"Rooms," the dwarf corrected her in a deep rumble. Arilyn noted that the gravel-filled voice had more in common with rain felling on a kettledrum than with human speech. "More'n one room, there be. Lots of 'em. But they're guarded by armed men the size of me mother-in-law's temper, and locked up tighter'n a gnome's navel. Don't have a key. Ain't none of the servants got keys."

"I don't need keys," Arilyn asserted, "and I've never met a man whose sword could match mine."

Since the sword in question was still pressed against his throat, the dwarf had opportunity to consider this claim and the fighter who made it. His gaze slid thoughtfully up the shining length of the blade and stopped at the Harper's resolute face.

"You got a lotta brass fer an elf woman," he admitted at last. "Might it be that you also got a way outta here?"

"Same way I got in,"

A light kindled in the dwarfs eyes. "I'm a good hand at fighting, if you'd care t' pass over one of them knives you carry. Take me with you when you go, and Fll do fer you what I can. By Morodin's beard," he swore fervently, “For the chance to get outta this place, I'd be tempted to help you loot me own ancestors' burial chambers!"

Arilyn hesitated only a moment; it was not in her to leave any intelligent creature in slavery. She slid her moonblade out of the thicket of light-brown beard and backed off a few steps. The dwarf scrambled to his feet. She tossed him a dagger, which he nimbly caught. He took off down one of the corridors, beckoning her to follow. Arilyn noted with relief that he could walk silently when he chose to do so.

True to his word, the dwarf led her to a massive locked door, before which stood three enormous men, all of whom were armed with wickedly curved scimitars. Also true to his word, fighting was something the dwarf could do well. In record time, the unlikely pair of conspirators stood over the downed guards.

The dwarf ran the back of one hand across his damp forehead and then regarded it, his bearded face twisted with disgust. "Sad state of affairs," he muttered. "Must be gittin' soft-shouldn't a broke a sweat on those three!"

Arilyn suppressed a smile. She and the dwarf dragged the guards to the well and tossed them in, then returned to the treasure rooms. With the dwarf looking on, the half-elf went to work. From her waterproof bag she took a small wooden box-unwittingly provided by her new "employer," Madame Penelope-and tossed a bit of the yellow powder at the door. There was no telltale blue light-no magic at work. Motioning the dwarf to stand back, she bent to examine the lock. It was trapped, of course, not once but thrice over, and it took her the better part of two hours' work to disable the lethal devices.

At last the door swung open on noiseless hinges. Arilyn edged into the first room, the dwarf following on her heels like a squat shadow.

The treasure rooms were utterly silent and darker than a moonless night, but both the dwarf and the half-elf possessed eyes that were keenly sensitive to heat and neither felt the need of torch or candle. As they passed from one room to another, the dwarfs eyes widened into avaricious circles, his mouth fixed in a permanent "ooh!" of wonder. His awe was not misplaced, for this was beyond doubt the most unusual collection Arilyn had ever seen. Many of the items were priceless; most were extremely valuable; some were merely odd.

There were rare musical instruments, including, a six-foot harp with a soundboard that had been carved into the shape of a woman whose gilded fingers were poised over the strings. Magical, Arilyn surmised- awaiting a command to set it playing. Paintings, sculpture, and carvings from many lands filled several chambers. The art of taxidermy was also represented: rare beasts, some of which had not been seen alive for several generations, filled an entire room. There were piles of coins from every land Arilyn had ever heard named, and enough rare books to satisfy a dozen voracious scholars. There was an entire shelf of brilliantly colored vases, fashioned by fire salamanders from melted semiprecious gems. There were jewel-encrusted swords, crowns of long-dead monarchs, court gowns embroidered with silk thread and seed pearls, and a golden scepter inscribed with the runes of some far-eastern lands. Among these treasures of gems and gold Arilyn finally found the item she sought: a delicate, filigreed tiara set with a multitude of pale purple amethysts.

The Harper carefully wrapped the crown in a soft cloth and tucked it into her bag. Time to go," she said, turning to her dwarven shadow.

"That's it? That's all we're taking outta here?" the dwarf demanded. When Arilyn nodded, he immediately began to snatch up small items and stuff them into his pockets. "Back wages," he said in a defensive tone. "Been working here for more'n ten years. Fm owed."

Arilyn didn't begrudge the dwarf his due, but gold was heavy, and she worried about the weight ha was adding to his already considerable bulk. "We're swimming out," she cautioned him.

The dwarf abruptly ceased his looting and stared at her, his face growing pale above his beard. "Not the well spring?"

When the Harper nodded, he groaned and then shrugged. "Ah, well. Always knowed I'd be a-goin' out that way sooner or later-suppose it's better to go it alive! But tell me this: what's waiting fer us in there?"

Arilyn told him. The dwarf pursed his lips and considered, then he emptied some of the booty from his pockets and selected a curved, jewel-encrusted dagger as his principal treasure.

They retraced their steps to the exit. The door to the first chamber was in sight when one of the treasures- a long case pushed up against the far wall-caught Arilyn's eye. The case was covered by a low, rounded dome of dusty glass, and through the film she glimpsed something that looked suspiciously like a woman's form. Curious, the Harper walked over and used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe clean a small circular window. She bent and peered in.

Within the case was the body of a beautiful elven female, not alive, but not exactly what Arilyn understood as dead, either. The elf looked-empty. There was no other word for it. The essence of the elf woman was gone, leaving her body behind in some form of deep stasis. How long she had stayed so Arilyn could not say, but the elf's ornaments were of ancient design, and the chain mail that draped her slender form was finer and older than any Arilyn had ever seen.

The elf was also disturbingly familiar. A single thick braid the color of spun sapphires lay over one shoulder. It was the rarest hair color among moon elves, a color Arilyn associated with her long-dead mother. The elf s face was also somehow familiar, although in truth she resembled no one whom Arilyn could name or remember.

The Harper's troubled gaze roved downward and stopped abruptly. Resting on the elf s thighs was a small shield emblazoned with a strange elven sigil: a curving design made of mirror images reaching out to each other, but not quite touching.

Arilyn's heart missed a beat. She knew that mark. An icy fist seemed to clutch her gut as she slowly pulled her sword from its sheath. Nine runes were cut into the ancient blade; one of them matched exactly the mark on the elf woman's shield.

"Well, 111 be a one-headed ettin," the dwarf murmured, his eyes round as he peered into the case. "A sounder sleep than any I've ever had, and that's a feet! I heard tell o' such a thing. Didn't believe the stories fer a minute, though."

Arilyn didn't know which story he referred to, but it hardly mattered. She herself had heard many such bedtime tales-of sleeping princesses or heroes who lay hidden in deathlike slumber until a time of crisis brought them forth-and never had she given any of them a speck of credence. There was something about this slumbering elf, however, that made all the old legends seem possible. For once Arilyn rued her lack of knowledge of elven ways, and her near-ignorance of the sword she carried.