"No doubt you are right." A peal of bawdy laughter punctuated the elven tale, and the flames turned blue and rose into improbably entwined figures. "Not necessarily for the reason you think," Elaith added.
Bronwyn peered at the fire for a moment, then sat back looking impressed. "Huzzah! I'll always regard centaurs in a whole new light."
The elf saw no particular place for that conversation to go, so he dipped up soup in his travel mug and handed it to his guest. She produced a similar cup from her bag
and handed it to him. For a few moments they ate in silence.
Finally Elaith's curiosity prevailed. "You strike me as exceedingly forthright, yet you haven't asked me my business in Silverymoon."
This amused her. "I'd probably be better off not knowing! Truthfully, this has been a busy season for me. I have a great deal of business to attend. It's all I can do to watch my own affairs, much less mind anyone else's."
"You'll be staying on in Silverymoon for a while, then."
"As long as it takes. A few days, perhaps."
At the far side of the clearing, the Eagle Riders began a raucous game of dice. Bronwyn responded with a quick, sympathetic smile. Her reaction prodded the elf's suspicions about her knowledge of elves, and her true reasons for the trip.
"Their behavior doesn't seem to surprise you," Elaith commented.
"Should it? They're young, high-spirited, and enjoying good company. They are entitled to their fun."
"Most humans do not consider high spirits to be an elven virtue," he persisted. "I think you're more familiar with our ways."
She shrugged again. "I've done business with all sorts. It helps to know the customs."
"I can see how it would," he agreed, approaching the question from another side. "Your work must often present challenges. Forgive me, but I find it difficult to envision the fey folk entrusting their lost treasures to a human."
Bronwyn accepted this with a nod. "Some do feel that way. Others respect results and pay well for them. Why do you ask?"
"I might wish to engage your services some time," the elf said vaguely. He glanced up at the stars to measure the hour, then inclined his head in apology. "I am being
a poor host. I have kept you talking, when you expressed desire to sleep."
She stopped in mid-yawn and then reached for her bedroll. "I won't argue with you."
Elaith sat by the fire long after the woman's soft, steady breathing indicated that she slept. From time to time he drifted into reverie, that watchful dreaming that renewed and restored the fey folk.
However, there was little respite for Elaith this night. For the first time in many years, he saw in reverie the leaping white towers of the Moonstone Palace as he rode his silver-gray horse through the streets of Evermeet's royal city. His heart swelled with the pride befitting one of his race and rank and talents, and it beat with quick anticipation of the meeting ahead. Amnestria, the youngest daughter of King Zaor and Queen Amlaruil, had been pledged to him in betrothal. She had sent word that she was eager to meet with her betrothed when the moon rose.
The crunch of heavy boots against stony ground roused Elaith from his dream. His keenly honed senses recognized the portent of danger, but for a moment or two he didn't care. The dream was so vivid, so poignant, that it left behind a sense of loss that dwarfed all other considerations.
Evermeet was lost to him. Amnestria was long dead. Her half-elven daughter despised him, and not without reason. What could possibly matter, in light of all that?
Elaith watched without interest as a large figure broke away from the trees and stalked toward his camp. A small movement nearby drew his eyes. Bronwyn's small hand curled around a knife. Other than that, she might have been asleep. She did not move and her breathing was slow and even.
"Expecting trouble?" the elf said softly.
"I warned you of the possibility," she responded. Her eyes opened a crack, and fell upon the large, bearded
man who was creeping toward them.
"Rhep," she said resignedly. "Some men understand the word no only when it's accompanied by a stab wound or a fireball spell."
Elaith found this notion distasteful. He had never been able to understand why any male would wish to force attention upon an unwilling female. There was no joy in such games, and little sport. On the other hand, the prospect of battle offered a diversion, a familiar respite from his despair.
"I would be delighted to distract him," the elf offered.
"Thanks, but I don't want you to get in trouble on my account. No offense, but who will believe that you fought to protect my honor? I'll set up a fuss, and the others will intervene."
