The Dream Spheres

Six

The hum and bustle of the streets enveloped Danilo and Arilyn as they left The Curious Past behind. Bron shy;wyn's shop was not far from the market, a vast, open-air bazaar that dominated the northern end of Waterdeep's Castle Ward.

They walked in silence, weaving their way through the crowds. Usually Danilo took great pleasure in the sights and sounds of the colorful district, but today he felt as if he were walking through an illusion. His senses noted the ringing, musical cries of the street ven shy;dors, the salty warm scent of the pretzels draped over the T-shaped crook carried by a young man with a much-freckled countenance and a jaunty purple cap. He heard the loudly whispered boasts of the two small lads who leaned out from a second story window and attempted with twine and wooden hooks to snare some of the pretzels.

He led the way through the maze of shops with the surety of long experience. Over the years, Danilo had spent a great deal of time in the market. Almost every shy;thing a wealthy man could desire flowed to this place.

Merchants from up and down the Sword Coast brought wares from every corner of Faerun and from the exotic lands beyond. Craftsmen from the Trades Ward rumbled north with their wagons loaded with simple, necessary goods: barrels, tack and saddles for riding horses, iron utensils for tending fires and stirring pots. Blacksmiths, coopers, brewers, cobblers-all plied their wares in the market alongside the silks and gems of distant lands. Fragrant smoke rose with the sun as vendors and tavern keepers stoked fires in anticipation of the midday meal.

The only thing lacking, and the only thing Danilo re shy;quired at present, was privacy. The answers he wished to know would be hard enough to hear under any cir shy;cumstances. He could hardly shout delicate questions over the bustle of morning commerce.

He turned up Bazaar Street toward the quieter resi shy;dential area. Arilyn fell into step without argument. The crowd thinned as they moved west from the market, and before long they strode the broad, cobbled walks along Suldoun Street.

The townhouse he called home was tall, narrow, and elegant. It was tucked neatly alongside other, similar homes, most of them owned by young members of the merchant nobility. The front was finished stone, the peaked and gabled roof tiled with multicolored slate. Tall windows of many small panes, some of them col shy;ored glass, flanked the door. Decorative iron gates enclosed the small front courtyard and led into the narrow walkways on either side of the building and the garden courtyard beyond.

The tinkling song of the bellflowers drifted out to the street. Danilo's hand paused on the latch of one gate. He had intended to lead the way into the garden, which he'd spent nearly four years designing and perfecting. The elven garden was remarkable, boasting flowers that chimed with the passing of sea breezes, blue roses entwining elaborate arches. Reproductions of a pair of elven statues-the originals he had donated to the Pan shy;theon Temple-stood in hauntingly beautiful repose beside the still waters of a small reflecting pond. It was an astonishing accomplishment and the pride of his elven gardener.

Suddenly, it seemed to Danilo to be nothing more than one of the pretentious excesses so common among his peers. If it accomplished anything at all, it would be to remind Arilyn of how broad a gap remained between him and the elven people she served.

He opened the stout oak door and tossed his hat to the waiting steward. The halfling sent his master a cau shy;tious, sidelong glance, and then walked off without offering their guest the usual refreshments.

To the left was Danilo's study, a lavish room paneled with dark Chultan teak and softened by carpets and tapestries in rich shades of crimson and cream. Magic warded the room from prying eyes and ears, ensuring complete privacy.

Arilyn followed him in and took a chair near the hearth. She settled in and turned a steady gaze upon him. "Let's get this over with."

Typically direct, but hardly the most promising beginning. Danilo paced over to the mantle and picked up a small, elven sculpture, which he studied without interest as he collected his thoughts.

"Four years ago, before we parted in Zazesspur, I spoke my heart," he began. "There was no time for you to say yes or no. We were forced into separate paths: I to the High Forest and a madwoman's challenge to the Northland's bards, you to the Forest of Tethyr. When these tasks were completed, I spoke again, and you were of like mind. However, things had changed. I saw that. I did not understand how profound these changes were."

"That's apparent."

This was not the response he'd anticipated. He put down the statue and turned to face her. "Then please enlighten me."

The half-elf folded her arms and stretched her booted feet out before her. "Let's start here. Have I ever asked how you spent each of your days and nights, these past few years?"

"No, but that is different," he said firmly.

She lifted one ebony brow. "Oh? How so?"

"For one thing, the foolish games played in this city are without meaning."

"That's a good thing?"

He regarded her with faint exasperation. "Ever the sword mistress. You cannot yield the offensive for a moment, can you?"

Arilyn considered this, then gave a nod of concession. "I'll speak plainly, then. I knew what was in your heart when we parted, that's true, but I did not know my own. Until I forged a place for myself, I could not answer you yes or no. Now I have found that place."

"Among the elves."

