The Dream Spheres

The half-elf did not flinch. "Someone knew the caravan route well in advance, and laid ambush. Someone is responsible for the death of those elves. It is my business to see that they pay for it. If for some reason I do not, Elaith Craulnober most likely will. For once, you should pay heed to what rumors say. Do not take either of us lightly."

The woman's lips twitched. "I am put on notice," she said with an unexpected touch of dark humor. "I suppose I ought to thank you for the warning."

"Don't bother. Just don't pass the warning along."

"Bargain made," the noblewoman agreed. "In any event, I would hardly put about the fact that my son's companion—a suspected assassin, as you have taken great pains to remind me—is hounding among the peerage for a traitor. There is scandal enough without this returning to my door!" She gave Arilyn a wry, sidelong glance. "Is there any hope of turning you from this path?"

"None."

Cassandra nodded as if she had expected this. "In that case I, too, have a warning. Nothing good will come of this inquiry, either for you or for Danilo. If you must persist, keep your eyes open and your sword at hand, and see that you keep good watch over my son."

"As I have done for these past six years," Arilyn said stiffly.

"Really? That is a marvel, considering that you are so seldom in Danilo's company. Think nothing of that. Your dedication to the elven people is admirable, I'm sure. Ah, we are back at the gate. You will return to the party, of course."

It was an order, not a question. Since she could see little profit in prolonging the interview, Arilyn descended and watched the departing carriage.

Lady Cassandra's words troubled her deeply. Until now, she had shrugged aside Cassandra's small digs and genteel sarcasm as easily as she might wave away a persistent gnat. Arilyn was well accustomed to slights. When it came to subtle insults, not even the most supercilious noble could hold a candle to an elf, and half-elves were favorite targets for elven slings and arrows.

However, this time things were different, and the noblewoman was letting her know that beyond doubt. Like a master swordsman, Cassandra had slipped past Arilyn's guard and gone straight for her heart. She had used the sharpest sword that anyone could wield—the painful truth, plainly stated.

"Truth is the sharpest sword," Arilyn murmured. Those words steadied her resolve as she gathered up her shimmering skirts and headed for the Raventree mansion. She and Danilo would find the truth, and that weapon would serve to cut through the deceit and intrigue. That would put things to rights.

A small, fluttering movement drew her eye. The autumn wind was brisk, and one of her discarded wings had been blown against the stone wall surrounding Galinda's garden. It lay there like a dying bird, ghostly amid the darkness of the stone and the swirling dry leaves.

Arilyn was not superstitious, but it seemed to her that the false wings spoke augury. She had cast off illusion, and the result was death. Though she did not waver in her determination to find her way to the truth, she could not help but wonder who might yet fall to that sharp sword.

* * * * *

Lilly hurriedly packed her belongings in preparation for the trip from Waterdeep, and to freedom. It was not a large task—a few pieces of clothing, her precious dream spheres, an ivory comb missing only a few teeth, a dented pewter mug, and a small but well-kept assortment of knives and picks.

She hesitated a moment before placing her thieving tools in her sack, for they seemed ill suited to the bright future ahead. Upon consideration, she tucked them inside and folded the bundle securely shut. A girl never knew what might need doing.

The door flew open so hard that it slammed against the wall. Lilly jumped and reached for a weapon. Too late, she remembered they were packed away.

Isabeau blew in like a leaf on a gale, more disheveled and wild-eyed than she'd been in the heat of battle.

"You're looking as if you've seen a ghost," Lilly commented, "and not a particularly friendly one at that."

That brought a faint, sickly smile to the woman's pale lips. She collected herself somewhat, but she continued to prowl about the small room as if seeking something of vital importance. The burlap sack seemed to be of special interest to her. As she eyed it, she began to toy with the strings that held her own purse to her waist.

"You're leaving?"

Lilly thrust the burlap sack behind her. "Just taking some things to the laundress, is all."

The woman studied her for a moment, then smiled. "A man and woman were inquiring for you downstairs."

Lilly's heart sank. Isabeau knew of the pla

"Of course," the woman continued, "when I learned what they intended, I pretended to be you. I have reason to leave the city for a few days. You won't mind if I take your place, will you?"

Before Lilly could move, the woman swung her purse and dealt Lilly a painful, ringing blow to one ear. The room spun, and she suddenly felt the hard floorboards beneath her knees.

Isabeau hiked up her skirts and delivered a kick that landed just below Lilly's ribs. Too winded to draw breath, the thief could not fight as Isabeau stuffed a scented handkerchief in her mouth.

The woman knelt beside her. She held her palm up to her lips and blew, as if she were blowing a kiss. Red powder puffed toward Lilly's face.

Lilly drew in a startled breath. Instantly she realized her mistake. A languorous haze spread swiftly through her, obscuring the path between her will to act and her ability to move. It was like being in the throes of a dream sphere but without either the pleasure or the oblivion. Though Lilly could not command her body, she could definitely experience everything that happened to it. She registered the second stu

Through the immobilizing haze, Lilly heard the creak of the old wooden stairs a

The Harper woman was as small and slight as Lilly, and although her red hair was not as thick and pale and lustrous, at least it was a reasonably good match. She do

When the women had changed places, Isabeau slipped down the stairs to the alley, and the carriage waiting beyond.

The cot sank dangerously low as the young Harper sat on the edge. She hummed idly to herself to pass the time until the tavern closed and the streets grew dark enough for her to hold her guise as she slipped off.

Again the stairs creaked, this time with more protest. Cynthia rose and crept to the door. She stood with feet braced as the portal began to swing slowly open.

Lilly saw the creature first, and she knew it from the enormous clawed feet. She threw her will and strength into a futile effort at screaming a warning.

The silence was broken, not by her voice, but by the sudden scuttle of tren footsteps. The creature darted forward, pivoted, then grunted with the effort of a single, massive blow.

There was no time to scream, even if Lilly had been able to. The Harper hit the floor hard. Lilly's eyes widened in horror as Cynthia's lifeblood spilled out into a spreading pool. The red stain reached out toward her in wide rivulets. To the terrified girl, it looked like tattling fingers pointing the way to her hiding place.