The Dream Spheres

Oth was still absorbed with other matters. "What my peers do not realize is that the dream spheres will be sold, whether they wish it or not. There have been attempts to steal them, to ferret out their magical secrets. Mizzen, the wretched cur, is the worst offender!"

"Mizzen," she repeated, remembering the name from some chance-heard gossip. "The crystal merchant?"

"The same." Oth's glare turned sly. "I endured his inept ambitions as long as I had need of him. He has mined and shaped sufficient crystals for now. Most have been enspelled. All that remains is to ship the finished dream spheres to Waterdeep." His brow furrowed in remembered anger. "That, and to find a ma

As to that, Isabeau had a few ideas of her own. First she had to coax this man into slumber.

She rose from the bed and walked into the path of Oth's restless pacing. "Tell me, my lord," she breathed as she entwined her arms about his neck, "have you a dream sphere that two can share?"

He looked at her sharply, with new respect. "That is something I had not considered," he marveled. "Imagine the possibilities! A bored nobleman with a watchful lady could stay within propriety's bonds, yet fancy himself entertaining a queen! His lady, on the other hand, could experience her lord in whatever ma

"Such toys would sell by the gross," Isabeau agreed. She glanced pointedly at the mage's cloak. "We should perhaps test out the possibilities?"

Much later, when the moon was nearly set and the hearth fire nothing but a few burning embers, Isabeau crawled gingerly out of bed. She had no idea what dark fantasy had gripped Oth and did not wish to know. That the dream spheres would sell, she had no doubt. She herself would never use one again. The sooner she could profitably rid herself of them, and of Oth, the better.

Isabeau crept over to the mage's clothing and quickly emptied his pockets. Oth had some fine jewelry, a well-filled coin purse, and a small silver knife such as gentlemen carried for table use. These she tucked into pockets hidden in her discarded clothing, cu

She hesitated just a moment before looting the mage's cloak. Resolutely she dug her hand into the folds and began to take out the dream spheres, one at a time. There were nearly a score of them—a small fortune! She ignored the silent hum of their compelling magic and hid her booty, along with her own jewelry, in the prepared hiding places.

It was by far the boldest, riskiest theft of Isabeau's life. Her hands were moist and shaking by the time she'd finished. She wiped them dry on the skirts of her petticoats, took a long, steadying breath, and climbed back into bed beside the sleeping mage.

* * * * *

Arilyn hurried through the garden toward the great hall. The affair was almost over, judging from the steady stream of carriages rattling past the villa and the subdued tone and languid pace of the music emanating from the hall.

Danilo met her at the door with a smiling face and concern-shadowed eyes.

"Sorry," she snarled.

He looked startled, then burst out laughing. "You've no idea how much I've missed your unique brand of charm!"

Her lips twitched in a reluctant response. "I was held up."

"So I surmised." He took her arm and led her out into the garden. "A faint aroma clings to that gown. That's not quite the bouquet of an undead creature."

"A tren zombie. Now, there's an appealing thought," she said with a grimace. "As if the live ones weren't bad enough."

Danilo drew back, looking startled and deeply concerned. "Tren? Here in the family compound?"

"You know of them?"

"Nasty creatures. Assassins by trade, aren't they?"

Arilyn nodded, glad that she would be spared explaining that part. Years had passed since she had posed as an assassin, but the weight and darkness of that time still pressed heavily upon her. "There's more."

As they walked, she recounted in detail the conversation she had overheard and the attack upon Elaith Craulnober. Danilo did not interrupt, but his face grew increasingly troubled.

"I don't know what Elaith is up to now," Arilyn concluded, "but it's possible that someone arranged this situation to deal with it."

Anger flashed in Danilo's eyes as he threaded together her bits of information. "You think Lady Cassandra is responsible for this?"

"I'm not making any judgment," Arilyn retorted. "I'm merely telling you what I heard. Regardless of who commissioned this attack, you should consider the possibility of trouble ahead. Elaith Craulnober is not one to let a slight go unavenged."

A troubled expression crossed his face. "You still mistrust Elaith."

"You don't?" she retorted. "Before we tread that path, why don't you tell me what possessed you to fill the great hall with skyflowers?"

Danilo flicked one hand in a small, insouciant wave. "I had intended to present you with a bouquet, not a garden maze."

"So what happened?" she pressed.

"I wish I knew," he said in a more serious tone. "It troubles me. The spell's misfiring seems more ominous in light of your story."

"I'm not sure I follow."

Danilo stopped and pulled her into a vine-covered alcove. His face was as grim as she had ever seen it. "How is it that you stumbled into a tren ambush?" he asked in a low voice. "How did Elaith catch you unaware?"

That cut a bit too close to the bone. She folded her arms and glared. "Get to the point!"

His gaze dropped to the sword on her hip. "Your moonblade's magic should have warned you of danger."

That had bothered her too, but until this moment she hadn't had time to consider the matter.

"I know the skyflower spell exceedingly well," Danilo continued softly. "It is a minor elven spell, such as any human mage with a surplus of gold and time could learn. I can cast it as easily as your sword can slice through a melon. Why do you think they both failed, your elven magic and mine?"

His tone held an acrid tinge of bitterness. Arilyn suspected what was coming next. She took a step back. "You blame the moonblade for this?"

"Why not? When has anything between us not been defined by that thrice-bedamned sword?" he demanded. "It brought us together when its magic destroyed a score of Harpers—my friends, many of them! It bound us together when you were too stubbornly elven to see and follow your heart. Its demands tore us apart when you chose to break that bond."

The naked pain in his eyes smote her heart. Gone was the good-natured dandy, the attentive courtier. Never had she seen so clearly, so painfully, the toll that her well-meaning sacrifice had taken on her closest friend.

"Dan," she said softly, holding out a hand to him.

He was not looking at her. He had turned aside to study the setting moon as if all the wisdom of the elven gods were written on its shining surface. "I have been a fool," he said softly. "Nothing I do can change the fact that you are pledged elsewhere. The moonblade's magic will make sure that you are not deterred by other, conflicting pledges."

Her jaw dropped as his meaning hit her. "You can't believe that!"

He sighed and dug one hand into his hair. "I'm not sure what I believe. I've been around magic all my life, though, and I know that some forces show antipathy toward others. Maybe your sword senses me as a threat to your chosen path and is forcing you to choose between us."

"That's absurd!" she said, trying to imbue her words with more conviction than she felt. In truth, Danilo's words seemed utterly, disturbingly plausible.

His smile was both bleak and perceptive.

"I gave up the sword once," she said stoutly.