Her dark eyes stared somberly into Ambreene's own. "Be warned, girl-learn its ways thoroughly, and use it only with great care, for it steals and stores memories, and can leave a man a hollow husk… as I learned, to my cost."
A frown playing about her brows, Ambreene stared at the old woman. Grandmama turning a man into a… husk? What man could she have been be so interested in-or who would even look at her? It must have been some reckless thief, come to the tallest tower of Hawk-winter House in hopes of stealing some baubles…
"Speculate all you want," Teshla told her, as if reading her thoughts, "but waste not the breaths left to me in foolish questions of who and why. That is my own business, and you can learn the truth from the Eye after I am gone. But remember, and beware: it steals memory."
Ambreene had been about to put the chain over her own neck. She stopped abruptly, looked at the pendant as if it might bite her, and hurriedly slid it into the outermost pocket of her robes.
"Wise," Teshla said, falling back into her pillows. "Now that that is done, and…" Her eyes closed, and her voice trailed away.
Ambreene stared at her in alarm. "Grandmama?" she cried. "Gra-"
And then she heard the rattle of a drawn breath, and slowly and unsteadily-another. Grandmama still lived… and yet, this would be her deathbed. Soon.
Ambreene stood silently by Lady Teshla's bed for a long time, thinking furiously-and then whirled and left the room, striding hard. The driftglobe sailed silently along in her wake.
She was almost running when she swept past the seneschal, ignoring his surprised look and murmured question. She traversed the Hall of Clouds faster than the old warrior had ever seen her move before; he had to trot to keep up. Instead of storming into her rooms or bursting into tears when her chambermaids rose to greet her, the young lass turned abruptly aside to descend the back stair to the stables, and thence to the gates.
The seneschal clattered after her, clutching his scabbard to keep it from tangling in his legs and sending him into a headlong tumble. "Lady Ambreene!" he puffed, his voice imperious. "This is most irregular! Your father said nothing about your going out this day, and with the Great Lady Teshla so nea-"
Ambreene did not bother to turn her head. "Did he not? Well, go to him, and he shall tell you-but stand in my path at your peril!" The lie came to her in an easy rush, and she found herself quivering with excitement and anger. No one was going to stop her, not even Lord Piergeiron himself! Grandmama was her only real friend-and Ambreene had no intention of losing such a precious thing, whatever Teshla might think of the time left to her…
A few breaths ago, Ambreene Hawkwinter had been powerless to do anything about Grandmama's slow wasting. But that was before the Eye of the Dragon had come into her hand.
It was beautiful, yes-so beautiful! — and a thing of power, besides. But what were those things, set against the warmth and wisdom of Grandmama, there to laugh with Ambreene, chide her, and teach her the ways of spells and men and Waterdeep itself?
In all the city, men said, there was no mage as mighty as Khelben Blackstaff. If he could make the dead live and gods whole, he could surely restore one old woman! He would want this Eye of the Dragon, and doubtless do such a small and kind service in return for it.
Briefly Ambreene thought of how powerful the Eye might make her, and how slow her mastery of magic was sure to be without it… but no. Without Grandmama's direction and teaching, she might never learn to wield even the pendant, let alone spells of her own!
She strode down the street as folk stared at the speeding driftglobe and the red-faced old seneschal puffing along after her. A dozen smirking, hastily assembled Hawkwinter armsmen completed the train. Ambreene didn't care. She needed only her eyes to head for the dark and distant needle of Blackstaff Tower.
Every child in Waterdeep knew it; the home of a man whose spells were mighty enough to hurl back liches, mind flayers, and beholders all at once, and whose stern justice frightened even proud heads of the richest noble houses. Ambreene quailed inwardly as she marched along. But she was a Hawkwinter, on a truly noble mission-and Ambreene's name might well some day ring down the streets of Waterdeep as grandly as that of Khel-ben Arunsun. She lifted her chin and strode on without slowing… and behind her, the seneschal rolled his eyes and wheezed along. Fear was on his face as she passed into the shadow of Blackstaff Tower.
A single taper flickered in Ambreene's bedchamber as she shot the door bolt into place with steady hands. She hurried to the dusty space behind her wardrobe, where her few scraps of magic were hidden.
She almost made it. Two paces shy of her secret place, hot tears of rage and grief burst forth, blinding her. She blundered forward, sobbing, until she ran into the wardrobe's polished side and raised trembling fists to strike it, again and again, heedless of the pain.
Khelben had granted immediate audience, and hope had soared like a flame within her until the moment
Ambreene had given him her name. He looked at her gravely and uttered words that would burn in her brain forever: "Teshla Hawkwinter? No, child. Not that one. She knows why, and has accepted her death… and so must you."
That was all he would say, despite tearful pleadings. At last Ambreene rose from her knees, lifted her chin, turned in silence, and left, unheralded. Khelben didn't even look up from his papers as she went out!
She stumbled away, the seneschal and guards treading close around her but not daring to speak. At home, the folk were as white faced as she was, and silence reigned over Hawkwinter House, save for muffled weeping behind closed doors. The dowager Lady Teshla Hawkwinter was dead.
The priests of half a dozen temples murmured and chanted around the high-canopied bed. Ambreene wasn't even allowed in to see what was left of her Grandmama- sleeping forever now, a small and shrunken thing in the great spill of silken pillows-until the haughty strangers were done.
Her father was there. He said her name once, gently, and reached for her-but Ambreene stepped around him and looked upon the Lady Teshla alone and in silence. When she had turned to go, her father had signed to the servants not to follow, and for that gentle mercy she must remember to thank him when she could. But not now. Oh, not now.
She drew herself up in the darkness, her throat boiling with an anger that made her want to scream and rake herself and break things. She hissed in a voice that fought hoarsely through tears, "I will make you pay for her death, oh great grand Lord Mage Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun. Ambreene Hawkwinter will make you plead for aid as I pleaded… and I will show you the same mercy you showed me. This I swear."
Her last words seemed to echo around her, and Ambreene shivered suddenly and clung to the wardrobe for support. So this was what it felt like to swear a death oath. And against the most powerful archmage in all
Waterdeep, too. She sighed once, and then hurried to the door. She must get Grandmama's spellbooks and magic things before some maid spirited them away to make fair coin, and they were lost. The Lady Ambreene Hawkwinter had much work to do…
A month later, Ambreene stood beside the wardrobe and looked at herself in her glass. A gaunt, hollow-eyed maid with white skin and dark, burning eyes gazed back at her. She knew the servants whispered that her wits had been touched by the Lady Teshla's death, but she cared not a whit.
Ambreene was almost ready. Mastery of all the spells in Teshla's books-her books, now-might take years, but the Eye of the Dragon shone openly on her breast, and at night quivered warmly against her skin, whispering to her in her dreams.