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…
"Narbuth bound you a little tight," the Harper explained. "I just cut you free. Catch thy breath a bit, lad-an' do something for me, if you will."
Narm looked at Arauntar, squinting against the pain, and asked faintly, "What?"
"Forget for now Orthil ordering you bound an' Jathun hitting you, all right? 'Twill be easier for us all if yer lady doesn't go frying all our heads off just yet."
The mage gave the Harper a sidelong look, smiled wryly, and replied, "I'll grant it will, at that. Right, you'll have my silence on this-for now. Now, take me to Shan, before she comes looking for me herself."
"That," Arauntar told him with a wry and gap-toothed grin, "is precisely why I want you to hurry."
Sharantyr of Shadowdale gave them a merry wave and cantered into the night. The Master of the Shadows let the arm that had saluted her in return fall back to the moonlit rim of the well and said softly to the man beside him, "Follow her. Let her work death among all the spellfire-seekers Bluthlock has sent after Voldovan's wagons-but when you judge the time right, make sure she dies."
Tornar nodded. "Of course, Master. She knows your looks, where you lair, and how to reach you. She must not live."
Belgon Bradraskor nodded. "A pity. No woman has ever called me gallant before."
"Hesperdan was right," Hlael mused thoughtfully.
Korthauvar sighed. "Hesperdan is always right. Why else would one feeble old man with such expensive vices yet be suffered by the Brotherhood to live?"
"Too useful to slay, too unambitious to be a danger."
"So he appears. I wonder if he isn't plotting some dark magic to someday drain us all of life and magic."
"What, to make himself master over all the Brotherhood and rise to challenge Shaaan and Larloch, Szass Tarn, and Maraunth Torr?"