The Dream Spheres (21 page)

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

So, apparently, was Rhep. Using the sword like a cane, the mercenary rose unsteadily to his feet. His broken nose was beginning to swell, and his breath whistled wetly through the shattered protuberance, but

there was livid hatred in his eyes, and that served to focus and steady him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly Elaith knew the dwarf’s game. Bronwyn was long gone—and her companion was making sure

that Elaith was kept too busy to follow.

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

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

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

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

“Good hit,” Ebenezer congratulated. “Took you long enough.”

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

“Listen,” he snapped and then stepped back.

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

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

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

The attack was drearily predictable. Elaith’s patience snapped. He sidestepped and seized the man’s wrist as it thrust past. He turned, twisting the arm behind Rhep’s back. The sword clattered to the ground, and the mercenary fell to his knees, his arm held unnaturally

high. Elaith jerked up higher still. Rhep’s arm parted from its shoulder with an audible pop. The man shouted once in pain and outrage, then sagged to the ground, senseless.

Elaith whirled toward the dwarf; but Ebenezer had disappeared.

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

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

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

He strode into the antechamber and toward the locked door. The two guards flanking it eyed the grimly approaching elf warily. Elaith threw a pair of knives without breaking stride. Both men jerked upright, pinned through their throats to the door frame.

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

Mizzen himself was behind the counter, stroking his billy-goat beard with apparent satisfaction. He froze when the elf exploded into the shop, then let out a little

bleat of alarm. With a quick, frantic burst of speed, he lunged for the bellpull behind him.

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

“The guard-” began Mizzen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then w-what? W-Why?” Mizzen stammered.

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

“Oh, that!” Mizzen looked relieved at the limited

scope of the anticipated theft. “A young woman came in earlier. She offered me more than a ruby that size was worth. No one can blame a man of business for taking a profit,” he said piously.

“Unless he sells for profit another man’s goods. I believe that stone belonged to Oth Eltorchul.”

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

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

“What of the Dreamspheres?”

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

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

“I didn’t like it,” the man said bluntly.

The elf considered this a reasonable response. To inspire the man to elaborate, he removed a dagger from his belt and began to toy with it, flipping it nimbly between his hands. “The Dreamspheres. Oth was using the Mhaorkiira Hadryad—the elf gem—to create these devices.”

“That’s right.” Mizzen spoke quickly, his eyes fixed in horrified fascination upon the flashing, spinning dagger. “He said it was an ancient elven artifact that held the

memories of an entire lost clan. He placed some of these memories in the crystal spheres, to be released by a paying dreamer.”

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

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

The thought did not deter Elaith. “How are these Dreamspheres made?” he demanded.

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

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

The elf obliged him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is important.”

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

As it happened, Elaith had an answer. “The Mhaorkiira Hadryad,” he said bluntly. “A human adventurer with Gundwynd’s caravan has the dark kiira.”

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

Elaith folded his arms. “Would you like to discuss the

missteps of elven history, or would you prefer that I fetch this stone back before it creates any more trouble?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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