"Don't be so sure," he cautioned her. She looked puzzled, so he added, "Rhep is in the employ of the Ilzimmer family. He is caravan master, which means that, although Lord Gundwynd has supplied the mounts and some of the guards, Ilzimmer is funding the dragon's share of this journey. Most of the mercenaries report to Rhep. You would receive little assistance from that lot. Nor would you find recompense, afterwards. The Ilzimmer clan is known for its distasteful habits and would not be particularly concerned about the behavior of its hirelings. If you were a woman of their class, they might manage to dredge up a sense of outrage. As matters stand, you can expect nothing."
Bronwyn did not flinch. "Harsh words, but good knowledge to have. I'll circle back to camp." She slipped from her bedroll and wriggled like a snake behind the stand of boulders that separated Elaith's camp from the trees beyond.
Rhep scowled as his gaze fell only on the watchful elf and the ashes of a solitary campfire. "Where's the woman, elf?"
Elaith rose, a stout stick in his hand. This he tossed
in the direction of the approaching man. A circle trap snapped shut, splitting the wood and sending two neatly sheared pieces flying into the air. The mercenary shied back, both hands flung up to ward off the leaping wood. His furious expression deepened as he realized how his response might be read.
"The camp is warded," Elaith said calmly. "You would be wise to stay where you are."
"Coward!" Rhep grated, as if eager to place that name upon another. "Leave your toys and traps and come out in the open! Name your place, if you're not afraid to fight a real man."
"The forest," Elaith said shortly, and then he turned and led the man away from Bronwyn's hiding place. After a moment, he heard behind him the heavy but cautious tread of the mercenary's boots. He heard also the stealthy rasp of metal against metal as Rhep drew his sword.
Coward indeed, the elf thought scornfully. He subtly quickened his pace to keep his back beyond the reach of the man's treacherous sword.
When he judged they were far enough away that battle would not rouse the camp, Elaith turned to face his challenger. As he did, he pulled a knife from his sleeve and slashed in a single smooth movement so fast it defied the eye to follow. The sharp edge sliced through the shoulder strap that supported Rhep's weapons belt. Belt and weapons sank toward the ground.
Rhep instinctively stooped to grab the falling belt. The elf seized a handful of hair and jerked the man's head down. At the same moment, he brought his knee up hard. The man's face smashed into the thigh greave that reinforced Elaith's travel leathers. Bone was no fit challenger for elven metal, and it gave way with a satisfying crunch.
Elaith flung the man aside. Rhep tripped and fell
heavily back, clutching at a garishly broken nose. His sword clattered to the rocky ground.
The elf hooked a toe in the guard of Rhep's sword. One kick sent it spinning up. Elaith caught the descending blade easily and held it at arms' length for inspection. His lip curled as he regarded the pitted edge, then he stalked in.
"You drew first," he stated. "I defended myself as best I could." This remark he flavored with heavy irony— and punctuated with a vicious kick to the man's ribs. "You would have defeated me but for the fact that you tripped in the darkness and fell upon your own sword. A tragic tale, is it not? To think that you had the honor
of hearing it first."
Rhep rolled blindly away. The elf aimed a final kick at the base of his spine and raised the crude weapon for the killing stroke.
A small, stubby hand seized his ankle and jerked him to a halt. Elaith released the sword and twisted, catlike, in an effort to retain his balance. He shifted his weight-and his furious gaze-back toward the direction of the interference.
The red-bearded dwarf whom Bronwyn had called Ebenezer clicked his tongue in reproach.
"Man's down," he pointed out. "Me, I like to see games played on an even field."
Elaith kicked out viciously, but the dwarf released him and danced back out of reach with surprising agility. The meddling little toad lifted Rhep's sword in mock challenge, then he handed the weapon to its owner.
"Set to, if that's what you've a mind to do," the dwarf continued. "I'm all for a bit of fun."
So, apparently, was Rhep. Using the sword like a cane, the mercenary rose unsteadily to his feet. His broken nose was beginning to swell, and his breath whistled wetly through the shattered protuberance, but
there was livid hatred in his eyes, and that served to focus and steady him.
The elf pulled twin daggers from sheaths hidden beneath his leg greaves. He whirled toward the mangy pair, one knife coming in high and intended for Rhep, the other aimed at the dwarf's throat.
