The Dream Spheres

Old habits fell easily into place. Arilyn slipped away into the shadows, as silent as a hunting cat.

* * * * *

Elaith's dismay grew as he surveyed the certain ambush in the valley below. He cursed and drove his heels into the flanks of his winged mare. Leaning low over her neck, he urged her into a plunging dive.

Wind roared in his ears until he feared he might never again hear anything else. Even as the thought formed, an eagle's shriek rent the streaming air, tearing through the deafening noise. This was followed by an even more chilling sound—an undulating elven battle cry. The Eagle Riders had spotted the ambush.

From the four corners of the wind they came, moving in with a perfectly coordinated attack. Their eagle mounts dove in with the instincts of raptors, their golden eyes fierce and their talons outstretched to snatch up their prey. It was a glorious, terrifying sight: a classic elven attack.

It was also the worst possible strategy.

Elaith's cry of protest was swallowed by the wind. He could not hear his own voice. Nor did he hear the whir and thump of the catapults, but he knew in his blood and bones that such weapons lay in wait. After all, these bandits knew the caravan's route, they had found this remote site. They would know what forces they would face and how they might best be defeated.

Golden feathers flew back toward him like giant leaves torn away by a wintry blast. Among the feathers were deadlier missiles: bits of metal and stone hurled as grapeshot.

Elaith instinctively ducked as the spray rose toward them, pulling back hard on the pegasus' reins. The winged horse threw back her head. Elaith caught a glimpse of the steed's wild, white-rimmed eyes—and the ugly metal shape that protruded from her neck.

He leaned forward and eased it out. It was a caltrop, a ball covered with wicked, triangular spikes. Fortunately the thing had embedded itself more in the harness than the horse.

The giant eagles had not been so fortunate. They had caught the full force of the deadly volley. Two of the wondrous birds lay on the ground like discarded rags. A third spun down, one shattered wing hanging limp. Elaith heard Garelith Leafbower's furious battle cry as the last of the Eagle Riders dove in for the attack.

The first volley was quickly followed by a second, and a third. Elaith's pegasus strained upward, her wings curved almost to breaking to catch the rising winds. She leveled off and circled, whi

Utter chaos filled the valley and the sky above it. The tethered pegasus teams frantically fought to be free of their traces. Sky chariots spun out of control, spilling contents and riders to the valley floor. Griffons reared, pawing at the air with their leonine paws as they attempted to fight their way through the lethal spray. The bandits swarmed the valley, cutting down the wounded and gathering up the spilled booty. Few survivors were in any condition to give resistance. Seeing the loss of his treasure, Elaith once again urged his steed into a dive.

Stony, blood-soaked earth leaped up to meet them as the pegasus plunged. At the last moment she leveled out and swept into a wide circle, wings out wide. She hit the earth at a gallop. Elaith reined her to a halt and leaped to the ground. He drew his sword and headed toward the thickest part of battle.

"Stand and fight!" roared a too-familiar dwarven voice overhead. "Lost your stones in that slingshot, did you?"

Elaith ducked as Ebenezer's pegasus swept in low, her teeth bared in a fierce grimace. Her rider did not wait for the landing but launched himself into the air, his stubby arms outstretched. The dwarf flopped onto a trio of fleeing looters, bringing them down like stomped-on flowers.

A slender, autumn-colored figure staggered out from the midst of a melee. Using a broken piece of harness as a lash, she beat the bandits away from a wounded elven groom as she looked frantically about for a better weapon.

Elaith cut his way through to Bronwyn's side. Pressing a dagger into her hand, he fell into place at her back.

She lashed out at a short, black-eyed bandit. The thief ducked and darted out of reach, losing a hat in the process. The elf marked the sudden spill of long, black hair, the lavish curves revealed when the thief stooped to retrieve the fallen hat. A spray of blood dragged his attention fully back into battle. He pushed aside the man whose throat Bronwyn had just cut.

"Thanks," she panted out, lifting the bloodied weapon.

"Don't," the elf said coldly. "There is a price."

For several moments there was no time for speech.

Elaith stopped a high scimitar blow with his knife, then drove his sword up into the bandit's barrel chest. He kicked the man off his blade and lunged at the next attacker. With four quick, short strokes he left a bloody lightning bolt of a gash on the man's torso. The man fell to his hands and knees. Bronwyn took advantage of the moment to leap onto the man's back. Using the surprise—and the extra height—she easily cut down the bandit who came in on the heels of Elaith's victim.

They fought well together. Bronwyn did not exhibit Elaith's training or skill, but neither was she hampered by his rage. Whenever the elf began to be carried along on the icy tide of battle, she stepped in and finished the matter with grim practicality. Elaith soon found himself responding in kind, protecting her by fending off attacks that she alone could not have parried.

To his surprise, the heat of battle burned away his desire to take vengeance on this cu

Finally Elaith and Bronwyn stood alone, in a silence broken only by a few scattered, tired clashes and by the groans of the wounded. She regarded him steadily with eyes that seemed to understand, and thus affirm, his change of plan. Before words could be spoken, Ebenezer sauntered up, one eye swollen shut and his tunic dark with blood.

Bronwyn regarded him with dismay. "Any of that yours?"

"Might be you could say that. I earned it, leastwise." The dwarf touched his puffy eye and gri

This was neither the moment nor the company Elaith would have chosen for this discussion, but he could not afford to wait. "The ruby. I want it back."

A faintly smug expression touched the woman's chocolate-colored eyes. "I wasn't aware it was yours when I bought it. At any rate, I don't have it."

Seeing his doubt, she nodded toward a small leather bag, lying empty on the ground. The strings had been cut, and the bag lay flat and slack. She strode over and scooped it up. Her face suddenly went very still, and she jerked open the bag and thrust one hand in.

"Stones!" she spat out.

The dwarf pricked up his ears. "Troubles?"

Bronwyn drew out a small, round crystal and showed it to him.

"Trouble," the dwarf agreed.

"What is this?" Elaith demanded.

Bronwyn shook the offending sack. "This is a bag of sending. Everything I put in it should be in a safe place in Waterdeep. The magic isn't working!"

A possible explanation for this occurred to Elaith, one so fraught with dire possibilities that it blunted the loss of the kiira. He put out his hand. "That crystal."

Ever the merchant, she countered, "In exchange for a truce. We've both lost what we sought. Call it even."