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From below him, from another room of the turret, came the faint piping of a
glaurist blowing the mournful melody of an old ballad:
Good fortune comes, fleeting, and then it is gone But the heart heavy with
weeping must carry on 0 hick comes and stays like winter's cold snow Always
you
must weather more than one blow... Ilthond spread his hands in a grand
flourish
to finish the spellcasting and vanished. The floating, disembodied eyeball of
a
wizard eye spell that had been watching him from beneath the table winked out
and was also gone.
"Of course she'll live, if ye get out of my way for a breath or two!" Rathan
roared, "Lanseril, stay here to work healing magid Rold, ye saved her; ye
stay
by her, too. Florin, bring Narm over here ... be he awake yet? All others,
get
ye hence! Betow stairs, the lot of ye! Mourngrym, ye and Shaeri may stay, of
course. The rest clear out! Get ye gone!"
"Narm stirs," Jhessail reported tersely. "We shall take this guardsman, if
Rold
has not quite slain him, and learn the whys of this." She gestured with her
head
to the gathered guards to move Culthar's body, and then added, "All
others back to your posts, please. Our thanks for your haste in coming." The
guards saluted her and left.
A group of gawking servants and pages drifted back a pace or two at Rathan's
words, but remained to watch. Florin laid Narm down gently upon a hastily
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found
sleeping-fur, letting his bruised head down with care, and looked up at the
onlookers. After a few moments of his silent, steady gaze, the gawkers began
to
shuffle away.
"How is she?" he asked, looking at Shandril's still face.
"Well enough," Rathan replied, "considering the blow to the wits she got. I
only
hope that it has not somehow harmed her ability to wield spellfire, now that
half of Faerun seems to be attacking her to gain it." He and Florin exchanged
a
sober glance.
"Why would just one guard attack her?" Mourngrym muttered, frowning.
"One seemed to do well enough," Shaeri replied, gesturing at the two still
forms
at their feet.
"No, love; I meant I would expect to find other attackers near at hand."
The Lord of Shadowdale turned. "Rold, I want this tower searched, forthwith,
this floor first. Jhessail, will you rouse Olistyl and stand guard over our
two
guests, here? I shall remain also." He drew his slim, jeweled sword, set it
point down before him, and leaned upon it. Shaeri nodded and knelt by Narm,
who
had begun to moan faintly.
Florin knelt on one knee beside him, and was ready with gravely strong arms
when
the young conjurer suddenly surged up, arms flailing. "Where's ? Shandril!
Danger! Beware! Danger!"
"Aye... aye," Florin agreed gently, holding him. "Danger it was, indeed. Stay
still now, and we can see to your lady."
"Shandril? How "
"Quiet and still, please. If you will heed, you will learn. She lies behind
you;
Rathan and Lanseril tend her."
"I yes, I shall." Narm sank back, wincing as his head came to rest again upon
the furs. "What happened?"
"Narm lay quiet and still as he was bid, that's what happened," the Lady
Shaeri
said severely.
Narm grimaced, and then he heard Shandril say softly, "I
thank you. Narm was hurt; have you seen to him?" His heart knew peace and he
was
asleep within a breath, not even hearing Hainan's reply.
It was dark in the blanket room and close, smelling of pomander and moth-mix.
Ilthond stifled a sneeze, nodded in satisfaction at his accurate teleporting,
and listened. He could hear nothing. Well enough. Tb work, then.
The mage worked invisibility upon himself, then cautiously eased the door open
a
crack. The corridor beyond seemed empty. He stole forth and looked about.
Belter and better, he thought. Ilthond muttered a spell of flight and rose
high
to drift unseen along the corridor and search. No guards . . . why? Was
Shadowdale truly so lax and careless a place as all that? No, there must be
some
strife or alarm. ...
Around the corner came a dozen guards with drawn swords and forbidding,
intent
glares. Ilthond moved over and past them in careful silence. Where might the
young maid be? The tower's mortar was mixed with substances to prevent
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scrying,
but he was sure he'd find her anyway.
Perhaps she was up in the plainer but more secure rooms of the levels above,
or
down below, as befitted a guest of importance. The greater risk probably lay
downward but so, too, did almost all chances of learning who was where, and
doing what. Ah well, a short, risky road leads fastest to the top, they say...
,
Ilthond reached the stairs and headed down, keeping near the sloping stone
ceiling. Carefully and quietly he went, like a silent shadow. He searched,
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