The Red Wizard cast a quick glance at Florin, whose sword was now drawn back for a deadly throw, then gave both Narnra and Elminster odd looks, snatched the floating wand out of the air-and vanished.
Elminster calmly muttered something, waved at the place Starangh had been, and turned away, offering Narnra his hand.
She did not take it, but followed him up the flagstone path to his squat, leaning rough-stone Tower.
"Not much of a grand fortress, is it?" she asked tartly.
He shrugged. "We heartless monsters must make do."
Not quite hiding a smile, Florin opened the door for them, waving them within with a grand gesture that was only slightly spoiled by being made with a handful of still-dripping fish.
"Enter within," he said. "Old Lord Walking Blame and guest. I'll stand guard here for returning Red Wizards, whilst you . . ."
"Try to learn to speak civil words to each other," Narnra replied a little wearily, stepping past him into the dusty gloom.
Behind her back, the two men exchanged glances. Elminster nodded to the ranger, said gently, "Do that," and went inside.
* * * * *
In a high window not far away across Shadowdale, Storm Sil-verhand lounged with harp in hand, singing softly to herself. Her farm chores were done, and it was time and past time to take some ease, even for daughters of Mystra . . .
In mid-song she became aware of a shimmering below as her wards sprang to life. She stilled her strings to call, "Yes?"
Standing in her courtyard, ringed with crawling blue fire, was a gaunt, trim-bearded man holding something under his cloak. "Good lady," he greeted her gravely, "I am Alaphondar Emmarask, High Royal Sage of Cormyr, and I bring a thing most precious with me. Pray banish your fires."
Storm set aside her harp and swung herself through the window, floating gently down to join her unexpected guest. She made an intricate one-handed gesture as she descended, awakening an unseen magic that seemed to satisfy her. Her next gesture made the flames sink away to nothingness.
"Be welcome, Lord Sage," she said politely. "Will you stay, take shelter, and dine? I've pheasant roasting over one hearth and a cauldron of rabbit stew a-building in the other."
"Thank you, Lady Silverhand. I cannot say what my reply to your kind offer will be until I have your decision as to my . . . burden."
"The king you're hiding under your cloak? He's right welcome, too," Storm said dryly. "I'll endeavour to keep you both safe-and unseen. No doubt some in Cormyr would be quite upset to learn you're here, and others . . . would become all too eager."
Alaphondar's smile was rueful. "Lady, you state matters very well. I'll stay if you'll have me. How strong are your wards?"
Storm's smile was broader than his. "I am a Chosen of Mystra," she reminded him gently. "Take off your boots, soak your feet in yonder oil, and let me have a good look at the next scourge of womanhood in the Heartlands."
Alaphondar winced. "Lady . . ." he started to protest then fell silent.
"I have my own reputation," Storm replied, "remember? Which reminds me: How is Fee?"
Alaphondar winced again. "Harpers see all, indeed. My royal lady was well and happy when we parted some hours ago. I hope-oh, gods, I hope-that I shall see her so again, soon."
"You," Storm said, sliding an arm around his shoulders, "need a drink. Sit you down, and I'll get a scrying-crystal-and you can watch over Filfaeril whenever you desire. Now, off with those boots, and haul forth young Azoun before he suffocates under that dirty old cloak of yours!"
* * * * *
Narnra shook her head at the dusty stacks of parchment and books crowding all around her and seemed eager to escape to the spartan, less-cluttered kitchen, where a pass of Elminster's hand made the hearthfire rise under a kettle. The Old Mage pointed at a shelf. "Teas. Choose."
Narnra dubiously examined the jars thereon. "Dragonskull?"
"Just a little," Elminster replied. "Powdered fine, of course."
Narnra gave him an incredulous look. "So what," she asked chal-lengingly, "dare I assume is in tea labelled 'Finest Thayan She-Slave Skin'-as this jar is?"
"One of Lhaeo's little jests. I'm sure it's far from the 'finest' skin."
Narnra sighed, shook her head and defiantly held out the Thayan jar to Elminster. He took it without a word.
Silence stretched between them-enlivened by the climbing cry of the kettle-until Narnra became restless.
"So impart," she said, peering around the little kitchen, "some of that dusty old advice you spoke of."
"We all have to die and can take nothing of mortal riches or power with us," Elminster replied promptly. "I've died several times already-and on at least two occasions started over with nothing, not even my name. So unless the cold decay of undeath beckons ye, remember, it ends for us all. What matters is what we do with the brief time we have."
"Your time hasn't been so brief," Narnra flared.
Elminster bowed his head. "That is my curse."
Narnra stared at him then folded her arms and asked, "Why did you leave my mother?"
Elminster stepped forward to take hold of her shoulders. They stared into each other's eyes, noses only inches apart.
"Lass," he said gently, "just being near me gets folk killed. I speak now not of foes I smite or fools who make reckless attempts to exploit my power or presence to further their own dangerous causes, but folk who simply get in the way or come to the notice of those who love me not. I know of-and knew well-over two hundred 'hes' and 'shes' of all the lands and races ye could think of who died in torment because some more powerful foe thought I might have given something or told something of importance to them … or just to lure me within reach or cause me distress when I learned of the torture later. And so-"
"And so you wrap this sorrowful 'I must do thus and so for the protection of others' explanation around yourself like a cloak and prance through life wenching and using everyone who comes within reach as if they were your personal chambermaids, hmm?"
"Fair enough," Elminster said calmly, stepping back to pour two large tankards of tea, "I suppose I do. Armed with this knowledge, ye'lldo-what?"
Narnra stared at him, chin balanced on her knuckles, and said, "Ask you again: Why did you leave Maerjanthra Shalace, after wooing and bedding her?"
"To answer ye properly," the Old Mage replied gravely, "I must know the answer to a question of my own. Have ye ever seen this before?" He dipped a finger into his steaming tea, drew a complicated symbol on the table between them with its wetness, let her gaze at it for a moment, and swiftly wiped it away.
Narnra sat back, strangely excited. "No-no," she said, frowning, "I don't think so. Wait. A jewel Mother crafted . . . and wore as a pendant, for a time. Why?"
"Tis a symbol of the goddess Shar," Elminster murmured, "who among other things works against She whom I serve."
"Mystra. You mean . . . what do you mean?"
"All gods and goddesses work through mortals. Shar is one whose manipulations are legendary. Deservedly legendary."
Narnra frowned. "You think Shar was using my mother to influence you?"
El nodded.
"But that's ridiculous! That's-"
"What happened. I was in thy mother's arms, tongue to tongue, eye to eye. I felt the darkness slide into her and reach for me. So did she and whimpered and clung to me the tighter. I thrust her away and departed out the window, glass and frame and all, as fast as I could move. Had I remained, I'd have been taken or Mae-rjanthra would have been consumed in Shar's hunger to corrupt me. Rather than bearing ye, thy mother would have been left a crumbling husk."