The Dream Spheres

Isabeau had had no idea that gossipmongering paid so well—with the coins and jewels she had taken from this single theft, she could easily buy and bribe her way into distant Tethyr.

Elated at her success, she all but ran from the mansion and climbed into the waiting carriage. If the driver was surprised to hear that she wished to go directly to the South Gate, he did not state his opinion. An extra gold coin went a long way toward ensuring discretion. If she were careful, and lucky, she might yet make it safely to the southern lands.

Isabeau settled back against the seat and dared to begin dreaming a future far greater than any she might glimpse in one of Oth Eltorchul's magical toys.

* * * * *

Arilyn woke with a start, sitting upright beside her sleeping friend. After a moment her breathing returned to normal, but the dream that had awakened her did not fade.

She glanced at the moonblade, which lay sheathed beside the bed. It was dark and silent. In times past, she had awakened from such a dream to find the sword limned with green light, a sure confirmation that the dream was sent from forest elves in need of her help. This time, the dream was different. It was she who needed the help and her friends from distant Tethyr forest who came to her aid.

There was no trusting the dream, though. Evidence of that was plentiful. Five ghostly elves stood sentinel in the room, released from the sword by the relaxing of her will.

In fact, the moonblade's magic was growing ever more contradictory. Arilyn could almost count upon the elven sword to do the opposite of whatever function it had once performed. Warnings came not at all, or too late. Worse, its quick strike was growing unreliable—sometimes coming too fast, sometimes not at all. If this continued, she would not be able to use the sword in battle.

A discreet knock on the door roused the sleeping man beside her. Danilo sat up and ran both hands through his hair. "What is it, Monroe?"

"A message for Lady Arilyn," the halfling said, his voice muffled by the heavy door.

"Well, bring it in."

The halfling entered and handed Arilyn a message marked with the seal of the Guard. She quickly broke the seal and read with growing wonder. "There is a group of forest elves inquiring for me at the South Gate," she said and explained in a few words her belief that the malfunctioning sword had reversed the direction of the dream summons. "They've come to help," she concluded.

"And?" Danilo prompted, seeing from her eyes that there was more.

Arilyn met his eyes with a steady gaze. "These are the elves from Tethyr's forest. You should know that Foxfire is among them."

Danilo absorbed this in silence. "You will want to meet with them at once," he said simply.

It was the answer Arilyn had hoped to hear—no questions, no reservations. This was part of her life, her duty, and he accepted it as such. He did not ask what path she would take when the task at hand was done. The time would come when Arilyn would have to answer that. She could not say how she would respond.

* * * * *

The night was nearly over, and Elaith had yet to decide whether his campaign to divert attention of the nobles from himself was success or failure. It was true that he had received important information through the combined magic of the Mhaorkiira and the dream spheres. However, word of the dream spheres was spreading fast—too fast. The powers of law and order were begi

Just that day, three of his dream sphere vendors had been arrested. The wizards of Waterdeep were furious at this profligate use of magic, and Elaith had received word that there were attempts to magically follow the spheres back to their source.

He wondered where those magical inquiries might lead. Given the distortion of magic that the dream spheres caused, it might be almost anywhere. He might not be the equal of Oth Eltorchul when it came to twisting magic, but he knew enough to ensure that no one could trace the sale of the spheres back to his door.

Certainly no one would come looking for him here. The Monster Pit was one of the best-kept secrets in the Dock Ward.

Through a two-way mirror, the elf looked out over his establishment with a mixture of distaste and satisfaction. Gladiatorial dens were illegal in Waterdeep, but this one was highly popular. It lay many, many feet under a smithy and a raucous tavern. By day, the clatter of hammers on metal, the hiss of the bellows and the gruff shouts and near-constant singing of the smiths served to drown out any hint of the noise of battle and the cheering of the spectators. By night, the tavern served the same purpose.

The Monster Pit was a large, round cavern that had been carved into the shale. The walls had been covered with wood to keep patrons from peeling layers off the rock and hurling them at the combatants.

As usual, it was an unruly crowd seasoned with strong spirits and a variety of entertainments not available in the market. Smoke from scores of pipes rose into a thick blue haze. Most of the patrons were shouting and shaking their fists at the fighters, but a few wandered off into back rooms for private wagers or games.

Tonight the betting was brisk, for few men knew how to take the measure of the rare monsters that faced off. They were an unusual pair and had cost the elf considerable effort and expense to acquire.

The larger fighter was a fomorian, a member of a species of freaks in which no two were quite alike. This creature was male, a huge brute with four muscled arms and a vast torso that dwindled down to short, bandy legs. Despite his stunted legs, the fighter stood well over six feet tall. His face was malformed, dominated by an enormous eye that drooped low on one cheek. The fomorian's nose was a bearlike snout, and his other eye was small, red, and cu

His opponent was a yuan-ti, a snakelike creature with the head and arms of a man. At the moment, the snake man had the upper hand. His coils were wrapped around the fomorian. The brute's eyes bulged, but he continued to fight. With two of his hands, he squeezed the snake's neck, and with the other pair he desperately tried to peel off the crushing coils.

The monsters' faces were eerily similar, for both had mouths as wide as frogs. Their fanged teeth were bared in fierce grimaces, and their forked tongues flicked out in desperate, flickering gasps. It was all very distasteful, Elaith noted, but highly profitable.

The sound of a Watch horn tore through the din and shattered his comfortable musings. Three patrols—twelve men—pounded down the wooden stairs. To Elaith's consternation, they went straight for the mages who ringed the cavern and whose magic kept the monsters contained within the ring.

"Fools," Elaith muttered.

In the chaos that followed, the yuan-ti immediately loosed its hold and slithered off, disappearing into a small hole that led to its den. The fomorian roared and charged with the fury of a caged beast who sees a chance at freedom. Three of the Watch converged on the fighter. He resisted, easily lifting one in each hand and hurling them aside. The third was swept away as wild melee filled the room.

The creature's mismatched eyes swept the room, searching the crowd for Elaith, the elf who had captured and imprisoned him. He charged forward and smashed the mirror with three fists. His malformed eyes gleamed with wild delight as they settled upon Elaith. He backed off several steps, and kicked into a charge.

The monster's progress was halted by a shining elven sword. To Elaith's astonishment, Arilyn stepped into the fomorian's path.

"If you have a weapon, arm yourself," she said to the creature.

"You ca