Someone-probably several someones-with skill enough to sculpt something much, much larger than they could see all at once had carved those awesomely beautiful, real dragons. Someone who must have felt very safe and secure here in Cormyr to spend the months, nay, years it must have taken up on ladders in this room, sculpting such a masterwork. Safe, secure, and paid well enough to eat. By a king or queen of Cormyr who loved beauty enough to pay for the making and leave this chamber unused for the sculptors to work. It would take a strong realm, a stable realm, and a flourishing realm to permit that.
Narnra clung to that thought and let her eyes fall from the magnificence to the emptiness of the vast room. That took confidence and wealth, too, to leave such a large and therefore useful room empty of distraction and so leave the carved ceiling that much more striking to the eye-and the three people standing patiently facing her.
Rhauligan, the 'watchful hands- on-weapons agent of the Crown of Cormyr . . . what she might become. Might.
Laspeera, the kindly yet powerful wizard. Regal and yet motherly, the sort of person who's "always there," a solid part of the furniture trusted by many, who'd be shocked when death finally took her because they'd come to think of her as a pillar of Faerun. Like folk here had thought of this Vangerdahast. . . like someone, somewhere, had presumably once thought of Elminster-probably in a land now dust, in a time long ago.
Caladnei. Her tormentor and the one in command here. The Mage Royal of Cormyr, outranking the older two Cormyreans- and at a glance an outlander, her skin dusky. Probably resented by many at Court, who wanted no stranger seizing power that should rightfully have drifted into their hands.
Narnra's eyes narrowed. Laspeera should be one of those, yet she seemed not to be. Wherefore this Caladnei was a witch who ruled minds by magic or … someone worthy of respect, loyalty, even love.
She stared into the dark eyes of the Mage Royal, who gazed gravely back. Dark brows, stern-but not quite imperious-manner. A little frightening.
The woman who wanted to invade her mind.
Narnra found herself breathing faster, almost panting. Part of her wanted to shout in revulsion, part wanted to hit out and run . .. and part was sneakily eager and excited, wanting to see what would happen. That was the spark in her that had taken her to greater and greater boldnesses on the rooftops, and she loved it-though it was a lure into trouble. There was something else rising in her, too . . . slow and hesitant, deeply submerged for too long. She could taste it, catching at the back of her throat.
Loneliness.
She'd been friendless and alone for far too long, Narnra against all the world … a world that was to her an endless collection of dupes, unseen passing folk, the rich and powerful best avoided, a few sharks cruising as she was, and-authority. The Watch, the Guard, the Watchful Order, the Lords of Waterdeep: the folk who could slay and flog and imprison and maim with impunity.
Narnra hated, feared, and despised all authority. These three people all held it, Caladnei the most. How much of her fear and defiance was rooted in her own hatred of authority? How-
Never mind. My choices are rough, and I've taken the best one. Mystra even smiled at me. I hope. Let's get this over with.
"Well," she announced quietly, lifting her chin, "I'm waiting."
None of the Cormyreans laughed. The two women both took a step toward her-and the Mage Royal stopped, obviously surprised by Laspeera's advance.
Laspeera kept on coming.
"Narnra," she said gently, "this will go best if you lie down. Right here, on the floor."
Narnra blinked at Laspeera then doubled up and sat. The War Wizard sank down with her as if she was some sort of delicate invalid. When she was lying on her back on the floor-staring up at that splendid ceiling again-Laspeera turned and called Caladnei over. Then she stood up and calmly undid her robe, hauled it off-revealing a gown-like underrobe of red satin-and rolled it.
Silently, she pointed Caladnei to the floor beside Narnra then slid her rolled-up robe under the backs of their heads.
"A pillow?" Narnra asked incredulously.
"Something to keep you both from splitting heads open on the hard floor," Laspeera replied rather severely, "if emotions surge. Now, hold hands and begin."
"Yes, Mother," Caladnei replied in a gently mocking voice. Narnra found herself smiling. The Mage Royal murmured a long, complicated rising and falling incantation, and . . . the dragons overhead went away.
Warm and dark, descending, the darkness around flashing with a bewildering whirl of half-glimpsed bright scenes, bursts of sound, surges of anger, amusement, even weariness . . .
[Narnra.]
[Narnra, hide not.]
Surge of energy, darkness going rubyshine, lights and noise coming fast . . . [Narnra Shalace!]
I'm here. What do you want of me? [Show me your mother.]
Raven-black hair and kind emerald eyes, bent over her in a face as white as bleached bone, cheekbones that made her look as exotic as she was beautiful, tender deft hands cradling her so firmly and yet gently. Maerj, the apprentices called her . . . Mother Maerj, comforting her in a dark room, her sniveling still loud around them. "There, there, my little one. Dreams can be bright as well as terrible. Like meals, some are good and some bad, but we need them all, just the same. . . ."
As always, Narnra found herself aching to reach out and clutch her mother's fingers, to cry her name, to speak her love and loneliness so Mother Maerj would hear and smile and tell it was all right, everything was all right.
[Of course. Come away, and see something of mine that will hurt less.]
Sudden raucous laughter, and thick smoke in a low-beamed, crowded, candlelit inn common-room. Swaggering men with bright goblets in their hands and weapons strapped all over them, striding past and then-noticing her, and leaning close to peer.
"What's this? Caladnei of the Scrolls, eh? You read scrolls for fees? What idiot can't read a scroll?"
"One who has a magic scroll, sir, but can't work spells," Ca-ladnei's young but firm voice said quietly, tight with the fear of coming trouble.
Three young, bristle-bearded, red-with-drink faces were leaning over her now, peering-and breathing the fumes of golden Sarthdew she hadn't coin enough for even a finger-flagon of, all over her.
"You a mage? Who'd you study with?"
"No one, sirs. I … my spells come from within."
"Well, now. What say your parents about that?"
No lass restlessly chafing under the rule of parents and afire to see the wider world likes to be thought of as a child out on the sly, and Caladnei's voice was stiff as she replied, "My parents let me find myself and make my own dealings with Faerun. Do yours?"
There were snorts and roars and guffaws of mirth, and one of the men bawled, "I like you, lass! Want to ride with us?"
"Where is it you ride, sir, and for what?"
"Across all wide and splendid Faerun, Lady Caladnei-in search of adventure and lots of these!"
An eager hand un-throated a purse and spilled dozens of heavy gold coins across Caladnei's little table with a flourish, leaving her gaping at more money than she'd ever seen in her life before.
Some of the coins rolled, folk everywhere leaned to see-and a shorter man in the group, almost a boy by his looks, plucked up one rolling coin and tossed it idly with two fingers . . . right down the front of her dress.
There was another roar of laughter, and Caladnei knew her face was burning. The mirth spread around The Old Cracked Flagon, and she clenched her fists, wishing she were anywhere but here.
"Yours, lass," the first man roared. "Yours to keep-and plenty more like it if you come with us! We need more magic to back up our blades!"