Free The Dream Spheres by Elaine Cunningham

Well enough. She would bide her time and aid whoever fell unwitting into this trap.
    A light hand rested on her shoulder, another grasped the wrist of her sword arm in the elven signal for peace. Arilyn whipped around, startled and chagrined that anyone could approach her unheard.
    She found herself face to face with a tall, silver-haired moon elf—an elf she knew far better than she wished to.
    There was no sense in putting the task off—the rest of Isabeau’s booty had to be returned. Danilo took a silver bracer from his bag and began to examine it for signs of ownership.
    A short, sandy-haired man burst into the alcove, pulling up when he saw he was not alone. With his bulging eyes and scant, pointy beard, the man reminded Danilo of a panicked billy-goat. Resigned to an eventful evening, the nobleman rose. “Is something amiss, sir? Can I be of some service?”
    The man sank down on the chair Danilo had vacated and sucked in a wheezing, ragged gasp. “No. No, he’s left. Just need to catch my breath.”
    The sheer terror in the man’s eyes set off alarms in Danilo’s mind. He knew full well who at the party could best inspire this emotion. “If someone offended you, the Lady Cassandra would certainly wish to know,” he prompted.
    “No need. Already been dealt with,” the man said shortly. He gathered himself and rose to his feet. Squaring his meager shoulders, he gave Danilo a curt nod and
    then lurched into the crowd.
    Danilo followed, his eyes sweeping the crowd for the slim, gleaming figure of Elaith Craulnober. The elf had, appropriately enough, chosen moonstone for his gem color. In a throng of jewel-bright reds and greens and blue, his silvery hair and the pale satin of his costume— milky white swirled and shadowed with blue—made the elf look like a living blade. Danilo wondered, briefly, if Elaith had deliberately fostered this image.
    But no. That was unlikely, given his choice of gem color. The moonstone was a semiprecious stone, a powerful conductor of magic. It was often used in elven magic and was the magical cornerstone of the moonblades’ power. Elaith possessed such a sword, though it had long ago gone dormant to proclaim him an unworthy heir. For many years the moonblade had been to Elaith a symbol of disgrace and failure. He had gone to great trouble to reawaken the sword, which he held in trust until his only daughter came of age. What could the elf’s costume mean but a reclaiming of his honor?
    On the other hand, why wasn’t Elaith in the hall?
    Why had the goatlike little man been so afraid?
    Knowing Elaith as he did, Danilo could summon up any number of answers to the second query. With a sigh, he thrust the stolen bracelet back into his bag and headed toward the door. It might be wise to inquire of the grooms whether or not Elaith had left—and if not, to find him and put a stop to whatever mischief he was engaged in. For a moment Danilo understood his mother’s exasperation with him. Thanks to his efforts, Lady Cassandra’s guest list included a Tethyrian pickpocket, a reputed half-elven assassin, and a deadly elf who was, among other things, possibly the most successful crime lord north of Skullport.
    “In order to exceed myself;” he murmured as he strode through the garden, “next year I shall have to produce a pair of illithids and a red dragon.”

    Arilyn stared into Elaith Craulnober’s amber eyes, startled into immobility by his sudden appearance.
    “This is most unexpected,” the elf said in a mellifluent voice that fell just short of song. “I had thought to find a rather different messenger.”
    She shook off his hold and fell into a battle-ready crouch. “If you’ve a weapon, draw it,” she gritted. “Your ‘message’ is about to be delivered.”
    With a single, deft motion, Elaith drew two knives from sheaths hidden beneath his sleeves. His puzzlement and hesitation were clear even to her heat-reading vision.
    The tren came on in a rush, and a mixture of