One moment, I lay stretched out in my too-soft bed, staring at the gilded, cherub-infested ceiling. In the next, I found myself strolling through a land that had seen better times. The moon hung overhead like a giant, malevolent eye. There were no trees, no green, only a few patches of broken gray stumps clinging in desperation to the parched ground. Only the wind showed signs of life. It whipped grit at me with unrelenting fury. Pebbles rang on my armor with dissonant chimes.

It was my old armor that I wore. The black spiked mail clutched me in a cold, comforting embrace. I had my favorite greatsword slung over my back as well, the one with which I'd nearly conquered the Sword Coast. I didn't have to draw it to see, I just knew it in that disconcerting way of dreams. Panic gripped my chest at the thought that I was dreaming again. There had to be some reason I'd come to this hellhole, and maybe it had nothing to do with her.

So I kept going, sweeping my eyes from side to side. Nothing moved under the harsh moonlight except for wind and rock. Loneliness gnawed at me with dull teeth. I felt like I was the only one left in the world.

A streak of ivory caught my eye. I kept walking, keeping my eyes peeled for the source, and in due time, I found it. A row of skeletons nestled face down in the ground, arms extended towards me, looking for all the world like they were kowtowing. It gave me the creeps. The wind roared, blowing up gigantic choking clouds. I shut my eyes and coughed, but the wind was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. When I opened my eyes again, the land was covered with skeletons as far as I could see. All face down, all bowing. To me.

A dame appeared at my side. It was Tamoko. A long black gown wrapped itself around her curves, the hem stirring up tiny puffs of gray dust. If she'd been alive and kicking, she would have worn a frown the size of Waterdeep. She'd always hated dresses. The skirts got in the way of her scabbard, or so she'd told me whenever I bought her something frilly. But here, her white face remained calm, and perhaps just a little smug, as if she knew something I didn't and wasn't about to let me in on the secret.

"What the hell is going on here?" I asked, half-expecting some nonsense about how I'd never loved her.

"It is your triumph, Master." Her crimson lips drew back in a smile, but her eyes remained flat and dead. "Do you like it?"

"Can't say I do, doll." I noticed a rose quartz ring on the finger of the closest skeleton. It was Imoen's favorite ring, two gold bands twisted together around the pale stone. My throat closed up, and I could have sworn I was getting misty around the eyes.

Tamoko's soft chuckle made my skin crawl more than seeing my sister's bones in the dust. "Surely you jest, darling. This is your deepest desire, the fruit of your ambitions. You have that which you have craved, your father's throne. The power of Murder lies at your command."

"Power? The hell you say! They defeated me, remember?" The words tasted bitter on my lips, but I thought they might slap some sense into Tamoko. No such luck.

"Not you. Never you. They thought they could stop you, the fools, but of all your brethren, only you possessed the strength and the will to use the gifts of your blood. You were the most ruthless, and so you broke them, crushed them under your heel."

"Quit trying to scare me. I'd never do that." Of course, that was a lie, and we both knew it. I'd have sold my own mother for a shot at the big time, if I'd known her.

Tamoko laughed again. I wanted to shake her and make those slanted dark eyes come back to life. Only if I did, she'd probably set herself on fire again, and I'd had enough of that. So I settled for yelling. "What's so funny, huh? What the hell's wrong with you?"

She melted into a murder of crows, and I flung my arm up as they grazed my cheeks and shot up into the inky sky. They circled me at a distance, laughing at me. No matter how I tried to block my ears, I could still hear them cawing my name over and over again, "Sarevok... Sarevok..."

"SAREVOK!!!"

I must have leapt ten feet into the air. It sure hurt like it when I landed on the floor. Imoen stood over me, her eyes as big as anhkeg eggs. She looked like she was trying to decide whether to laugh or scream. Finally, she decided on the hidden third option, concern.

"Are you okay, Sarry?"

"Yeah. I'm just peachy."

"You were dreaming about her again, weren't you?"

"None of your business," I croaked.

"Hah! I can tell. You've got that tragic look about you. Or maybe that's a hangover."

"Shut your fat yap!"

Imoen hunkered down on the floor and tried to help me up. "You've gotta lay off the booze, Sarry," she told me, her chirp at its most annoying. "It's going to kill you one of these days."

I sat up and shook her tiny paws off my back. "For a know-it-all, you sure don't know much. Go pour me some coffee, will you?"

