The usual choking and coughing erupted almost immediately, but Narnra was too weak to do more than quiver and thrash . . . for the first few moments.
Rhauligan rode her bucking, arching body grimly through the wilder moments that followed, knowing the restless pain that such healing brought-then rolled her over with brutal efficiency and snatched out what he carried in his other boot: lengths of dark, waxed binding cord.
By the time her wrists were bound together and secured to the back of her own belt, Narnra was fully healed, and twisting with a furious energy that brought a wry smile to her captor's lips.
"None of that, lass," he told her merrily, as he spun Narnra around by the elbows and hauled her to her feet. "You're off to the Mage Royal for questioning. You can, of course, thank me for your life later."
Narnra's answer was to turn her head as sharply as she could and spit at him, kicking wildly at where she thought his nearest leg must be. She'd guessed rightly, but Glarasteer Rhauligan had suffered much worse than being kicked and spat on before and merely chuckled and shifted his stance.
"Come on, lass," he growled. "The chase is up, and Caladnei's not so bad as all tha-auuool"
Narnra sat down suddenly, thrusting out her behind into him-and the overbalanced Harper put out a foot to brace himself, brought it down on the edge of the toppled wardrobe, turned his ankle, and toppled helplessly. The Silken Shadow jerked, elbow-thrust, and twisted desperately to free herself from his grasp, and so bounced atop him but out of his hands when he crashed down onto the already-split back panel of the wardrobe.
"My clothes!" Starmara Dagohnlar moaned-as Narnra Shalace sprang up off the man who'd saved her life like a dark whirlwind and made for the window.
Rhauligan roared in pain and self-annoyance and rolled himself upright, ignoring the sudden cries from the floor of, "Rescue! Sir, a rescue! We're rich, we can pay! Help us, please!"
He was in time to see the faint rectangle of light at the window blotted out by Narnra's rushing body-then clear again. A moment later, there was a mighty splash from below.
The canal. She was going to drown herself in the gods-rotting canal.
With a growl of rising rage Glarasteer Rhauligan ran across the room, bounded once-and plunged through the window cleanly, heralding his own, mightier splash.
Durexter and Starmara Dagohnlar exchanged bewildered glances, but their bedchamber, as long moments dragged and passed, remained empty of suddenly appearing, charging and knife-waving hooded assailants … or any other unexpected new arrivals, either.
They regarded each other again . . . and in unspoken accord, stirred into action in unison, rolling and wriggling closer to one another.
"The gong-pull!" the lord merchant snarled, when he caught his breath. "Can you get upright and reach it?"
"I can't even feel my feet," his lady snapped, "and if you think I'm going to summon the servants in with the both of us mother-naked and bound like fowl for the roasting-spit . . . gods, Durr, don't you realize? They'd probably slit our throats with glee! Now, roll over so I can get my teeth to your wrists!"
A sudden groan from the wardrobe made them both freeze in fear. The hooded head thrusting up through splintered ruin turned groggily and groaned again.
"Hurry" Lord Durexter Dagohnlar snarled, knocking his forehead against his wife's in his urgency-and plunging her into a head-pain worse than she'd known for years. His breath was . . . even more fearsome.
Starmara's thoughts, as she rolled away from him and reared up, kicking her bound feet until she was sitting on the rucked and folded carpet, were murderous. For that, husband mine, you die. Not yet-not until we're safely next in Westgate-but you . . . you utter pig, Durr.
"Hurry," Lord Dagohnlar said again, almost pleading. "If we can kill Surth, we're safe. That fat fool Bezrar won't dare do anything without him. If Surth wakes and gets to us before we're free, it's us who'll be feeding the eels before dawn! So start gnawing!"
"You make me sound like a rat," Starmara hissed and started tugging with her teeth.
Wisely, Durexter did not reply.
* * * * *
The tireless wind whistled past Tharbost, whipping the Simbul's robe up nearly over her head.
THERE'S A SIMPLE CANTRIP . . .