"It was a needed thing. For most of my life, I lived and worked among humans." She touched the sheathed moonblade. "This was my only elven heritage. I always sensed that this weapon defined who I was, but I knew almost nothing about it. Everything that transpired that first summer we spent apart was part of the jour shy;ney. To understand the moonblade, I had to become fully elven-if only for a short time. My time among the forest elves, including the midsummer revels, was a part of this. Without it, I would not have had the under shy;standing of myself to know my heart."

Danilo could not refute the logic of this, but neither was it something he could easily accept. For a long moment he gazed out the study window, absently noting that the leaves were starting to take on the hues of autumn. He tried and discarded a dozen responses. The words that eventually emerged, however, were utterly unplanned.

"I suppose it would be ungentlemanly to ask for a name."

"Foxfire," she said without hesitation. "He was the war leader of the western clan. He was, and remains, a true friend."

That was hard to hear, and full of possibilities he hardly dared to explore. "You have returned to the forest more than once," he said tentatively.

'That's right. I have responsibilities."

A painful thought occurred to him. "Is there a child?"

Her eyes turned dark with surprise and outrage. "Do you think I would forget to mention such a thing? Or perhaps you envision me slinking at midnight into a home for unwed mercenaries?"

Had he been in a brighter frame of mind, he would have found that incongruous image amusing. "True enough. Accept my apologies-this revelation has left me somewhat distraught." He considered that, then added with a faint, pained smile, "That might well be the most masterful understatement I have ever contrived."

"Let's discuss that." The half-elf rose and faced him down. "I have lived forty years and more, hard years, for the most part. Did you expect to find me an untried maiden?"

"Well …"

"I see. And should I assume from this that you have followed a paladin's code?"

"Hardly." He sighed, struggling to explain what cer shy;tainly did seem to be a code written on both sides of the parchment. "It would have been easier for me to shrug aside a score of lovers, had they been human."

She threw up her hands. "That's ridiculous!"

"Is it? When you left for the forest, you and I were bound in a form of elven rapport through the magic of your sword. When you returned, you swore your heart was mine. Yet your first allegiance was to the forest elves, and you kept from me this secret. What am I to think?"

Exasperation edged onto her face. "Would it have helped if I had spoken of this at once?"

"Probably not," he admitted. He hesitated for a mo shy;ment as he sifted through the jumble of his emotions. "Forgive me. I desired change, and over the past two days the fates seem hell-bent on granting this wish. I just learned that there is elven blood in my family, cour shy;tesy of our dear archmage. This was no small revelation and means more to me than I can begin to express, but as I consider these new developments, I fear that the wine is too well watered."

Comprehension edged into her eyes, then disbelief. "Do I hear you correctly? You fear comparison with an elf?"

"That is putting it rather baldly," he said, wincing a bit at how foolish that made him sound. "Let me try to do a little better. I know how elves regard the half-elven. I have known you for more than six years and have seen how this pained you. In one part of my heart, I am truly happy that you have found the acceptance and community that you sought among the elven folk, but like most lovers, I have a certain selfish interest in this."

He sighed. "Therein lies the dilemma. Knowing you as I do, I wonder if you can be truly happy with a human man."

Arilyn was long in answering. She rose and began to prowl about the room, as if action was required to spur thought. "Happiness," she said slowly. "I have heard many people speak this word, and never once did I understand what they meant. Nor did they, I suspect. Notions of endless peace and bliss and ease, or some such."

His lips quirked in a faint smile. "You speak as if you were describing one of the lower reaches of the Abyss."

"I'm a warrior," she stated simply. "My mother put a wooden sword in my hand as soon as I could stand, and steel not long after. I never thought in terms of ease and comfort and so forth. But this much I know: I would rather fight with you than any other."

He regarded her for a long moment. "With me, or along side me?"

A smile rippled across her lips. "Both, I suppose. Will that content you?"

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the delicate white fingers as he ran the pad of his thumb over the warrior's calluses on her palm. "That strikes me as a better measure of happiness than any man-or elf, for that matter-has right to expect!"

* * * * *

Their first fight was not long in coming. They hailed another carriage, and all the way to the Eltorchul manor, Arilyn argued against the course Danilo seemed deter shy;mined to follow. A sudden squall, common during the changing season, swept in from the sea as they rolled westward. The pounding of rain and the grumbling thunder kept counterpoint to their argument.

"Oth Eltorchul is dead," she stated finally. "His spirit has gone to whatever afterlife his days have earned. Who are you to disturb that?"

"Who am I to make such a decision, one way or another?" he retorted. "That belongs to the Eltorchul family. At any rate, they must be told of their kinsman's fate."

She cast a dark look at the box Danilo had placed on the carriage floor between them. "Is that how you intend to make this announcement? Present them with that thing?"

"Credit me with some small measure of sense! Cer shy;tainly you must admit that once the tale is told, they have every right to this box. Even if they do not elect to seek resurrection, they will want to inter Oth's remains. The Eltorchul family has a tomb in the City of the Dead-quite an impressive one, I hear: a dimensional door, leading into their private catacombs. I suppose they'd need it," he mused. "They are a large family, with a rather high rate of tragedy. A hazard, I suppose, of being in the business of magical research and mage schooling. Now that I think of it, some of my early tutors had rather close calls. Did I ever tell you about the time Athol's beard caught fire from the lighted ink I created?"