Imoen stood and glared down at me. "Fine. I'll be sure to add a good dose of common sense." She slammed the door on my retort.

I got dressed and began to shave, still fuming. Imoen's words stung like a knife in the back. Lay off the hooch, lay off the cigars, next she'd be telling me to quit wenching. What the hell did she know? She'd never needed the stuff. She didn't have these crazy dreams night after night. She--

I swore and peered in the ritzy mirror. I'd cut myself. Sis always said not to shave when angry. Damn her for being right. After stopping the blood with a fluffy pink towel, I stomped downstairs.

The girls had the sense not to notice the nick on my jaw. We ate, Imoen and I said our goodbyes, and we were on our way. Truth to tell, I was glad to be out of that house. It was grand seeing Sis, even under the circumstances, but it felt even better to be back on the street.

Imoen cast a wistful eye back at the over-decorated front gate. "I miss Miri already. It was just like old times to be there, well, except for the murder and all. Think we'll see her again soon?"

"I doubt it. She doesn't need us anymore, not with her knight in shining armor around."

"You mean Anomen?"

"Who else would I mean? He follows her around like a hungry puppy."

She giggled at the image, but soon sobered. "Miri wouldn't take up with him. Not like this."

I snorted. Imoen had a blind spot the size of Amn when it came to her sister. "Don't be an idiot. You think Sis is perfect, but she's only human. And hearts heal fast, faster than you think."

"Except for yours."

"I thought I told you to shut up about that," I said in the most menacing voice I could muster.

"Geez, Mister McGrumpy Pants. Whatever you say."

We walked in silence for a grand total of five minutes.

"Hey, where are we going anyway?"

"To see if Trade's gotten Farrahd."

She cocked her head to one side. "What for? He's a big boy, you know. He doesn't need any help from you."

I couldn't explain the nagging uncertainty in the back of my head, so I passed it off as a bad joke. "Call it professional curiosity."

"That's what I used to tell Winthrop when he caught me in the cellars sampling his ale." She punched my arm, cheerful once more. "Never worked, though."

We entered the guardhouse and headed straight for Trade's office. A secretary decorated the desk outside his door. Imoen nodded at her, and I touched my hat. She smiled. I knew her type. Blonde hair, brown nose. She had a face that brought the boys running and legs that kept them coming back for more. On an ordinary day, I'd never let a dame like that pass me by. But this was no ordinary day, and I was running short on time. I reached for the doorknob. She didn't try to stop me.

Imoen and I stepped inside. Trade's digs were neat and tidy, as usual, furnished in butterscotch leather and gleaming steel. The only messy thing was Trade. He sat slumped in his chair, scowling.

"How's it going, Inspector?" asked Imoen.

Trade picked up a pig-shaped pewter paperweight and whipped it at his filing cabinet. It dented the side and bounced back, landing on the floor with a thud. From the look of the cabinet, he'd been doing this for a while.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"Farrahd walked."

"Without questioning?"

"Yep."

Imoen's mouth flapped open. Trade couldn't have taken her more by surprise if he'd blasted her with a fireball. Unless he'd run her over with a griffin first.

"You're kidding me," she exclaimed. "You actually let the guy go? Was he innocent?"

Trade shook his head and scowled, looking ten years older and twenty years meaner. "He had the pretty words and the golden handshake. We had to let him go."

"You guards are all alike. You'd think you'd never seen money before." Imoen gave Trade one last disgusted look before turning to me. "Think he might be open to a little company?"

I knew that look in her eye. Nine times out of ten, it meant trouble. "Let the guards handle it, kid. Sis doesn't need our help anymore, remember?"

"Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud, Sarry. You know we'd be much better at getting the truth out of him."

"Forget it," said Trade. "It would take a miracle to get you into that house, and the Cowlies have outlawed miracles."

"Miracles? No problem. I am an archmage, you know." Imoen waved a hand, cutting off Trade's half-hearted protest. "I'm licensed by the Cowled Wizards, so there's nothing illegal about my magic, and nobody can pick a lock like I can."

"I'm not denying that you have certain talents," said Trade, throwing a worried glance my way. "I just don't think it's a good idea, that's all."

"Why do you have to be so boring, huh? We could get in and out of that place in thirty minutes, no problem. Farrahd would never know what hit him. Isn't that right, Sarry?"

I knew she'd go without me if I threw in the towel. And, more likely than not, she'd find herself up to her neck in hot water. What else could I do but agree?