The Dream Spheres

"I warned you of the possibility," she responded. Her eyes opened a crack, and fell upon the large, bearded man who was creeping toward them.

"Rhep," she said resignedly. "Some men understand the word no only when it's accompanied by a stab wound or a fireball spell."

Elaith found this notion distasteful. He had never been able to understand why any male would wish to force attention upon an unwilling female. There was no joy in such games, and little sport. On the other hand, the prospect of battle offered a diversion, a familiar respite from his despair.

"I would be delighted to distract him," the elf offered.

"Thanks, but I don't want you to get in trouble on my account. No offense, but who will believe that you fought to protect my honor? I'll set up a fuss, and the others will intervene."

"Don't be so sure," he cautioned her. She looked puzzled, so he added, "Rhep is in the employ of the Ilzimmer family. He is caravan master, which means that, although Lord Gundwynd has supplied the mounts and some of the guards, Ilzimmer is funding the dragon's share of this journey. Most of the mercenaries report to Rhep. You would receive little assistance from that lot. Nor would you find recompense, afterwards. The Ilzimmer clan is known for its distasteful habits and would not be particularly concerned about the behavior of its hirelings. If you were a woman of their class, they might manage to dredge up a sense of outrage. As matters stand, you can expect nothing."

Bronwyn did not flinch. "Harsh words, but good knowledge to have. I'll circle back to camp." She slipped from her bedroll and wriggled like a snake behind the stand of boulders that separated Elaith's camp from the trees beyond.

Rhep scowled as his gaze fell only on the watchful elf and the ashes of a solitary campfire. "Where's the woman, elf?"

Elaith rose, a stout stick in his hand. This he tossed in the direction of the approaching man. A circle trap snapped shut, splitting the wood and sending two neatly sheared pieces flying into the air. The mercenary shied back, both hands flung up to ward off the leaping wood. His furious expression deepened as he realized how his response might be read.

"The camp is warded," Elaith said calmly. "You would be wise to stay where you are."

"Coward!" Rhep grated, as if eager to place that name upon another. "Leave your toys and traps and come out in the open! Name your place, if you're not afraid to fight a real man."

"The forest," Elaith said shortly, and then he turned and led the man away from Bronwyn's hiding place. After a moment, he heard behind him the heavy but cautious tread of the mercenary's boots. He heard also the stealthy rasp of metal against metal as Rhep drew his sword.

Coward indeed, the elf thought scornfully. He subtly quickened his pace to keep his back beyond the reach of the man's treacherous sword.

When he judged they were far enough away that battle would not rouse the camp, Elaith turned to face his challenger. As he did, he pulled a knife from his sleeve and slashed in a single smooth movement so fast it defied the eye to follow. The sharp edge sliced through the shoulder strap that supported Rhep's weapons belt. Belt and weapons sank toward the ground.

Rhep instinctively stooped to grab the falling belt. The elf seized a handful of hair and jerked the man's head down. At the same moment, he brought his knee up hard. The man's face smashed into the thigh greave that reinforced Elaith's travel leathers. Bone was no fit challenger for elven metal, and it gave way with a satisfying crunch.

Elaith flung the man aside. Rhep tripped and fell heavily back, clutching at a garishly broken nose. His sword clattered to the rocky ground.

The elf hooked a toe in the guard of Rhep's sword. One kick sent it spi

"You drew first," he stated. "I defended myself as best I could." This remark he flavored with heavy irony—and punctuated with a vicious kick to the man's ribs. "You would have defeated me but for the fact that you tripped in the darkness and fell upon your own sword. A tragic tale, is it not? To think that you had the honor of hearing it first."

Rhep rolled blindly away. The elf aimed a final kick at the base of his spine and raised the crude weapon for the killing stroke.

A small, stubby hand seized his ankle and jerked him to a halt. Elaith released the sword and twisted, catlike, in an effort to retain his balance. He shifted his weight—and his furious gaze—back toward the direction of the interference.

The red-bearded dwarf whom Bronwyn had called Ebenezer clicked his tongue in reproach.

"Man's down," he pointed out. "Me, I like to see games played on an even field."

Elaith kicked out viciously, but the dwarf released him and danced back out of reach with surprising agility. The meddling little toad lifted Rhep's sword in mock challenge, then he handed the weapon to its owner.

"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 begi

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.