She silenced him with a glare, then turned to regard the passing city. The Eltorchul family, like many of Waterdeep's nobility, had more than one prop shy;erty in the city and probably several outside the city walls. Their hired carriage took them through the Sea Ward, the wealthiest and most sought after district of the city.

Arilyn seldom had reason to come here, and she carefully marked the byways and buildings in her mind. The streets were broad and paved with smooth, dressed stone. Lining them were tall walls, behind which lay lavish estates or temple complexes. Towers rose against the clouds. Many were so fanciful in design that they could only have been contrived and sustained by magic. Turrets, balconies, and gables decked the heights. Gar shy;goyles kept stony-eyed watch over the city. Bright ban shy;ners whipped about in the driving rain and wind.

"This ward will soon be all but deserted," Danilo com shy;mented after a few moments of silence. "There's a prom shy;ise of winter in that wind."

Arilyn nodded glum assent. Her spirits sank still fur shy;ther as they turned off Morningstar Way and the Eltorchul tower came into view.

The elaborate structure defined the easternmost corner of the narrow street known as The Ghost Walk. Even without the name-and without her own wariness of human magic-Arilyn felt distinctly chilled as she eyed the uncanny place.

Towers of mist-gray stone rose into the sky, most of them connected by walkways and stairs that seemed to go everywhere, and nowhere. Several homunculi-small, bat-winged imps that served as wizards' familiars-winged silently through the architectural tangle, disap shy;pearing and reappearing without apparent reason or pattern. Wisps of acrid blue smoke rose from one of the towers, evidence of magical activity within.

As they alighted from the carriage, Arilyn noted that the stone walk near the front gate was as blackened as if it had entertained a hundred campfires-or a few bolts of lightning.

"So much for unwanted guests," Danilo murmured as he reached for the bellpull.

A dark-skinned young woman clad in the robe and apron of an Eltorchul apprentice came to answer their summons. Danilo requested an audience with Thesp Eltorchul, the family patriarch. They were shown into the hall. While the apprentice went off to dry their sodden wraps, they took a seat under a tapestry depict shy;ing the coronation of some distant monarch-an ances shy;tor of Azoun of Cormyr, most likely, though Arilyn was uncertain exactly which of several Azouns the weaver intended to commemorate.

After a few moments Lord Eltorchul came to meet them. The old mage was a tall man, not at all stooped by his years, with a dignified manner and hair of the indeterminate gray-beige color to which red often faded. It was not difficult to imagine the mage's hair as it once had been, for the young woman who walked by his side was crowned by ringlets the color of flame.

Arilyn's heart sank. She knew Errya Eltorchul, if only by reputation, as a spoiled, spiteful viper. Though the family fortunes, by all reports, were dwindling, the young woman wore an exquisite russet gown, a fortune in garnets, and a supremely haughty expression. Her emerald gaze slid down Arilyn boldly, and her expres shy;sion turned disdainful. Dismissing the half-elf with a sniff, she turned her attention upon Danilo.

"You have taken long enough in returning," she said with an artful pout.

Danilo acknowledged her comment with a slight bow but directed his first response to the patriarch, as custom demanded. "It has been quite some time since I studied with Lord Eltorchul." He bowed again to the old mage. "I have been remiss, sir, in not paying my respects sooner."

The mage sent a fond, long-suffering look at his daughter. "It is a comfort to see that not all of Waterdeep's young have forgotten their manners! Lord Thann, my apprentice said you wished to speak to me concerning my son Oth, about a matter you could not entrust to another?"

"That is so. Perhaps we could speak in private?"

Lord Eltorchul glanced at Arilyn for the first time. His brow furrowed in disapproval. Whether his dis shy;pleasure had to do with her half-elven heritage or the fact that she carried a sword instead of a spell bag, Arilyn could not say. "In private. Yes, by all means," he murmured.

"By no means!" retorted Errya. She stooped to pick up a passing cat and glared at her father over the animal's head. "That wretched apprentice of yours said that our visitors had word of Oth. I wish to hear it."

Lord Eltorchul seemed resigned to let her have her will. He led the way past a display of three sets of plate armor. Though the helmet visors were raised to reveal empty suits, all three "knights" lifted their mailed fists in a sharp, clanking salute. The elderly mage took no notice of this but ushered his guests past the guards into a small side parlor. Once all were seated and offers of wine or tea or snuff made and refused, he settled down with a heartfelt sigh.

"What has my son done now?"

"Sir, I regret to bring ill news. Just this morning, I went to Oth's tower on some impulsive errand." Danilo glanced at Arilyn, silently bidding her to let him tell the tale as he saw best. "The door was ajar. No one was there to answer my hail, so I took liberty to enter and investigate. I found the study in fearful disarray. There had been a struggle, and I was too late to give aid. My lord, I am deeply sorry."

