"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."
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.