The Dream Spheres

Bronwyn nodded. "Yes. You know it?"

The half-elf rose and began to pace. "There is hardly an elf who does not! You have heard of kiira gems?"

"I believe they are some sort of memory stones," Bronwyn said slowly. "Artifacts from ancient times, they are family gems passed down through the generations. Legend claims they contain the combined wisdom of their forebears."

"Not legend," Arilyn said tersely. "Fact. Long ago, one of the kiira's owners turned to evil, and his family gem was somehow twisted to reflect its bearer. The ruby became a thief of memories—other people's memories. The Mhaorkiira, as it is commonly known, was lost centuries ago. More than one adventuring party has spent years searching for it. Trouble follows it. Most who hold it are twisted by its power."

"And this was taken by bandits," Danilo said, his voice rounded with outrage. "Most likely the bounders will sell it as a common gem, not understanding what they have!"

"That has already happened," Bronwyn told him. "I've traced the ruby to a fence here in Waterdeep. After a little persuasion, he described the woman who sold it to him."

Bronwyn gave a concise description: a young woman, pretty and curvaceous and strawberry blonde, neat but not well dressed. Well spoken, but bearing a strong accent of the docks. "Does that sound at all familiar?"

Arilyn and Dan exchanged a troubled glance. "It sounds disturbingly like a young woman of recent acquaintance," he admitted. "I will look into the matter at once. About the gem, though—I'm assuming that it was no longer in the fence's possession, else you would have procured it. What did the fence tell you of the buyer?"

"Nothing could induce him to part with that information, but I'm guessing Elaith Craulnober had a hand in the purchase. He mentioned the stone during the trip, and he does have a gift for intimidating people," Bronwyn concluded.

A long, troubled silence followed her words. After a few moments, she asked, "Is there anything more I can do?"

Arilyn shook her head and rose. "Stay clear of this. It's a marvel that Elaith let you live. Don't push him, especially not now."

She left the shop with a quick, purposeful stride, setting a course for Blackstaff Tower.

"Where are we going?" Danilo said in the wary tones of one who already knew the answer and was not at all pleased with it.

"You mentioned that Khelben has elven blood. He knows more of magical items than anyone else I know, so he should know a thing or two about the kiira stones. We're going to talk to him."

"On purpose?" muttered Dan.

However, he offered no further complaint and quickly cast the small spell that took them through the solid black stone of the curtain wall and another that led them into the tower of the archmage.

Khelben was at home, busy with a trio of apprentices. He left the students in Laeral's care and showed his visitors into his private study, where he listened to their story with grave attention.

"My concern is this," concluded Arilyn. "Is it possible that the Mhaorkiira and the dream spheres might be linked?"

"Entirely possible," the archmage agreed. He was silent for a long moment. "For that reason, you must leave this business strictly alone."

"That is hard to do. If Elaith does have the kiira, he should be warned of the dangers involved," Danilo protested.

"He knows," Khelben said flatly. "The Mhaorkiira is legendary. Its involvement makes the cost of simply using a dream sphere incredibly high.

"There is more," the archmage added. "You must understand that this particular kiira has the power to twist the user to evil. I daresay your friend has already taken the first few turns along this path of his own accord."

"I agree," Arilyn said. "Mhaorkiira is incredibly dangerous in Elaith's hands. It could distort and destroy what little elven honor remains to him." She turned to Danilo, her face grave. "The pledge of Elf-friend is a pale thing compared to the power of this artifact. Whatever Elaith's game is, he would not thank you for meddling. I'll give you the same advice I gave Bronwyn: Stay clear of him. He must be dealt with, but not by those who are tempted to trust him."

Danilo hesitated, then yielded before the weight of evidence. "I will do as you say," he said with deep regret.

* * * * *

Danilo went from Blackstaff Tower to the small tavern where he often met with the Harpers once under his command. Hector was there at the appointed time, wearing a look of satisfaction on his narrow, much-freckled face.

"All went well, I take it," Danilo said as he slid into the wooden booth across from his comrade.

The small man nodded. "I've yet to see my sister, but that is of little concern. Cynthia said she'd wait out the night and the morning if needs be to convince any watching eyes that the woman was still in her room."

"Was our charge delivered safely to the orchard house?"

"Been and gone," Hector confirmed. "She didn't much take to the country, though. Set up a pretty steady flow of complaints, I hear. Our man set her up with horse and harness, and she rode off on her own." He shrugged. "They were glad to be rid of her, truth to tell. I saw no reason to argue with this arrangement. Figured she was safe enough, once she was well out of the city."

This did not sound at all like the warm and merry lass Danilo had met. A feeling of deep unease assailed him. "This woman. Describe her."

Hector let out a short, humorless laugh. "Promise first that you won't repeat the language I'm about to use to my wife, my mother, or my priest."

Danilo's concern deepened. "If her character is that distressing, focus on her person."

"An easy thing to do," the man allowed, "and the same rules of discretion apply. Gods help me, the shape of her! The only thing I ever saw that stood so high and proud with less to bolster it was that Moonbridge over in Silverymoon. She has a handsome face, though it takes a while for a man to drag his eyes up to that height. Eyes the color of winter stout in a clear mug. Hair like a dark cloud."

Danilo stood up so abruptly that the wooden bench toppled over. "Damn it, Hector, you took the wrong woman!"

A look of utter horror crossed the young Harper's face, a distress so profound that Danilo longed to explain the situation, to assure Hector this mistake was not his fault. That would have to wait.

He raced from the tavern and rode to the Dock Ward like one pursued by demons. He leaped from his horse and left the steed untethered in front of The Pickled Fisherman, then ran through the tavern and up the back stairs.

A half-ogre tavern guard shouted at him to stop and followed him up the stairs. The guard's progress was halted by the tip of Arilyn's sword. Holding the glowing weapon at arm's length, she stood at the head of the stairs and blocked the half-ogre's passage. Her face was set and grim, her lips in a pale, straight line.

"The moonblade drew me here," she said to Danilo, "but the warning came too late. Prepare yourself."

Her words were not entirely unexpected. What he had not expected was a sense of grief that was staggering, nearly overwhelming. Danilo left Arilyn to deal with the half-ogre guard and slipped into the silent room. He stood for a long moment regarding the scene before him.

Cynthia lay sprawled out on the floor, her thin form clad in a barmaid's worn and patched clothes. Her throat had been slashed to the bone. Blood pooled on the floor beneath and flowed to converge with another river, from another source.

Lilly lay on her side. Her eyes were open, calmly staring ahead into the future that was no longer hers to claim.

He dropped to one knee and gently closed the young woman's eyes. Regret tore through him as he considered the waste of this blithe spirit, the joy he could have added to her life, and she to his.