The old mage stared at him, not yet comprehending. "A struggle? What manner?"

Arilyn leaned forward, ignoring Danilo's silent warn shy;ing. His intentions were good, but she believed that a quick cut was kindest. "It appears that your son was killed by tren-powerful lizardmen who kill for hire. I am sorry."

Lord Eltorchul let out a small, choked sound of dis shy;may. Arilyn's gaze flicked to Errya. The young woman received the news stoically. Her painted lips had thinned to a tight line, and her face was set as if in marble. Arilyn turned back to the mage.

"I am sorry to ask this, but do you know of any who might have wished Oth's death?"

Lord Eltorchul looked down at his clenched hands. "No. None at all." He lifted dazed eyes. "He is gone? You are certain of this?"

"The tren left a sign." Danilo explained the situation as delicately as possible, and then handed the man the ring he had taken from Oth's hand. "I saw this ring in your son's possession, not more than two days ago."

"Yes. It is his," the mage muttered. "I have seen him wear it. It is true, then. He is gone."

"Yes, but perhaps you know of a high-ranking priest…"

A bit of hope lit the old man's eyes as he caught Danilo's meaning. "Yes. Yes! If there is a possibility-"

"There is not," snapped Errya. Her hands clenched at the gray tabby in her lap, drawing a hiss of protest from the animal. "I know my brother better than you do, Father. He would not wish resurrection. He is a wizard, and he despises clerics and their magic! Do you think Oth would want a gift from such hands, even if it were his own life?"

"I suppose you are right," Lord Eltorchul said in a weary, defeated tone. He slumped forward and buried his face in his hands.

His daughter turned a spiteful gaze upon their visi shy;tors. "That suggestion was unworthy of you, Danilo, but what more could I expect? This is just the sort of thing that comes of consorting with elven ruffians!''

"That's it." Arilyn rose to leave.

Dan placed a restraining hand on her sword arm. "You are remiss, Errya. This has nothing to do with Arilyn. Quite the contrary. Elves do not believe in dis shy;turbing the afterlife."

"She's here, isn't she?" demanded the young woman, leaning forward over the cat in her lap. "Oth is dead, isn't he?"

The cat wriggled and hissed a warning, which Errya ignored. Danilo rose to stand beside Arilyn, his eyes cold. "I understand that you are distraught, but take care whom you accuse."

Errya's lip curled. "Rest easy. The half-breed had nothing to do with it. Oth was killed because he had dealings with Elaith Craulnober. I know it!"

Her voice held a note of hysteria and reached a pitch that was painful to hear. Arilyn noted that the long-suffering tabby turned his ears back against the on shy;slaught, and she wished she could do the same.

"What will be done about it?" Errya went on. "Noth shy;ing! Time was when outsiders were dealt with. Ask Alios Dezlentyr, if you doubt me, and-Damn!"

Her voice rose in a shriek of pain as the tabby nipped sharply at her hand. She hurled the cat across the room. The creature twisted in the air with feline grace and landed on his feet, tail lashing as he leveled a baleful stare at the woman. She tossed her head and turned back to the visitors.

"You've said what you came to say. As you can see, my father is overcome with grief. Leave the box with me and go."

Arilyn was only too glad to comply. As she stalked past the polite, empty suits of armor, she heard Danilo offer his condolences to the Eltorchul patriarch and promise to help find who killed his son. This "interfer shy;ence" sent Errya into a fit of shrieking, which finally pushed the old man beyond the edge of his composure. The mage began to weep in low, terrible sobs. Errya left him there, her slippers clicking an angry staccato as she went off after the cat who'd dared to nip at her, as if this insult far outweighed the loss of a brother and the grief of her aging father.

As the door shut on the noble folk of the Eltorchul clan, Arilyn was not certain whether the old mage's deepest regret was for the family he had lost or that which he still had to endure.

* * * * *

Each morning, a number of caravans mustered in the Court of the White Bull, an open area in the heart of South Ward. This was the working district of Waterdeep. Smoke rose from between the tightly packed build shy;ings that surrounded the courtyard. The clang of metal upon metal resounded from the nearby forges, and the nervous lowing of cattle drifted from the stockyard. The cupping sound of hooves on hard packed earth heralded the passing of a dairymaid leading her cow. The warm, earthy scent of leather emanated from the saddlers' shop.

But such common things faded before the unusual sight that dominated the courtyard. Elaith Craulnober had been a merchant and an adventurer for over a cen shy;tury, and never had he seen a caravan as peculiar as this.

Servants bustled about rolling up the canvas tents that had shielded the caravan from the sudden down shy;pour. The vast courtyard was alive with the rustle of giant wings, and the rumbling coos and roars and whinnies of scores of sky-going steeds. Several quartets of pegasi pawed the ground. Grooms wearing the Gundwynd crest fitted the winged horses with long, strong traces. Behind each team was attached a lightweight carriage fashioned without wheels or runners. On the north side of the courtyard, a line of griffons sat like brooding hens, their lionlike front paws tucked under their breast feathers. Enormous leather hoods masked their hawklike heads and kept them from flying too soon.

