The other, higher-voiced man chuckled. "Dauntless who loves them so. Heh, they've probably seen more of scenic Halfhap, these Knights, to suit them all their lives!"
"Which may soon be ended, if they keep on like this," the first and deeper voice responded. "We can't go galloping along behind them, healing them wherever they wander in Faerun. Priest, are you about done? I'll lay odds this one lying here is awake and listening to us, right now."
A gentle boot kicked one leg of Florin's cot, and he judged it the right time to groan and stir and seem to slowly come awake.
"You're fooling no one," the deep-voiced man said from somewhere close above him.
Florin opened one bleary eye and mumbled, "Wha-?" with a clumsiness he did not have to feign. His mouth and throat felt like someone had stuffed a dusty rag down them and left it there, and his aches were growing stronger. His fingertips ached.
A lantern was moved closer, to shed light on his face. The ranger Knight blinked, his eyes suddenly warering, and tried to stare past its glare at the dark stone vault of the ceiling. He could see at least four faces looking down at him, all belonging to men who looked like soldiers. "What," he asked them slowly, "is this place?"
"One of the two western gate towers of Halfhap, gateway to everywhere," the deep-voiced man said, a distinct touch of cynical amusement in his voice. Florin's answering groan required no acting, either. "We Purple Dragons are trying to make sure you manage to travel on east from here, this time, and actually reach Shadowdale."
"On the road," Florin mumbled, trying to sound more dazed than he really was. "Outlaws. Lots of them. Took an arrow. The others, my companions. How fared they?"
"They'll all live, thanks to our priests-and the queen's commands. Try not to play arrow-catchers, next time. It is fortunate that you entertained unfriendly archers right on the royal high road just as our largest patrol of the day came riding along. We routed those dark'swords and brought you all back here."
"All? We numbered-"
"All. Or so your sharp-tongued little flamehair affirms. She doesn't much like being questioned."
"Aye," Florin agreed. "That's… her."
Above him, Purple Dragon officers chuckled in unison.
"Fortunate we were," he added slowly, try to play innocent but fishing for a truth he already suspected, "that you happened along then. 'Twas almost as if you were sent to follow the Knights of Myth Drannor and see them safely through your patrol area."
The Dragons didn't disappoint him. "We were assigned just that task," the deep-voiced commander told him. "If you know the truth, perhaps you'll succeed in swaying your companions-the ones called Pennae and Semoor in particular-to behave themselves."
"Your candor," Florin told the officer-an ornrion, balding and with what little hair he had left gray-white at his temples-"is appreciated."
"I'll bet." The ornrion did not quite smile. "The Royal Magician ordered us to send out patrols and shepherd you out of Cormyr, trailing behind you unseen until needed. We were to make very sure you didn't turn aside into hiding to try to stay in Cormyr or get caught up in troubles along the way."
"As we did," Florin said, a little wearily. "We seem to be good at getting caught up in trouble."
"A judgment I share," the ornrion agreed, wearing a smile at last. "You owe your lives to the diligence of Lionar Threave, as it happens. It was he who insisted on doubling up two of our usual patrols and bringing along Wizard of War Rathanna"-a homely, unsmiling woman in dark robes stepped into view from behind the ornrion's shoulder and gave Florin a nod-"and our priest, Maereld, Able Hand of Torm. With their aid, you Knights were healed and brought here to Halfhap. You'll night over here in the gate-tower, and we'll see you all fed in the morning, given what remounts you need, and attended by holycoats to lead you in prayers. Then we'll let you forth-to go around Halfhap, mind, and ride on."
Florin sighed. "You'll not be escorting us, just to be sure?"
The ornrion half-smiled. "Oh, someone will. If Tymora smiles, you'll not meet with them. They're led by someone who's fast becoming an old friend of yours."
Florin sighed again. Dauntless, for all the coins in his purse.
He politely didn't ask the ornrion for confirmation. He was beginning to be able to read the manner shared by many Purple Dragon officers, and that particular half-smile meant "expect to receive no answers."
"Thanks for my life," he said instead. It seemed the polite thing to do.
Chapter 4
Just such a task
The realm needs saving again? No need have ye to even ask Every Purple Dragon we rrain Works daily at just such a task
The tapestry had barely fallen back into place behind the departing Lady Targrael when Laspeera slipped into the room from behind another one. "That one is on the proverbial sword edge," she said.
Vangerdahast shrugged. "Send one problem after another. If they destroy each other, that's two fewer we must deal with."
"IfT Laspeera said doubtfully. "No Wizard of War riding with Dauntless, hey? So is it to be the belt-buckle method?"
The Royal Magician shook his head. "Rumors about that are finally beginning to drift from Dragon to Dragon. No, I want the spells cast on items no Purple Dragon will leave behind: his codpiece and boots. Belts they can-and will-contrive to change, so cast something swift and worthless over those, to fool them. Their cods, and both boots, mind, are to be enchanted so that I-and you and Tathanter-can listen through them at will. See to it."
Laspeera nodded. "Wouldn't it be easier to just-?"
"Send a Wizard of War riding along with them? And have Dauntless blind and foil us at a time of his choosing by arranging matters so 'something happens' to our mage? I think not. Our loyal ornrion is proving to have… surprising depths."
Laspeera nodded again and smiled. "I'll see to it." Bowing her head, she turned and departed the way she'd come, the tapestry swirling gently in her wake.
She was careful not to sigh until she was no less than three closed panels away from her irascible superior.
Like almost every mage of the Brotherhood, Mauliykhus of the Zhentarim was ambitious. Wherefore he was going to dare this casting, risky though it was.
He had locked and barred two sets of iron-bound doors between himself and the common passage in Zhentil Keep, and there was nothing suspicious in that.
He had his orders from Lord Manshoon, spell-workings that were both dangerous and would yield results that should be kept secrer from stray eyes. Wherefore the shielding scepter was resting in its holder, in the heart of the flickering yellow-green flame of the brazier to which he'd so carefully added powders, and no one but the most powerful archmage should be able to spy on what he did next.
Which was a good thing, because he intended to disobey both the leader of the Zhentarim and one of its most powerful and mysterious mages.
Manshoon had given him a working to perform:-just such a task as he needed for an excuse to raise a shielding-and Mauliykhus was going to do something else instead.
And that "something else" was a casting that Hesperdan had just specifically ordered him not, under any circumstances, to attempt.
No fell creature of the Abyss was to be contacted, for any reason, until he received explicit orders otherwise from either Hesperdan or Manshoon himself.
Mauliykhus had no idea if Hesperdan suspected what he planned and was trying to prevent him-or goad him into doing it in all haste, for that mattet-by forbidding him to seek out a demon… or if all Zhentarim were forbidden from demonic contact, forthwith. It soundedlike the latter, but Hesperdan was very good at imparting impressions without actually saying what you thought he'd said. Hrast him.