He heard the heavy thud of a dwarven body hitting the ground and sensed that Ebenezer was rolling toward him. He leaped over the thick, stubby body and leaned into the attack on Rhep, but the evasion had stolen his rhythm, and his stabbing attack on the mercenary fell short of its target. Rhep easily parried the elf's knife and then punched out hard over the enjoined blades.
Elaith leaned away from the blow, but it glanced off his shoulder and spun him to one side. The mercenary leered in triumph and lunged.
The pitted sword never came close. A dwarven axe spun in, knocking Rhep's sword wide. Man and elf turned to regard Ebenezer with astonishment.
"Play fair," the dwarf admonished as he scampered around the combatants to retrieve his weapon. "Looks like it's your turn, elf. Make it good, now!"
Elaith needed no prompting. Ignoring the dull ache in his shoulder, he stood and fought with a quick and ignominious finish in mind.
His opponent seemed equally determined. Rhep used his vast size to advantage, chopping and hewing at Elaith as if the elf were an oak he was determined to whittle into arrow shafts. For all his speed and skill, Elaith was forced to take the defensive. His twin blades flashed in the gray gleam of dawn, catching the first slanting rays of the morning sun. Neither fighter could seize advantage. The dwarf continued to intervene, first on one side then the other, keeping the balance level.
Suddenly Elaith knew the dwarf's game. Bronwyn was long gone—and her companion was making sure
that Elaith was kept too busy to follow.
Rage swept through him as he realized how he had been tricked. He quickly mastered the bright surge and studied his opponent. The mercenary's eyes still burned with determination, but he was blowing like a beached whale. The elf parried a heavy, slashing attack and retreated several steps.
"I have had enough of this dwarf;" Elaith said firmly. "Why should we fight to amuse him? Let's kill him quickly, then have done with this."
"Nay." Rhep spat bloody foam at the elf's boots. "I wouldn't join you in a lifeboat" He drew back his sword for another stroke.
The elf ducked under a slashing backhanded blow. As he came up, his sword sliced a thin line from the man's shoulder to elbow.
"Good hit," Ebenezer congratulated. "Took you long enough."
The dwarf's taunting stung, though Elaith took it as more an insult to his wits than his fighting prowess. Determined to end the matter, Elaith landed a stinging smack to Rhep's cheek with the flat of his dagger.
"Listen," he snapped and then stepped back.
The sounds of a caravan readying for departure drifted to them, barely audible over Rhep's labored breathing.
"I do not intend to walk to Silverymoon," Elaith said. "If I kill you now, that's what I'd have to do. Leave this for another time, and let's get on with the matters at hand."
He sheathed his daggers and began to walk back to camp. Rhep let him pass, then lunged at the elf's back.
The attack was drearily predictable. Elaith's patience snapped. He sidestepped and seized the man's wrist as it thrust past. He turned, twisting the arm behind Rhep's back. The sword clattered to the ground, and the mercenary fell to his knees, his arm held unnaturally
high. Elaith jerked up higher still. Rhep's arm parted from its shoulder with an audible pop. The man shouted once in pain and outrage, then sagged to the ground, senseless.
Elaith whirled toward the dwarf; but Ebenezer had disappeared.
For a moment Elaith considered pursuit, but he had little doubt of the plan laid against him. The dwarf would no doubt return to the caravan, bearing word that Bronwyn and Elaith—who had been seen sharing a secluded campfire—had decided to go off on their own. If Elaith showed up without her, he would be called upon to explain what had become of the woman. No one would believe he was innocent of foul play. Certainly not once they managed to round up their captain and saw the state he was in.
With a hiss of frustration, Elaith turned aside and melted off into the trees. Moving lightly among the forest shadows, he skirted the camp and headed toward the city below.
The sun was high above the Moonbridge when Elaith arrived in Silverymoon, alone and in a foul temper. He asked directions of a passing town crier, then wove through the streets to a shop bearing a sign depicting a multifaceted gem.
He strode into the antechamber and toward the locked door. The two guards flanking it eyed the grimly approaching elf warily. Elaith threw a pair of knives without breaking stride. Both men jerked upright, pinned through their throats to the door frame.
The elf batted aside the flailing hand of one of the dying men. He pivoted on his right foot and kicked out hard with his left. The door flew open with a sound like a thunderclap.
