Narnra stared at him. "So you went away, and my mother had me. Are you saying I'm consecrated to Shar-a creature of the Mistress of the Night from birth?"
"No," Elminster replied gravely, "or I'd have blasted ye to ash when first I read thy mind. Only created creatures and those born of the gods or their avatars or beings the gods spend much time mind-meddling with while yet unborn come from the womb 'belonging' to this deity or that. All the rest of us are free to choose our faith-influenced by any who may try to sway us, of course. Ye are Narnra Shalace, free to choose. Shar-or Mystra, for that matter-could possess and control thy body but would burn it out in hours or days by the very might of their manifestation. Failing that, ye're free to choose as ye will. I am not free. Bound to Mystra am I-but Mystra desires all mortal creatures to possess the freedom given them by personally wielding magic."
"A sword in every hand," Narnra muttered. "Which inevitably leads to much spilled blood."
El bowed his head. "The highest price of freedom is always its misuse by many."
Narnra turned away. "Mother seldom wore that pendant," she murmured to the tea-shelf, running her fingers along it as if answers were going to sprout helpfully among the jars.
Elminster kept silent, waiting.
His daughter turned around and looked at him in clear challenge. "What if I tell you now that I defy your moral claptrap, Father, and go my own way, stealing and thieving and never speaking to you again?"
"That's thy choice, and by Mystra's grace ye're free to make it. I'll still give ye those baubles I spoke of, my promise of welcome here whenever ye desire it, my friendship if ye'll have it, and my fond regard even if ye don't."
"And if I fling all that in your teeth, meddling old wizard?"
"That will be my loss and sorrow," Elminster told his tankard quietly.
"Damn you, old man!" Narnra said, hurling what was left of her tea into his face as she sprang up. "Damn you!"
Elminster sat with tea dripping off his nose and beard, and replied calmly, "My damnation happened centuries ago the first time-and again some dozen times since."
"Save such words for someone who'll be impressed!" Narnra snarled and strode back through the dusty gloom to the door, snatching it open.
Florin stood just outside, arms folded, blocking her way.
She put her head down and charged right into him, punching viciously.
The ranger stood like immovable stone, absorbing her punishment, and called calmly, "Elminster?"
"Let her go her way," came the calm reply. "She's discovering that growing up is painful-when she thought she'd finished with growing up some time ago."
Florin nodded and bowed to the furious, now-weeping Narnra, indicating that her way was clear with a wave of his hand.
She stormed past him in tears, striding angrily out to where the flagstone path forked. Ahead was the road-where a few carts were creaking past, bearing farmers of Shadowdale who glanced her way curiously-and to her right was a placid pool. She stood trembling for a moment. . . then turned right.
At the water's edge was a large, flat rock. Narnra threw herself down on it and gazed at the water, muttering soft curses.
He went away and left me. He just went away. And Mother died.
All this alone, all this clawing for coins and food, all this risking my neck for years in Waterdeep . . .
And now I'm snatched away from home, and halfway across Faerun with no way back, bound to another meddling wizard. All because of him.
And he sits there like an old stone gargoyle, looking down from the ramparts of his years and being sad that I don't make the same mistakes he did. Bah!
Narnra sprang to her feet and kicked at the earth, seeking to drive a stone-any stone-into the water. The pond was like glass, her reflection as clear as any mirror. She struck a pose. Huh; the Silken Shadow indeed.
Furiously she kicked at the earth again. Grass and dirt foun-tained, and one tiny pebble flew, bounced, and found the water.
She watched its spreading rings for a time, and sat down to do so. This place was beautiful. She lifted her gaze and looked around. A castle keep-built with a strange twist to it-across this meadow, a cart-road off to her left with a few mule-carts being led out onto it, a rock twice the height of Waterdeep Castle rising right up out of the grass to her right, behind his tower . . .
Atop it, helmed heads and a few spears. She was being watched. Even here.
You bastard, old man. You suspicious old . .. but no. Banners are flapping up there, no one's moving-except there, to point down at the road. They're watching the road.
I suppose someone will always be watching, wherever I go.
A gentle breeze arose, fresh and fragrant with wildflowers, and Narnra lifted her face to catch it, and looked around at the rustling trees and waving grass.
This was a fair place. It must be nice to live here. Wherever "here" was.
Some time later, Elminster quietly sat down beside Narnra and steered a fresh mug of tea into her hand. "Ye, ahem, threw away the chance to finish yours," he said gently.
Narnra gave him a red-eyed glance and-after a long moment- took the tea.
Saying nothing, she quickly looked away, and sat cradling it and staring at the pool.
After a time, she absently sipped it.
A little later, she risked a glance to her right. Elminster was sitting silently beside her, looking out over the pool rather than at her, his unlit pipe floating in the air near at hand.
Is he just going to sit there? Waiting for me to beg his forgiveness, cry for his acceptance, say I love him? Knowing I can't run from him, don't even know where to run to, and that he can blast me whenever he wants?
I threw my tea in his face, shouted at him-why hasn't he blasted me already?
What's he afraid of?
Narnra shot a glance at her father. He didn't look afraid of anything. He was smelling the breeze, nose lifted, a half-smile on his face.
He doesn't look afraid, he looks smug. Damn him. Oh, yes, too late for that. Such big words, such calm claims. Smug old man.
She drew in a ragged breath, looked away, and sipped from her tankard again.
It was getting cold-but grew warmer, even as she drew back and made a face at it.
Narnra glared at Elminster. "Are you using your magic on this?"
"Of course," he said gently. "Ye prefer it warm, d'ye not?"
She regarded him, hefting the tankard in her hand as if she might throw it at him. Again. "And you always use your magic to do what other people prefer?"
"Nay. Most folk don't even know what they prefer. Most never stop to think." He turned his head to watch some flower petals drift by. "Do they?"
You mean that as some sort of a thrust at me, old man? You think clever words can change everything?
Narnra turned her back on her father again.
Every time she turned around again, however, he was still there. He smiled at her once or twice, but she gave him stony silence. After a while, she started watching him.
He sat and looked around at Shadowdale, not seeming to mind.
Later, her tankard empty, Narnra murmured, "This place is beautiful."
"Aye. I sit here often. Dawn, sunrise, sunset, and dusk offer the best views, of course. If ye want to bathe, soap-flakes and hair-scent are under yon rock."
Narnra gave him a startled look. "You expect me to stay?"
Elminster shook his head. "I expect nothing-but I offered ye welcome at any time ye might care to claim it, and ye might arrive some day desiring to get cool or clean or wash the blood of someone ye disagreed with off ye, so 'tis handy to know where the soap is."
"I suppose you have drying robes waiting under some other rock?"
"No, but if ye go and lie on yonder stone, yell find it both heats and sucks away the damp. The black velvet butterfly hanging on the shrub beside it is one of Jhessail Silvertree's hair-slides. She comes here often to lay her hair out in a fan to get it properly dry."