The Dream Spheres

Since this fit in with Elaith's inclinations, he responded with a curt nod. She dropped the globe into his hand. The small, iridescent crystal nestled into his palm like a living thing. His elven senses picked up the captured magic. He quickly dropped it into a bag, understanding at last the enormity of the risk—and the opportunity.

All magic came from somewhere. The dream spheres gave a dream and took one, but the magic power that fueled this exchange was drawn from nearby magic. Apparently the dream spheres stole magical power, drained it off and reformed it in much the same fashion as the legendary magic of spellfire.

Elaith's initial purpose for the Mhaorkiira remained, but here was a new and enormous potential. Not only could hidden knowledge be his, but also he could possess the potential to confuse defensive spells and confound mages. All that he lacked was the kiira gem.

He would have it and would not count any amount of blood too high a price.

* * * * *

In a cavern hidden behind the waterfall, deep within the mountains that surrounded the blood-soaked valley, the surviving bandits threw off their masks and hoods and began to paw through their loot.

Isabeau Thione strode through the crowd, looking like a pirate queen in her dark breeches and crimson shirt. She was in rare high spirits, joking with her hired band and dispensing portions of the loot with a lavish hand.

Appalled by it all, Lilly hugged the shadows on the far side of the cavern. Although she had not taken part in the battle, she had witnessed it all from the shadows of the trees. Never had she seen anything like it.

No, actually that was not entirely true. A former cook at The Pickled Fisherman once bought a small flock of chickens for stew. For sport, he pe

She had not anticipated any of this. A letter, stolen from the large, bearded man she and Isabeau had robbed together the night they'd met, gave the route of this caravan. A simple theft, Isabeau had argued, only the pigeon was a caravan rather than a single nobleman. Lilly had fallen far short when she'd taken the woman's measure, and her lack made her as guilty of bloodshed as any of the hired killers.

She could not stay in partnership with Isabeau. The woman was as rapacious as a troll. Who knew what she might do next? No, Lilly could not stay—not with Isabeau, and perhaps not even in Waterdeep. She needed a place to hide, to start anew, a place to come to terms with what she had done, to find a way to make amends.

A bright, ringing clatter tore her from her guilty thoughts. Two mercenaries stood toe to toe, staring stupidly at the half sack each of them held. For a moment they watched the spilled coins roll away, then they began to pummel at each other. Isabeau shouted for the others to break up the fight. Most merely joined in.

All was chaos. Lilly knew what to do in such moments—she had done some of her best pickings during tavern brawls.

She eased her way into the melee and faked a stumble. With a quick swipe she gathered up some coins and gems and dropped them into her pocket. When she stood up, a blow caught her in earnest.

Her jaw exploded with pain, her head snapped back, and the ground slammed up to meet her.

Lilly awoke to the sound of dripping water, which kept an eerie rhythm with the pounding in her temples. Cautiously she opened one eye. Isabeau was stretched out beside her, a smug little smile on her face and a pile of treasure beside her.

A heap of gleaming white globes dominated the hoard. Longing swept through Lilly like a healing tide. She sat up and reached for one, clenching her hand around the comforting magic.

"You know those?" asked Isabeau.

Lilly tried to move her aching jaw, and decided that a nod would do the job.

Isabeau smiled. "Perhaps you would like to take your share in these? Say, seven?"

It was a ridiculously low payment, even at the cost of dream spheres, but Lilly considered it a fair enough way out.

"That will do," she mumbled.

Her words seemed to ring in the empty cavern. The silence struck her, numbed her. Like a dreamwalker, she rose and stumbled in growing horror through the too-quiet cave.

Everywhere the mercenaries lay in twisted, tortured positions. Blackened tongues protruded through mouths stretched open with silent screams. Their pockets had been turned, their gear bags sliced open and looted.

Lilly's hand flew to her mouth. She whirled back toward Isabeau, hardly believing what her eyes told her.

"You're wondering how we will move the cargo," the woman said, misreading her partner's dismay. "The porters I've arranged know the tu

One of the shadows moved and broke away into the torchlight. Lilly backed away, shaking her head in terrified disbelief at the monstrous sight.

Isabeau did not seem concerned by the sudden appearance of an enormous, bipedal lizard. She strode forward and handed the creature a fine short sword that held the sheen of a newly made weapon.

"An Amcathra blade," she said. "There will be four more when you get to Skullport."

Enormous claws closed around the hilt, and the creature grunted in apparent satisfaction. Isabeau looked to Lilly and seemed amused by the woman's reaction.

"Meet the tren," she said casually. "You might as well get used to them. We will be doing a considerable amount of business with them from this point forth."

She cocked her head and regarded her horror-struck partner. Her eyes narrowed in speculation, and she turned back to the monster. "Lilly does not appear to approve. Show her what happens to those who speak of matters best left in shadows."

The curved, fang-lined jaws parted in a reptilian smile. With a grunt, the creature hunkered down beside one of the dead mercenaries. The enormous, clawed hand closed around the man's protruding black tongue. One yank, and the tongue came free with a wet, tearing sound. The tren gri

Through the whirling haze that gripped her, Lilly heard the grunting echoing throughout the cavern. More tren emerged from the shadows, and they crouched down to feed.

Lilly began to scream. Dimly she was aware of Isabeau scolding her, slapping her, but she could not stop. She sank to the stone floor, hands fisted against her ears to block the sound of the horrid feast, and she screamed and screamed until the merciful blackness closed in again.

Nine

The scent of autumn was strong in the wind that whipped along the city streets, whirling the bright fallen leaves in small eddies and tugging at the skirts of passing women.

Danilo clapped one hand to his head to keep his hat at the angle dictated by current fashion. "You picked an unfortunate time to develop a love of the shops," he told his companion.

Arilyn impatiently brushed a dark curl off her face. "What if street rumor is right? What if the perfume merchant sells more than scents and ointments?"

"It is hard to credit. Diloontier has a fine reputation. Many of the merchant families do business with him. His scents hold true, and the few potions he sells are harmless and reliable. Believe me, the wizards' guild keeps a wary eye on his affairs, as they do anyone who traffics in minor magic."