Bradraskor lifted one world-weary eyebrow. "So you're here why, exactly?"
"I'm trying to catch up to two friends of mine-a young couple, he a mage, she a kitchenmaid. Their names are Narm Tamaraith and Shandril Shessair, and Tessaril sent them here to Scornubel to join a caravan under the mastery of Orthil Voldovan. You can't have failed to notice them or learn all of this already; Tess holds you in no small respect."
The Master of the Shadows did not-quite-smile. "So you seek no more of me than information?"
"Indeed."
"Learning things costs me, therefore I sell what I learn."
"I'm quite prepared to pay the going market rates," his visitor said with a smile, "and reward outrageous overpricing appropriately, too."
The fat man behind the desk sat back, his chair creaking in protest, but the aim of his bowgun strayed not one fingerwidth from her right eye. "Are you now? That's good to know. So we come to an agreement, and I impart information to you on, say, the current whereabouts, conditions, and pursuits of this Narm and Shandril-then what? Do you attack me? Leave Scornubel forthwith? Call in lurking allies? Seek for yourself what everyone else interested in these two persons seems to be after?"
"Well, now," the lady who was not Tessaril Winter replied with a twinkle dancing in her eyes, "it begins to seem as if I have information I could sell to you, too."
Belgon Bradraskor sighed. "I'm not interested in crossing tongues with you just now. I'm busy, and be aware that my time costs coins, too. You've already wasted about as much of it as I'm willing to part with freely." The bowgun lifted warningly, and then returned to its former dead-on aim.
"Let's trade truths," his lady visitor said calmly. "Simple, utter truth, line for line. I desire to reach Narm and Shandril as swiftly as possible so I can escort and protect them. Now, what can you tell me of where they are, right now?"
Bradraskor raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Protect them? You? Lady, do you know what spellfire can-"
"Ah, careful!" the beautiful woman in leather armor said warningly, raising a finger. "You don't want to leave yourself owing me two answers, do you?"
The Master of the Shadows sighed, sat back, and waved a dismissive hand. "Lady, who are you?"
"Three answers, I'm afraid," Sharantyr told her finger disappointedly.
Belgon Bradraskor stared at his visitor-gods, but she was beautiful, too! — leaned forward, and said flatly, "If you promise me you don't intend to harm me or my works or work any magic on me or my goods at all and also tell me who you are, I'll give you safe conduct out of Scornubel, tell you exactly where your Narm and Shandril may be found, and give you a fast horse to catch them on-without delay. I'll even throw in whatever wine and food my men can swiftly find, ere you ride. Deal?"
"Add to it that you won't harm, detain, or deceive me in any way, and yes, we do," the lady in leathers told him. "Acceptable?"
"Agreed," Bradraskor told her.
"Good," she said with a smile. "Put your bowgun down, and I'll quell this slaying spell I've been holding back from you, all this time."
"What slaying-ne'er mind." The man behind the desk set down his bowgun, lifted both hands and waved them, palms out and open, so she could see that they were empty and where they were, and then said, "I'm going to ring a bell now, and summon here a man who'll fetch you that horse. 'Twill not be lame or unbroken or of nasty temper, I assure you."
Sharantyr nodded. "Do so," she replied, "and know that I am Sharantyr by name, a Knight of Myth Drannor and a friend in truth to both Tessaril and to Narm and Shandril."
"A Knight of-? The defenders of Shadowdale?"
"The same. To cross me is also to cross Storm Silverhand, the wizard Ehninster-and in this case, the War Wizards of Cormyr, too."
The Master of the Shadows stared at her for a moment, his face losing all expression, then said briskly, "Well met, then, and the gods smile upon this agreement between us. Know you in turn that Orthil's caravan left this city north along the Trade Way early today, bound for Waterdeep, and should-barring mischance, no word of which has come south to Scornubel from travelers arriving here along the same route-have reached a defensible camping-spot known as Face Crag by now. They should be spending this night there under a torchguard, for the Blackrocks countryside they traverse is wild and known to be a-lurk with brigands, prowling bears, monsters, and the like."
He got up from the desk, shuffled ponderously around it with a large vellum scroll in his hands, and let it fall and unroll, weighted by a stick its end was stitched around. It revealed a map. The thief-lord strode onto it, and pointed with one slippered foot. "If all goes well, their next camp should be here, where this old mining trail meets the wagon-road, at a place called Orcskull Rise."
He looked up at her. "You may wish to wait until first light before riding out. You can move much more swiftly than laden wagons and so overtake them in two or three days' hard riding. By day the road is safer for a lone rider. I've no doubt of your courage or battle-skills-but Lady Sharantyr, few women dare to travel these lands alone, and there are good reasons for that. A trip-line, a dozen brigands with crossbows, or as many ores… your beauty and swiftness would not save you."
Sharantyr smiled. "I must leave as soon as possible, night or day, monsters or none. My thanks for your warning and your gallantry, Master of the Shadows. I'll forget neither when I tell Tessaril what generous aid you've rendered."
Bradraskor seemed to wince, but whatever he might have been going to say was interrupted by a voice from behind Sharantyr.
"Master?"
The Master of the Shadows made a swift gesture that Sharantyr correctly interpreted as a signal to put away whatever weapon the newcomer was holding ready. She did not bother to turn, but asked lightly, "Tornar the Eye?"
There was a silence, ended by another sharp gesture from Bradraskor, and the voice spoke again, its tones not entirely free of surprise. "Tornar I am, Lady, and give you greeting. You are-?"
"Sharantyr of Shadowdale," she replied, turning until she could see both Tornar and his master. She exchanged nods with the Eye as the Master of the Shadows said, "Tornar, I'm giving Flamewind to Sharantyr, the best saddle and all. I need her ready for a long ride in the north courtyard, as swiftly as possible. Let there be two skins of water, a saddlebag of wine, and a meal-untainted and the very best. I'll escort the lady thither directly and expect Flamewind to be waiting for us when we reach the well."
Tornar bowed to them both and strode swiftly out. His master went to one of the other doors, opened it, gestured within, and asked, "Lady?"
Sharantyr took his arm as she passed and murmured, "Walk with me, Belgon. As you say, 'tis safer if a lady goes not alone."
The thief-lord winced, then stiffened as two things enveloped him: a faint, cinammonlike scent that was either his visitor or the leathers she wore and a crawling, tingling sensation that he was sure must be magic. He drew in a deep breath as her hip brushed his huge thigh and carefully matched his pace to hers like a court gallant. They entered the shadowed passage together.
"How're you, lad?" Arauntar murmured, cradling Narm as gently as a mother holds her child. "Head splitting, aye, but otherwise?"
"Otherwise," Narm mumbled, wincing, "I'm… all right, I suppose. How's Shan?"
"Frightened for you, demanding you be brought to her right now, an'-ahem-a mite annoyed," the guard rumbled. "If you can walk without falling, I'd like to be getting you to her straight away."
"I'll manage," Narm grunted, snatching hold of the nearest lashing-ring on the wagon wall and hauling himself up the row of rings with trembling fingers. He clung groggily to the uppermost ring for a moment and stared down at his tingling hands. They were swollen and seemed numb and weak…