Malark let none of this show on his hawkish face as he watched the men-at-arms scrabbling about in the rocks. "Enough, Arkuel," he called. "You and Suld, come with me. All others are to find all treasure, remains of the great Rauglothgor, and any other recently dead creatures who may be found where the lair was, and bear them to Oversember." Then he turned his back upon them all and began the casting of a Tulrun's tracer spell.
The girl who destroyed this place, Malark ordered firmly, and on a hunch he stood in the trail that led down the northern end of the rocky spur where the ruined keep had been. At once the air about him began to glow, and the radiance burst northward down the trail and into the trees below. Well enough. "Arkuel, Suld!" he commanded, and led his horse down the trail without looking back.
Looking back is a thing that one of the Purple cannot usually afford to do.
The Seat of Bane stood as empty as ever. The wan-faced High Imperceptor looked up to it in awe, as he always did, in case one day the Black Lord himself should indeed be sitting there. The head of the church of Bane sighed and took his own seat. He rang the little gong beside his throne with the Black Mace of Bane, wielding the great weapon with a delicacy that bespoke strength and skill surprising in one so thin and wan-looking. An upperpriest hurried in and knelt before the throne.
"Up, Kuldus," the High Imperceptor said. "The reports should be in by now. Tell me."
The priest nodded. "There is no report from Laelar yet, Dread Lord, or any who went with him," he began, "but Eilius has just come from Zhentil Keep, and he says that Manshoon has been absent from the city since the meeting he dismissed, the meeting already reported to you! The other lords seek him, and that rebel Fzoul has been trying to contact Manxam and the other beholders. The Zhentarim are plotting and whispering like Calishites all this past day." The High Imperceptor's smile lit up his face as if a lamp had been lit within it. He rose from his seat. "Call in all the upperpriests!" he ordered. "If Laelar reports with the girl, well and good. If he reports and has not taken her, have him forget all and return here at once. To Umbo with this maid and her spellfire, while we have a chance at Zhentil Keep and that traitor Fzoul! Go, speedily!" And he whirled the great mace over his head as if it weighed nothing and brought it down upon the stone altar with a crash that shook the very Seat of Bane itself. Kuldus scurried out of the room with the wild laughter of the High Imperceptor ringing in his ears.
The clear light of dawn laid a network of diamonds upon the bed as it came through the leaded windows. Narm awoke as it touched his face, reaching vaguely for a dagger or something of the sort, and abruptly recalled where they were-and where exactly he was now: in Shandril's bedchamber. But-he reached out his hand-where was she?
He sat up abruptly, which set his head throbbing, and looked all about. The tapestries were beautiful, and even the vaulted corners of the ceiling were impressive, but they weren't Shandril. He looked the other way, past a tall, arched wardrobe and a burnished metal mirror taller than he was, to the door-which obligingly opened. Shandril looked in and grinned.
"Ah, you're awake at last," she said delightedly. "Not feeling ill, I hope?"
Narm held his head for a moment, considered the nagging ache within, and said carefully, "Not really, my lady. Is there morningfeast? And-is there a chamber pot?"
Shandril laughed. "How romantic, I must say, my lord. Morningfeast is an ask-in-the-great-hall affair that lasts until highsun. The chamber pot is under there if you must, but behind that door over there is a water-bain-you flush with the jug after using it, or with the hand-pump-that all the ladies here have in their chambers. Was there not one in your room?"
"No," Narm said, vanishing through the little door to investigate. "Nothing like. It had only a bed and a clothes-chest, a wardrobe, and a little window."
"That," said Jhessail from the doorway, "is because Mourngrym and Shaerl figured you'd spend far more time here."
"Oh?" Shandril asked with lifted brows, "and how came they by that idea?"
"I suspect," Jhessail said innocently, "that someone must have told them." She chuckled at Narm's hasty reappearance to find the door-handle and pull it closed behind him as he vanished again. Then they both chuckled at his muffled complaint from within.
"It's dark enough!"
"Just like a cavern." Jhessail said encouragingly. "You'll get used to it… or you could light the night-lamp just within the door. Only mind you put it out when you leave, or the room will be a smoke-hole the next time you want to use it." She turned to Shandril. "Do you have plans for the day, you two?"
Shandril shook her head. "No. Why do you ask?"
Jhessail got up and paced thoughtfully over to the mirror. "Well, it is usual to see the dale, your first full day, and hunt or ride the countryside after highsun, with gaming and talk in the evening… but I'd like to advise a far less interesting alternative, if I may-Narm, the lamp, remember? — at least until after the testing this evening."
Shandril said simply, "Say on." She plucked up Narm's over-robe and, opening the jakes door, thrust it within.
"If you don't mind," Jhessail suggested, "Illistyl and I will bring your meals. You stay here in this room until tonight. Any of the knights will come to see you, or you could spend the day together, just the two of you…" The jakes door swung open and Narm emerged.
He grinned. "No words against that from this mouth."
"Nor from mine," Shandril agreed. "Only, why?"
Jhessail studied the rich rugs beneath her feet for an instant, and then raised solemn eyes to theirs. "Eight men tried to get into the tower last night, using magic. They were sent by the High Imperceptor of Bane, and they were after you, Shandril. They were to capture you for your power to wield spellfire. They were all slain, or are all dead now. They might well have succeeded except for Torm and Rathan, who were out on an extra patrol requested by Mourngrym, and Sharantyr, who went for a walk, unarmed, to clear her head."
Shandril's face had gone slowly white, and Narm had grown more and more angry, as she had spoken. "You mean," he burst out, "that enemies are going to be after Shandril for the rest of her life? I won't have it! I'll-"
"How will you stop them hunting you out?" Jhessail asked quietly.
Narm stared at her. "I… I'll master art enough to destroy them, or drive them away in fear of such a fate!"
Jhessail nodded. "Good. It's about all you can do. Once they get the idea you are powerful, as all know Elminster or The Simbul of Aglarond is, they will leave you alone-unless they have business with you, or with your tombstone, as the saying goes. But all of these who look upon you as weak and easy targets who have some power they can wrest or steal will fall away once you show Faerun that you are not to be so trifled with." She grinned suddenly. "But that time hasn't come, so stay in this room today, will you?"
Shandril grinned weakly and nodded; after a long moment Narm nodded, too.
Jhessail got up. "Good!" she said, and clapped her hands loudly. The door opened wide, and Illistyl came in, bearing a covered silver tray that steamed around the edges. With practiced ease she hooked a toe under a certain carving on the side of the bed, pulled it outward to reveal a folding pair of legs and a webwork of canvas attached to it, and set the tray on the table thus created. Shandril stared in open pleasure at the thought and construction of the bedside table, but Narm fixed Jhessail with a hard stare.