This typically human device sent a quick surge of anger through Elaith. Keeping a bird from flight was unconscionable, yet the humans did it all the time. They hooded their hunting falcons to keep them docile when they were not flying after game. They cropped the wings of their geese to keep them trapped on mill ponds. Some of the fools even netted songbirds and clipped their wings to keep them as ornaments to their gardens. Of course, those birds died with the coming of winter, but what was that but another task for the servants to tend come spring?

A peal of lighthearted laughter interrupted the elf's angry thoughts. He turned in time to witness a highly unusual game of catch.

A golden steed hopped into the path of a passing half-orc porter-not a horse, but a titanic eagle with a raptor's cold eyes and hooked, rending beak. Just the sight of it was enough to freeze the blood of a brave man. The eagle's beak opened and the gigantic head suddenly lunged forward in a quick, darting strike.

The porter shrieked, dropped his load, and rolled frantically aside. This inspired another burst of laughter-merry and wild but without malice.

An involuntary smile curved Elaith's lips as he re shy;membered this game. The eagle's partner, a young elf probably not much past his second century, tossed a second piece of meat toward his feathered steed. The bird deftly caught it and tossed back its head to let the treat slide down its gullet. The half-orc sent a glare at the mischievous elf and scurried off.

Three more elves stepped from the crowd and fell into conversation with their brother. They were Moon elves, like Elaith: tall and slender and as finely honed as daggers. All of them had silvery hair and eyes the color of precious stones: amber, jade, topaz. Their speech held the accents of faraway Evermeet, and their tunics bore an almost-forgotten insignia.

Elaith's brow furrowed with consternation. Eagle Riders, here on the mainland? These youth were among the most fierce defenders of the elven island. Why were they here?

The young leader noticed his scrutiny. He frowned in concentration for a moment, then his face lit up like a sunrise.

He came toward Elaith, his left palm held out and level in the manner of one elven lord greeting another. "This is an honor, Lord Craulnober! My father served under your command in the Palace Guard, when I was nearly as young-although, gods grant, not quite as silly-as these humans!" He grinned and dipped into a bow. "Garelith Leafbower, at your command."

These words, and the respect with which they were delivered, touched memories that Elaith had thought long forgotten. He acknowledged the greeting with scant courtesy. "Many years have passed since I left the island," he said dismissively, but his irritation with these youth remained, and he could not help adding, "What of you? Has Evermeet no need for her Eagle Riders?"

The young elf laughed. "None that I have heard! The island is as it ever was. Beautiful, inviolate-and boring beyond endurance! These lads and I were hungry for a bit of excitement."

"Which you expect to find as caravan guards."

"Honorable work," the elf said with a shrug, then he grinned again. "There is, at least, adventure in it! We are going to Silverymoon, are we not? I have heard tales of this wondrous city and of the lady mage who rules it."

Garelith's fellow Riders clustered near, their gem-colored eyes alight with curiosity and high spirits. Elaith's irritation melted as he parried their questions and enjoyed the melodious flow of the Elvish language.

A tall, thick-bodied shadow fell upon them. Garelith's animated face fell at once into the calm, inscrutable mask that elves showed to outsiders. "Captain Rhep," he said in formal tones, inclining his head in the small, gracious gesture an elven warrior used to acknowledge, but not reward, an unwanted interruption.

Rhep shouldered past the Eagle Riders and planted his booted feet nearly toe to toe with Elaith's. He was a big man, a half head taller than the elf, and nearly as broad and thick as a bugbear-nearly as hairy, for that matter. Dark brown hair fell in thick waves from beneath Rhep's leather helm. His upper lip and chin were furred with massive, ill-trimmed whiskers. His features were coarse and his nose so broad and flat that it hinted at orcish ancestry in the not-too-distant past. Rhep wore leather armor on his huge frame and a confident sneer on his face. Elaith imagined that the two of them gave the appearance of a catapult and a stiletto standing side by side. The human, no doubt, was fool enough to think himself the better weapon.

"You mighta bought yourself a place on this caravan, elf, but these guards report to me," Rhep snarled.

"Really. Since when does Ilzimmer hire Eagle Riders?" Elaith inquired with a faint smile.

The big man snarled. "I work for Gundwynd," he said, nodding toward the small, gray-bearded man who bustled about securing cargo.

This was a lie, and Elaith knew it well. Rhep was a soldier for the Ilzimmer clan, but both he and the lords of that noble house took great pains to conceal this fact. This might, after all, lead into too close an inquiry into why a family of gem merchants had need for a merce shy;nary army.

"I work for Lord Gundwynd," Rhep repeated, "and so do you, for as long as you ride with this caravan. A shame it is, that Gundwynd has fallen so low to be accepting the likes of you!"