Mizzen himself was behind the counter, stroking his billy-goat beard with apparent satisfaction. He froze when the elf exploded into the shop, then let out a little
bleat of alarm. With a quick, frantic burst of speed, he lunged for the bellpull behind him.
Elaith kept coming, another knife poised in his hand. He hurled it, pinning the cord to the wall. "For form's sake," he told the shrinking merchant. "The alarm would do you little good."
"The guard-" began Mizzen.
"My apologies," the elf said with a mocking little bow. "They are still standing at their post, if that is any consolation."
The merchant paled, then panicked. He reached under the counter, seized handfuls of crystals and gems, and began to pelt the elf with them.
Elaith batted aside a few of the missiles, then snatched a large hunk of jasper from the air and hurled it back. The rock caught Mizzen on the forehead. Both his eyes turned inward, as if the merchant wished to identify the specific rock that struck him, then he tilted slowly back and crashed into a shelf laden with whatnots. Crystal trinkets rained down upon their creator like multicolored hail.
Muttering, the elf found a half-full pitcher of wine and threw it on the senseless man. Mizzen came to, sputtering with indignation. His protests stopped abruptly as he recalled his circumstances and his attacker.
"Take it," the man pleaded, sweeping both hands in a wide arc to indicate the entire contents of the shop.
Elaith glanced around and was not particularly impressed. "Crystal dragon? Perfume bottles? I think not."
"Then w-what? W-Why?" Mizzen stammered.
"I wished to purchase the ruby you spoke of just three nights past, but I believe now that I will simply take it, since I've paid out in annoyance more than the gem is likely to be worth."
"Oh, that!" Mizzen looked relieved at the limited
scope of the anticipated theft. "A young woman came in earlier. She o
ffered me more than a ruby that size was worth. No one can blame a man of business for taking a profit," he said piously.
"Unless he sells for profit another man's goods. I believe that stone belonged to Oth Eltorchul."
"Lord Eltorchul," Mizzen repeated, his voice getting stronger as ire crept into his tones. "That stone will just about cover what he owed me. Cheat and liar, he was! Hiding behind that title, acting as if no commoner had the right to demand pay."
The story rang true to Elaith. In his experience, the wealthier or more titled a man, the less concerned he was about certain financial obligations. Since the Eltorchul clan was not overburdened with ready coin, merchants such as Mizzen were unlikely to see payment. Elaith could hardly blame the man for trying to cover his losses.
"What of the Dreamspheres?"
Mizzen looked surprised to hear these words, but only for a moment. "Gone," he said shortly. "Lord Eltorchul made arrangements to have them sent to Waterdeep, same way they got here."
Elaith was not pleased to hear this, but he would deal with the inconvenience later. "What of the gem? You know something of its true worth—you let that much slip when you were deep in your cups. The 'elf gem,' you called it. Why did you let it go?"
"I didn't like it," the man said bluntly.
The elf considered this a reasonable response. To inspire the man to elaborate, he removed a dagger from his belt and began to toy with it, flipping it nimbly between his hands. "The Dreamspheres. Oth was using the Mhaorkiira Hadryad—the elf gem—to create these devices."
"That's right." Mizzen spoke quickly, his eyes fixed in horrified fascination upon the flashing, spinning dagger. "He said it was an ancient elven artifact that held the
memories of an entire lost clan. He placed some of these memories in the crystal spheres, to be released by a paying dreamer."
Not a release, but an exchange, thought Elaith. Each time some stupid sod used one of these toys, one of his own memories or dreams went into the kiira stone. No doubt Oth sorted through them, keeping what was useful and turning the rest back into other magical fantasies.
On the surface, it seemed an ingenious way of gathering information. Elaith almost admired the man who'd found a way to profit from the evil artifact. Oth's command of magic clearly outstripped Elaith's. Unfortunately for Oth, he was limited by his arrogance and his human ignorance. While Elaith might be accused with some justification of the first vice, he, unlike Oth Eltorchul, knew what the gem could do, and he knew how incredibly dangerous it could be. Kiira were among the most powerful of elven magical items. The Mhaorkiira, or "dark gem," was the only one that had been twisted to evil. It had somehow absorbed the twisted ambitions of the long-dead Hadryad clan, and in the process had contributed to the demise of that ancient family.
The Dream Spheres Page 16