The Dream Spheres

Danilo looked sharply at her, understanding at once her reasoning. "Twisted sport," he repeated slowly. "By any chance, was Simon Ilzimmer at Oth's presentation the night of the Gemstone Ball?"

"Possibly. His cousin Boraldan was there. I heard several voices I couldn't name. One was very deep, with a bit of a rumble to it that almost hinted at dwarven speech."

"That does sound like Simon. Would you recognize that voice if you heard it again?"

"I think so," she said shortly.

Dan smiled faintly. "Judging from your expression, you would rather take another stroll through the city's sewers."

She did not deny his words. Actually, they expressed her feelings rather well. Among her contacts in the city were a number of women who worked in the taverns and bathhouses. After some of the stories she'd heard about the Ilzimmer lord, she could hardly imagine herself sipping wine and making polite conversation.

Danilo seemed less bothered by the prospect. They went directly to the small, brooding manor that was home to Simon Ilzimmer. The bells in the nearby Temple of Ilmater tolled solemnly as Danilo left his card with the servant. Arilyn idly counted the rolling peals, wondering as she did why anyone would devote his life to so dreary a creed as that of the God of Suffering. By the time the call to worship faded into silence, the servant returned with word that Lord Simon would receive them.

At first glance, Simon Ilzimmer did not fit his dark reputation. He was a tall, broad man who appeared to be no stranger to the disciplines of sword and horse. His ma

Despite his genial ma

His study supported this impression. Though the furniture was sparse and practical, the walls were lined with disturbing pictures—dark, twisted visions from a madman's mind. Danilo walked over to consider a rendering of two red dragons entangled in fierce mating amid the burning ruins of a village.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "Was this painted from life?"

Arilyn sent him a warning look. Chances were that the Ilzimmer noble was not overburdened with a sense of humor. "We are trying to retrace the goods stolen from the air caravan," she said frankly, for she was tired of the inconsequential talk and growing increasingly uncomfortable in Simon's presence. "Anything you could tell us might be helpful."

The storm behind the man's dark eyes kindled and flashed. "You accuse me in my own home?"

"No one is making accusations," Danilo said mildly. "We are merely trying to gather together the pieces of this puzzle. Since your family also suffered losses, is it not in our best interests to work together?"

Simon eyed him with deranged cu

"Why should she need to do such a thing? Tha

The mage snorted. He was about to say more, but his eyes widened with mingled surprise and horror. He leaped to his feet, pointing with a shaking finger. "Threaten me, will you? Here in my own place, no less! I won't have it! All of you, leave at once! Get out, out!"

Simon's voice rose on the last words into near hysteria. "We should do as he says," Danilo said in a low voice. "He is a mage, and I'm in no position to challenge him."

Arilyn needed no urging. She turned to leave the chamber and immediately fell back onto her heels.

She stood nearly face to face with the ghostly image of an elven wizard. He was a tall elf whose silver hair had been woven into scores of tiny braids. He held a shadowy moonblade, point down, and he was leaning on the hilt as a wizard might rest upon his staff. His translucent blue eyes were watchful, and he was gazing at Simon with a quiet intensity that gave substance to the mage's fear.

They quickly left the estate, the shadowy mage walking soundlessly behind them. As soon as they were beyond the gate, Arilyn commanded the elfshadow manifestation to return to the sword. To their relief, the ghostly image dissolved into silvery motes. These swirled out into a neat line and disappeared into the moonblade one by one, like a row of ducklings slipping into a pond.

"This is getting out of hand," Arilyn muttered as they hurried back toward Danilo's home.

"At least the elfshadow is gone. You can still control the sword," he said in the tone of one who was searching for good news in unlikely places.

"Not really," she said, then shot a quick glance over her shoulder. "I still feel as if we're being followed. The moonblade's magic is getting more and more unstable. How can I go about my business, knowing that one of my ancestors might come calling at any moment?"

"Look on the bright side," Danilo suggested.

"That is?"

"Well, at least we're not being followed by tren."

"Don't be so sure about that," she said grimly as she glanced at the cobblestones at her feet. "Remember, you're a sixth son. I'm your half-elven companion. Can you think of a more expendable target for reprisal?"

For a moment he looked as if he would protest, then his face turned thoughtful. "Belinda was the youngest Gundwynd child."

She turned to him, her face deadly serious. "That had occurred to me, too."

* * * * *

"The woman is a positive marvel," Elaith murmured as he read the note Myrna Cassalanter had sent by trusted messenger and fast horse.

Even the most unlikely of her rumors had borne fruit. Just that day, not more than a few hours before, Simon Ilzimmer had been arrested by the Watch for the murder of a courtesan—in one of Elaith's establishments, no less. Simon was noble, and the men and women who would give testimony against him were common servants, but the end result would be the same. A minor Ilzimmer lord would hang from the city walls.

It bothered Elaith not at all that Simon Ilzimmer was i

The pot was simmering nicely, Elaith concluded as he turned back to the note. Reprisals would be soon in coming, and the noblemen would be busily employed for some time to come.

His brow furrowed as he read on. With great relish, Myrna recounted the death of a tavern wench, a by-blow of Rhammas Tha