The Dream Spheres

Rhep turned to keep the elf in front of him, but he waited for the first strike. Elaith obliged, delivering a high, lightning flash of an attack.

Before the mercenary could parry, Elaith spun, stepping past the man. As he did so the sword whistled just short of Rhep's ear. On the backstroke, he brought his sword low and slashed once across the seat of the man's leather breeches.

Rhep howled and whirled at the elf, lunging as he went, but Elaith was no longer there. The elf moved with his opponent, keeping just beyond the edge of his side vision. His next attack came in high, cutting a thin, shallow line across the man's cheek.

The elf danced back a step and gave Rhep a chance to face him down. The mercenary advanced with a furious onslaught of quick, hard blows. Elaith deftly parried each one with an economy of motion that was contemptuous in its ease. For a long time he was content to defend, one hand on his sword's hilt, the other resting lightly on his hip, his feet never moving. His faint, mocking smile never faltered. He intended to enjoy this.

At last Rhep backed away. They circled each other, swords held in low guard position, while the human caught his wind. With one hand he reached around behind his back to explore his first wound. His hand came back bloodied. He wiped the stain on his tunic and sent the elf a defiant sneer.

"Always heard elves favored attacking a man from behind, if you catch my drift."

Elaith let the crude comment pass. "Consider yourself lucky. I could have hamstrung you," he pointed out.

This notion stole the sneer from Rhep's face. His bravado vanished as he realized the truth of the elf's words and saw the battle could have been finished that quickly and that easily. His eyes were dark with the image of himself lying helpless, unable to rise, impotent to do anything but await the killing stroke.

"No games," Rhep said grimly. "Let's have done with this."

He came in with a rush, sword held high with both hands. He smashed down hard toward the elf, wagering everything on his superior size and strength.

Elaith whirled aside, not bothering to parry the mighty blow, but Rhep kept coming, battering away at the elf, pounding at him with all his force and fury.

It was actually a good strategy, Elaith acknowledged. It forced him into a two-handed grip and slowed him down. He was smaller and faster, and Rhep's attack forced the battle into a contest of strength. To compensate, the elf came in close, dangerously close, so that he had to catch the furious blows near the hilt of his weapon. He was close enough now to bring a second weapon to bear once the opportunity presented itself.

Rhep saw the strategy and began to retreat. The elf pressed him, following him, matching him step for step and meeting each blow. With growing desperation, the man struck out hard and then followed the sword attack with a bare-knuckled punch. The elf leaned to one side to dodge the blow, then sliced his sword downward, cutting into Rhep's arm before he could withdraw it. The blade caught the inside crook of the man's elbow and dug deep. The soldier immediately fisted his hand and brought it up tight against his shoulder, closing his arm over the wound to slow the flow of blood. Grimly he kept on, though with less force now that he could only fight with one hand.

Slowly, determinedly, the elf worked the clashing blades up high. Their swords crossed overhead. Rhep managed to hook the curved guard of his sword under Elaith's blade. With a triumphant leer, he hauled upward with all his strength, trusting in his greater height to drag the weapon from the elf's grasp.

Elaith simply let go.

The soldier staggered back, too late realizing his mistake. Elaith crossed his arms and pulled twin knives from the sheaths on his forearms. He advanced with the speed of a striking snake, and slashed both blades across the man's unprotected throat.

Rhep's sword clattered to the wooden floor. He sagged against the wall, his mouth working as he tried to form a final curse. Crimson bubbles formed at the corners of his lips. Will and spirit and life itself faded from his eyes, leaving nothing but hatred. The elf watched until even that dark light went out.

Elaith glanced at the fine daggers in his hand. They were Amcathra daggers, the best human-made weapons in the city. Without hesitation or regret, he hurled first one weapon and then the other into the former Ilzimmer soldier.

"Let them make of that what they will," the elf murmured. He turned and melted into the shadows, pondering with great satisfaction the course this action would spawn.

Fifteen

The unlikely trio—the human bard, the half-elven fighter, and the ghostly shadow—wandered through the city for the better part of the morning. Finally Danilo called a halt on a rooftop garden, a place far above watchful eyes and visible to none but the griffon riders who circled lazily against the clouds. He hoped the legendary vision of the eagle-headed beasts was not so keen that it could discern the shadowy elf woman who stood beside Arilyn, resting on an equally shadowy sword.

"I have to find whoever killed Lilly," Danilo blurted out.

Arilyn gave him a long measuring look. She turned away, propping her elbows against the garden wall. "Have I tried to dissuade you?"

"No. No, of course not, but you must let me continue alone."

The half-elf straightened up and affixed him with a challenging gaze. "Forget it."

He shook his head and took the small, glowing sphere from its hiding place in his boot. "Don't you see? Something is disrupting magic. It has to be these dream spheres."

His eyes shifted to the far edge of the roof. Thassitalia was all but gone now. Only a faint outline remained, invisible when he looked at it directly. "I've been carrying this sphere with me since the day Lilly died. As a result, the magic of your sword has been seriously disrupted."

"So are your spells. That's what happened the night of the Tha

"I took one from Isabeau," he added. "Yes, I understand that now."

She took a step closer. "I am more than my sword," she said firmly. "You are more than your magic."

He regarded her with a faint smile. "You've always said that there was too much magic in Waterdeep. It seems we may have the opportunity to do without it."

"Let's get to it. We'll assume that Lilly was mixed up with the bandits who ambushed the air caravan, and start there."

They worked their way across the city's rooftops toward the Gundwynd manor. As they approached, Danilo caught sight of several detachments of the Watch milling about, conspicuous in their green and black leather uniforms.

They climbed down to the street and walked up to the manor.

"No one in, no one out," a

"What happened here?"

The Watchwoman gave Danilo a quelling look. "Move along, sir. The Gundwynd family is not receiving visitors at present."

Danilo turned toward Arilyn, but she had disappeared. He nodded politely to the Watchwoman and went on his way, circling the walled villa as he observed the placement of trees on that street. He stopped two blocks down, then sat under a stately oak.

Several moments passed before he heard a faint rustling in the branches. He glanced up as Arilyn climbed to the lowest branch and dropped lightly to the ground beside him.

"Well?" he inquired.

"One of the servants found Belinda Gundwynd, the youngest daughter, dead in the stables. She was with an elven groom, the only person of elven blood who remained in the family's employ. Seems he had a personal reason for staying around. Rumors have been circulating about Belinda and her lover. The servants overheard the family fighting over it. They were forcing her to give him up. The family is claiming that her death was a lover's pact."