Garelith stepped forward, his green eyes snapping at this insult. "Watch your tongue, human! This was the captain of the King's guard."

The man sneered. "Well, that makes him long out of a job, don't it? That elf king die on your watch, Craulnober?"

"Hardly," Elaith returned mildly, refusing to be baited by this oaf. "King Zaor's death occurred less than fifty years ago. I was well established in Waterdeep at this time and long before your ancestors started having carnal knowledge of goblinkin."

Dark, dull red suffused the big man's face. He un shy;hooked the mace on his belt and began to raise it for the attack.

Elaith ducked under the weapon and stepped in close, a knife gleaming in each hand. The tip of one slender blade pressed up under the man's chin, and the other stood poised at the opening of his ear.

Rhep looked to the caravan guards for support. All four elves had long slender knives in hand, but their watchful eyes were on Rhep rather than his attacker.

"Treacherous scum," he spat. "You'll be paid in your own coin soon enough!"

"Perhaps you should explain that comment," Elaith said pleasantly. But just so that there was no mistaking this order for a suggestion-and because he simply felt like doing it-he gave the knife at the man's ear a little flick, cutting a small notch in the lobe.

Rhep bleated like a gelded ram. "Didn't mean noth shy;ing," he muttered. "Bad coin has a way of circling back, is all."

The elf was not certain whether this was a platitude or an evasion, but the dispute was beginning to draw attention, and Elaith was not willing to jeopardize his place on this caravan over a worthless, orc-spawned cur. He lowered his blades and stepped back, giving the man a small, ironic bow-an insult entirely lost on the clod. Rhep stomped off, muttering imprecations.

The elf watched him go, then turned to the Eagle Riders. "Watch him," he said in a low voice. "I know that man. Trouble follows close on his heels."

"He seems a buffoon," remarked Garelith, "but I will defer to your judgment. You know the clouds that gather around this particular mountain, and I trust you'll warn us of a coming storm."

This led to the next, more difficult warning Elaith felt obligated to deliver. "That will not be possible. You would do well not to be seen with me."

All four of the Eagle Riders looked puzzled. "Why?" demanded the one with eyes the color of topaz.

Elaith's smile held a self-mocking edge. "You will learn soon enough."

Before the young elves could press him, Elaith turned and walked away. Their exuberant adulation appalled him. At this moment, he would welcome almost any other company, so long as they regarded him with a proper, familiar mixture of fear and respect.

"Stones!" exclaimed a deep, gruff voice, with a vehe shy;mence that turned the word into a curse.

"A dwarf," muttered Elaith wearily. How could this day possibly get any worse?

"You mean to tell me we have to fly out west?" demanded the dwarf.

"A winged horse," said a persuasive female voice. "You're always saying there's nothing on four legs you can't ride."

Elaith whirled toward the familiar voice, and his scowl deepened. He knew of that woman-Bronwyn was a merchant with a refreshingly devious streak. Though he was interested in making her acquaintance, this was hardly the time. He was even less pleased to learn that she had acquired a dwarven traveling companion.

This dwarf was a particularly squat, square fellow. An abundance of auburn curls rioted about his broad shoulders, and a long red beard spilled over his chest. His upper lip had been shaved, and his blue eyes were stormy. A horseshoe hung on a thong about his neck. The dwarf fingered his horseshoe as if laying claim to Bronwyn's words concerning his riding abilities.

"Nothing on four legs," he repeated. "That's true enough, if'n those four legs got solid ground beneath them!"

Bronwyn cast a glance up at the sky, then turned a crooked grin upon her companion. "Clouds look pretty thick today."

The dwarf snorted derisively.

"Look, Ebenezer," she said in the tones of one who had finished with persuasion, "I have business in Silverymoon. You can come or stay, as you please."

"Who said anything about staying?" the dwarf demanded. He pointed a stubby finger at an untethered pegasus. "That one's a spare, most likely. Got my eye on him."

The dwarf ambled off, a lump of maple sugar in one stubby fist. Bronwyn watched him go, and her sweeping gaze settled upon Elaith. After a moment of hesitation she poured wine from a flask into wooden cups and held out one to him in invitation.

Elaith approached and accepted the cup. "Are you always so generous to strangers?"

Her grin was quick and dagger-sharp. "Oh, I know you, at least, as well as I could be expected to. You're Elaith Craulnober, and you seem to own an inordinately large chunk of Waterdeep." She raised her cup in salute.

Amused, he drank to her toast. "Your name is known to me, as well. I take it you will also be traveling with the caravan?"

"One last trip to Silverymoon before winter sets in." She used her cup to point toward a small man with a pointed beard and a wan, wasted countenance. "That's Mizzen Doar-or what's left of him! Looks a bit worse for wear, doesn't he? He has been making the rounds of the harvest festivals, or so I hear. From the looks of him, a clan of rampaging kobolds is better for your health than a nobleman's party."

