Multi-hued light flickered briefly through Silme's aura. "Forgive me, lady. The spell you seek is within my power but not part of my repertoire. I can't help you."

Fearing to lose a chance at sight, the dream-reader persisted. "A mage of your rank has disciples. Surely one of them:" She trailed to silence, awaiting the sorceress' reply.

Silme's life aura shimmered and swelled as she weighed alternatives. "The cost of spells for conju -ration and exchange would exceed that necessary to heal you. They would weaken me."

The dream-reader said nothing, aware Silme's need for her services could bargain better than words.

"Even then," continued Silme, "I couldn't be certain the contacted wizard would agree to help you."

"I ask only that you try." The dream-reader tried to sound humble. "Nothing more."

"All right then," Silme responded in a hoarse whisper. She walked away from her companions and crouched on the frozen soil. Her life aura blazed like wind-stoked fire, then folded around her in a glimmering shield. Gaelinar strode forward and positioned himself before her, eyes watchful, hands tensed at his sides.

A slight smile shivered across the dream-reader's lips as she turned her attention to Larson. She shifted her shriveled hands to his shoulders. Sweat soaked through the fresh cloth of his tunic. He trembled slightly as a rising breeze flicked soft, pale hair and the folds of his newly-purchased silk cape against the reader's wrists. "Concentrate on your dream, so I can locate it," she informed him gently. "And try to lower your defenses."

The dream-reader knew her final suggestion was ineffectual routine. Only men accustomed to mental searches could withdraw defenses with any success. Thought invasion induced reflexive closure of the mind and its secrets. Anticipating a long session of relaxation techniques, the dream-reader thrust her consciousness toward the elf.