The Dream Spheres

"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 honorable elven warrior of Evermeet, or he was utterly disgraced 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 themselves, as best they could.

As Elaith intended to do.

* * * * *

Isabeau Thione swept down the street toward the elegant stone building housing Diloontier's Fine Perfumes. 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 exceedingly 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 gratifying 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 suddenly 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 matters 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 magical 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 Tha

"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.