"Highest," the Queen of Aglarond replied with a smile, tossing her hair unconcernedly, "I try never to waste magic on unimportant things. 'Tis so easy to fall into the habit of trying to steer every last little detail of Faerun, from where shadows fall to the color of turning leaves . . . and every use of the Weave has its consequences. I care little for garments, am comfortable in this torn old thing, and what matters it if you or El see my rump? We all have one, after all."
I STAND CHASTENED, Mystra's thunder came more quietly. YOUR VIEW IS THE RIGHT ONE. NEVER HESITATE TO SAY SUCH THINGS, EITHER OF YOU, FOR I HAVE A GREAT MOUNTAIN OF MUCHNESS STILL TO LEARN.
Elminster groaned. "Don't let thy priests hear that phrase, or they'll be falling off mountainsides all over Faerun."
Mystra's startled laughter sang around them with force enough to shatter small shards of rock from old Tharbost.
THANK YOU, OLD MAGE. I FEAR I CAN ONLY OFFER YOU POOR REPAYMENT: MORE ORDERS.
Elminster went to one knee. "Command me, Lady of Mysteries."
GET UP, OLD FRAUD [confusion] . . . AND ACCEPT, I ASK, MY APOLOGIES: YOU MEANT THAT, IN TRUTH.
"I did indeed."
Any deity has the power to bear down and open out any mortal mind like a book, to lay bare and read every last thought, feeling, and memory-but to do so in any manner but the slowest and most subtle way ruins the mind being examined.
Moreover, the Chosen of Mystra held a measure of her own power. It flared whenever She thrust into their minds, until to proceed was like staring into the sun, searing and being seared, harming both and learning nothing. So Mystra-the new Mystra-had swiftly learned not to pry beyond what thoughts and memories her Chosen willingly shared.
FORGIVE ME, EL. I'M STILL LEARNING. HEAR THEN MY WILL: YOU ARE TO ACQUAINT CALADNEI WITH VANGERDAHAST'S SCHEME AND WATCH OVER HER AS WELL AS HIM, STEERING HER IF NEED BE. I DON'T WANT TO LOSE THE WAR WIZARDS OR SEE INFIGHTING AMONGST THEM-OR THEY'LL BE JUST ONE MORE FRACTURED, HOSTILE FELLOWSHIP OF SELF-INTERESTED MAGES, LIKE THE RED WIZARDS.
ALASSRA, THOSE SAME RED WIZARDS ARE UP TO FRESH MISCHIEF IN AGLAROND. BEWARE MINDWORM MAGIC WORKING ON THOSE YOU TRUST.
The Simbul's smile was as wry as her voice as she replied, "Most Mighty, beyond present company, I trust no one. And sometimes, I'm not too sure about either of you."
Divine laughter rolled around the mountaintop again, but whereas Mystra clearly took the Queen of Aglarond's words as a jest, Elminster's fondly knowing and forgiving smile told Alassra he knew she was quite serious-and as wise as ever.
* * * * *
Malakar Surth's head rang like a bell, and hurt as much as if he was being beaten ceaselessly with one, too-a large and rusty specimen. Snarling at the pain and shaking his head in a vain bid for relief that did not come, he opened his eyes, let the slowly whirling room parade past him in all its wavering glory for an unknown time, and recalled something: he was in the Dagohnlar bedchamber.
The Dagohnlars were his sworn foes, whom he and Bezrar had just bound and threatened-and who were quite possibly still sharing the room with him . . . knowing where any number of weapons lay ready to hand, while he did not, his own knife lost somewhere in the crash that had felled him.
Even if they were not here, or armed and seeking his death even now, this was still their house, with all the guards, servants, and trained hungry dogs they could muster-while he was helpless here at the heart of it, trapped under this cursed wreck of an excuse for fine furniture-swathed in all manner of slithery silks, mind you, but still trapped-and by the light creeping through yon window, it was nearing dawn.