilo might. Few humans could understand the true nature of elven fes shy;tivals. They would see her participation as a shallow indulgence. Danilo, though, knew more of the elves than did most men, and he valued highly what he knew.

That could be more of a problem than a blessing. Just last night, he had been ready to give her up rather than separate her from the magic of her elven sword. Arilyn was not sure how he would respond to the knowledge that she had known an elven love.

"It'll be fine," Bronwyn said with quiet urgency. "Dan has reason to know that lovers can become friends, con shy;tent to leave the past as it was."

Arilyn looked at her with sudden comprehension. She felt no jealousy over this revelation. Even if she were so inclined, that emotion would have been an unworthy response to Bronwyn's obviously well-meaning concern. "Why do you tell me this?"

"For his own good," the woman said as she took Arilyn's hand in a sisterly clasp. "Use it if you have to. Just don't let him do anything noble and foolish."

The half-elf gave her new friend a small, wry smile. "Apparently you know that that's more easily said than done."

"What of it? Men are not put here to make our lives easy," Bronwyn announced. "They're just put here."

Despite the situation, this amused the half-elf. "Any more words of advice?"

"Yes." Bronwyn nodded toward Dan, who was staring fixedly at the far wall and absently stirring through a tray of fragile coral jewelry. "Get him out of here before he breaks something."