That brought a wry smile to the elf's face. He had heard that Bronwyn had a warm yet forthright manner that put people at ease, and he found that he was not immune to her brand of charm. Still he remained cau shy;tious. "You know him?"

"As well as I need to. He deals in crystals and other minor gemstones."

"So do others," he prodded, "some closer to home than Silverymoon."

"True enough, but none who can touch the variety that Mizzen carries in his shop." She glanced around to see if any were within hearing distance before continu shy;ing. "Appearances are important in this city," she said dryly. "Even during times of declining fortunes, no one wants to part with jewelry, so they keep their baubles, but sell the individual stones as needed-"

"— And replace them with crystal," Elaith concluded.

Bronwyn merely shrugged again, as if she found the matter a bit too distasteful for direct words. The elf could understand that, and he also saw the potential for profit in such endeavors-especially for a woman whose first trade had been creating counterfeit copies of coins and jewelry.

He could not help but wonder whether Bronwyn had another agenda. He hoped it was not too similar to his own. In his own way, he rather liked the woman. Elaith genuinely hoped that he could tend to the business at hand without killing her.

"Stones!" erupted the dwarf. "I've a mind to be biting you back, you long-legged excuse for a pigeon!"

The elf cast a glance toward the uproar. Ebenezer was shaking one hand and glaring at the pegasus he'd been trying to befriend. The winged horse munched sugar, then let out a delicate whinny that sounded sus shy;piciously like laughter.

Elaith adjusted his thinking. He still hoped that Bronwyn could emerge from this journey unscathed; on the other hand, he would welcome a chance to reduce Waterdeep's dwarf population by at least one.

"Your. . companion seems to have met his match," Elaith observed.

This set Bronwyn off into merry laughter. "You're more right than you know. Those two will be firm friends within the hour. The worse-tempered the horse, the more fond Ebenezer is likely to become of it."

"A risky thing," the elf mused, not without pleasure. "One must be able to trust a mount under any circum shy;stances. Pegasi fly high and are notoriously skittish."

Bronwyn's smile didn't falter, but the warmth drained from her eyes. "No friend of mine falls but I do my best to catch him."

Their gazes locked for a moment, unspoken chal shy;lenges made, met, and countered. Elaith broke first, instinctively making the small, subtle hand gesture used between elves under such circumstance-a proud but gracious gesture that was part apology, part acknowl shy;edgment of a battle averted.

"D'rienne," Bronwyn said softly, speaking the tradi shy;tional Elvish word of acceptance of potential challenge avoided.

Before the startled elf could respond, she turned and ambled over to her dwarf friend.

Elaith's first thought was chagrin over his uncon shy;scious lapse into old patterns. The encounter with the Eagle Riders had apparently affected him more than he knew. Bronwyn's display of knowledge troubled him, though, especially considering the real focus of his jour shy;ney. Was it possible she knew about the elven gem and was giving him fair warning that they sought the same prize?

If so, some might consider it a gesture worthy of an elven adventurer. Obviously Bronwyn had made a study of the cultures whose artifacts she sought. Elaith observed the woman as she stood at ease, stroking the pegasus and nodding with tongue-in-cheek sympathy over Ebenezer's continued rants.

She did not lack for courage or style. It would be a shame to kill this woman. Elaith raised his wooden cup to her in silent salute-and probable farewell.

* * * * *

The squall had blown itself out by the time Arilyn and Danilo left the Eltorchul manor. The gate swung open of its own accord. The couple hurried out into the street, instinctively skirting the blackened walk with the same cautious respect that prompted cemetery ram shy;blers not to tread upon a grave.

"You actually studied with the Eltorchul mages? How could you stand spending time in that place?" Arilyn demanded.

Her companion shrugged and veered down a side street. "Lord Eltorchul is not so bad. He's very serious about the art of magic and dedicated to teaching it well. Oth was too involved in his research to bother much with the students."

Arilyn nodded absently, scarcely hearing his words. A faint, tingling awareness swept through her. She touched her fingers to the sheathed moonblade and concen shy;trated on the magical warning.

"We're being followed," she said tersely.

Danilo glanced behind them. The sudden downpour had all but emptied the streets, and there was no one on the narrow walkway behind them. Water pooled here and there on the large flagstone paving, enough of it to make dry passage impossible. There were no damp foot shy;prints but theirs. The sun was resolutely pushing aside the clouds. It was almost directly overhead, leaving no shadows to hide possible foes. He tilted back his head and scanned the rooftops overhead.

"Nothing that I can see-yet."

Without breaking stride, he reached into his spell bag and quickly cast an enchantment that would reveal magic at work. The blue light of the spell settled upon his spell bag, upon the singing sword he kept as a nov shy;elty, and upon Arilyn's moonblade. No other enchant shy;ment was at work nearby. No one followed them in a cloak of invisibility.

As the light of his reveal-magic spell faded, the moonblade's warning intensified into glowing blue light.

"We're being followed," Arilyn repeated stubbornly.

