Teza slipped off the aughisky and tied the two horses in the shade of the copse of trees while the prince hurried lustily up the trail to find his love. She hesitated to follow. This was an excellent time to disappear before the witch thought of something else for her to do. Then her curiosity got the better of her. Teza could not resist the temptation to witness the witch's meeting with the prince. Maybe she could find out if there was more to this tryst than love.
She walked quietly up the rocky trail, between the stone walls, and out onto the ledge overlooking the lake. The witch, her back to Teza, was standing perilously close to the edge of the dropoff, Prince Laric held tightly in her arms. The prince had his hands on both sides of her face and was kissing her passionately. The gray mask dangled in the witch's left hand.
Teza caught a brief glimpse of an exquisitely beautiful face when all at once the witch broke the embrace. She stepped away from Laric, raised her right hand, and pointed a finger directly at his chest.
Laric's expression of desire faltered. He moved toward the witch, but she laughed a hard, cold sound of ridicule that chilled Teza and stopped the prince in dismay.
An emerald green ball of energy burst from the witch's finger. The power slammed into Laric's stomach and sent him reeling backward.
"No!" Teza shouted before she could stop herself.
The prince teetered on the edge and cried in terror, but it was too late. His feet slipped, and he fell over the cliff. His agonized wail echoed off the stone walls before the cry was suddenly cut off. Teza stared openmouthed at the black-robed figure standing so calmly on the brink of the rock.
The morning was very still-no wind or cry of birds to hear. The heat was already wilting the last cool shadows of dawn, and the sun poured its light onto the cold, dark waters of the lake. The quiet around the cliff ledge intensified until it became almost palpable. A thousand questions tumbled in Teza's mind until she could no longer bear to be still. "Did you love him at all?" she demanded angrily.
The witch had already readjusted her mask; when she turned, the beautiful face was hidden behind the featureless gray cloth. "Yes," she replied, "and I will bear his child."
Teza was stunned. "Then why?" she yelled. "Why send me on this ridiculous fool's hunt? Why put a boggan in Laric's place?"
The witch regarded her, still as cold and motionless as the rock around her. Then she threw back her head and laughed a warm, rich sound of delight. "Poor Teza. I have played a terrible trick on you. First dragging you here on an augh-isky's back, then involving you in kidnapping and murder. I suppose I could give you an explanation."
Teza might have laughed, too, if she hadn't been chilled by the words, kidnapping and murder. Thievery was one thing, but those crimes were punishable in Rashemen by several revolting kinds of death. Even if anyone believed her tale about a boggan playing a prince and a witch who threw royalty over cliffs, no one would consider her side of the story-she was only a common thief. Teza swallowed hard and tried to listen.
"Prince Laric was an idiot. A handsome, virile male who ruled a port city that controlled the Golden Way, one of the richest trade routes in Faerun-but an idiot nonetheless." She gestured to the lake waters where Laric's body now floated. "He and his father before him let Telflamm's power and authority slip away into the hands of the merchant council and guilds, who spend their time dipping into each other's profits and squabbling with the cities of Thesk. As a result of their incompetence and the past invasion of the Tuigan Horde, the whole eastern coast of the Inner Sea is a shambles. The area needed someone to take a firm hand and bring city-states like Telflamm back under control."
"Someone who could also be trusted to further the interests of Rashemen and the witches," Teza observed caustically. Her eyes narrowed. This plan did not sound like the usual methods of the masked sisterhood. The witches had some morals and a sense of honor. This young witch behaved more like an unprincipled rogue.
"Naturally," the witch replied, "the boggan is cunning, merciless, and under my complete control. Before long he will bring Telflamm's merchants to heel and Rashemen will expand its influence along the Golden Way and the Inner Sea."
"And I suppose you even had the iron lord invite Laric to Immilmar just so you had an excuse to get close to him."
The witch nodded once. "The huhrong had no more respect for Prince Laric than I did."
"Nice." Teza paused. "Where does that leave me?"
"Free to go. Your help has been greatly appreciated."
"I'll bet," Teza muttered to herself. She knew an obvious dismissal when she heard one, and she also knew there was little she could do about it. She had been used, abused, and tossed aside, and for her own safety, she could never tell anyone. If this witch was a renegade, she would not hesitate to hunt Teza down and destroy her.
Her hand on her small bag and the vial within, Teza stalked away down the trail toward the copse of trees. The witch's laughter followed her out of sight.
The witch took one last long look at the lake far below, at the body still bobbing in the water. She would have to have the aughisky dispose of that. No use leaving obvious clues to murder. She whistled for the water horse.
There was no response.
She whistled again, louder and sharper, with irritation. The path remained empty; there was no sign of the beast.
The witch finally picked up the hem of her robes and strode angrily down the trail to the copse of trees. Only one horse stood tied to a branch: the brown gelding the boggan had ridden to Laric's camp.
Something small glittered in the thin grass near the witch's foot. She bent over, picked it up, and stared in surprise at the empty crystal vial in her hand. A faint yet distinctive odor rose to her nostrils. Hippomane.
Her eyes widened behind her mask, then her voice broke into an amused chuckle.
Teza had stolen her aughisky.
"Let her go," the witch said to herself, and she flung the vial away. The thief of Immilmar had earned her reward.
Laughter In The Flames
Ask any member of the Society of Stalwart Adventurers about his home-not the place where he hangs his helmet between expeditions, but the address at which he feels most relaxed-and his answer will always be the same, the library at the society's headquarters in Suzail.
In that cavernous room, one thousand years of Stalwart history stood on display, reminding the trailblazers who belonged to the club of their heady contributions to civilization. Bookshelves towered high overhead Their dark wood cradled journals bound in every type of leather imaginable, tomes scribed in every language spoken across the wide world-and more than a few lost to men and elves and dwarves Winged monkeys retrieved these books for readers not inclined to scale the tall, narrow ladders. As they went about their aerial portage, these rare apes set the library's massive chandelier to swaying with the soft flutter of their wings. At their passing, the chandelier's magical, ever-burning Halruaan candles winked like so many mirth-brightened eyes.
Trophies filled the remaining wall space. Riven shields and bloodstained swords recovered from distant battlefields hung beside the regimental colors of a dozen victorious armies. Medals and plaques shone gold or silver from glass-fronted teak cases; the awards bore the mark of each monarch to hold Cormyr's throne and more than two dozen foreign potentates. In a corner not too distant from the largest hoard of medals, a stuffed yeti snarled menacingly. Around the shaggy white beast hung the horns of perytons and minotaurs, gorgons and quasits. The Stalwarts' most spectacular trophy-the head of an ancient red dragon- stared from its place of honor over the library's entrance. Even death could not dim the malevolence in the wyrm's eyes.