She put one hand to the hilt of her sword, ready to fight their as-yet-unseen foe.

The stone near their feet shuddered. Arilyn darted a look behind her as one of the flagstones that paved the street exploded into shards.

A large, reptilian head thrust up from the opening. One huge, clawed hand swiped at Arilyn's boots.

She danced back out of reach and drew her sword. As the moonblade hissed free, the tren gripped the stone ledge and hauled itself out in one quick, nimble leap. The beast drew from its weapon belt a curved knife with a stout blade and an elaborate guard designed to trap and break swords.

Arilyn could imagine no better weapon for a tren. With its long arms, the creature could easily reach over a trapped or broken sword and tear out an opponent's throat with a single swipe of its claws. It was a varia shy;tion on an assassin's trick: focus attention on one threat, and strike with another.

In short, this was not the sort of battle for which Danilo was prepared. She glanced back. He had already drawn his blade and was moving into position beside her.

"Back off. This is my fight," she said. He looked dubi shy;ous, so she added by way of explanation, "Narrow street." He hesitated for a moment, then moved away to give her room to maneuver.

The unlike assassins circled each other, weapons level. The tren's knife was no longer than a dagger, but its arms were so long that its reach was nearly the equal of Arilyn's. She tested the tren with a quick, thrusting lunge, which it caught on the curved guard of its knife. Without disengaging, it pivoted hard to the side-wrenching the sword with all its considerable strength.

Elven metal shrieked in protest as the iron guard slid along the moonblade's length, then locked and twisted brutally. A lesser blade would have shattered. Arilyn spun in toward the tren, leaning in to ease the pressure on her sword.

The hooked claws of the tren's free hand slashed up to meet her, aiming for her throat. The half-elf tore her weapon free, but she was in too close to parry the blow. She lashed out with her elbow and caught the tren's massive wrist, flinging it up as she ducked under the attack.

The tren's aim was spoiled, but its claws caught and tangled in the half-elf's hair. Arilyn's head jerked sharply to the side, and burning pain exploded in her scalp. She danced back. Curly strands of her hair flowed from the tren's claws like streamers as he came in with another furious blow.

This time she got her sword up. The moonblade cut a deep line in the scaly hide of its forearm. Without pause, Arilyn changed the direction of her stroke, sweeping the sword down low and aiming for the creature's hamstring.

The tren got its knife down for the parry, catching the sword again in the curved guard. It brought up a mas shy;sive, clawed foot over the joined weapons, clearly intending to stomp on the captured sword.

Arilyn twisted away, turning the blade so that the edge greeted the tren's foot. The tren could not halt its momentum in time and roared in rage and anguish as the sharp edge sliced deep. She threw the sword up hard and high, cutting through the thick pad of scale, severing bone. A clawed toe fell to the cobblestone.

The creature again began to circle her, limping now and emitting panting little hisses of rage. Arilyn turned with it, her sword in guard position. She suspected what its next tactic might be. Sure enough, as soon as the tren had maneuvered her so that her back was to the gaping hole, it tucked in its head like a charging bull and leaped at her, massive arms outstretched in a deadly embrace.

Arilyn deftly stepped to the side and pivoted on her outer foot. Her sword slid along the ribs of the lunging creature, drawing a long deep line. She pulled the blade up high and back, and then plunged it between the beast's ribs.

Holding the sword with both hands, she braced her feet at the edge of the hole and held on for life. The sharp pull of the falling tren's weight almost tore her arms from her shoulders, and the sudden release when its body fell clear sent her staggering back.

She stumbled into Danilo's arms. It occurred to her that he had a grip on her belt-and that he had proba shy;bly seized it the moment she'd stabbed the tren.

"You shouldn't interfere during battle," she reminded him. "What if things had gone differently, and I'd pulled you down with me?"

He turned her to face him. "That would have saved me the trouble of jumping in after you."

She acknowledged this with a nod, then glanced toward the hole. "We'd better move on. Listen to that. The other tren will be finished soon."

"Finished?" His face took on a pained expression as the meaning of her words came clear to him. "You don't mean to say that these creatures eat their own?" he demanded, although the faint sounds emanating from the tunnel below made the question unnecessary.

"The price of failure," Arilyn said as she kicked into a trot. "I'd say there's at least five or six down there. Now the others will only be more determined. It's a matter of honor now. As tren reckon honor, that is."

Danilo fell in beside her. "Keen motivation! As well, one should not discount the bracing effect of a good meal."

She sent him an incredulous look, but she saw a cer shy;tain logic in his grim humor. "There's that, too," she agreed.

They ran until they reached a wide, busy street. Danilo flagged down a carriage and promised the halfling driver double his hire if he could get them to the North Ward swiftly. The halfling set a pace brisk enough to inspire angry shouts from some of the passersby.

Arilyn relaxed against the plush seat, certain that their hired driver could outrun any tren that cared to give pursuit.

Why, then, was she still beset by the conviction that she and Danilo were not alone?