"No, forgive me," Shandril replied. "I should have let you yell, and not rebuked you, and there would be no quarrel."
"Nay, the fault is mine. Forgiv-"
"Disgusting," Torm's cheerful voice said loudly behind them. "All this sobbing and forgiving each other all over the chamber-and not even wed yet!"
The knight gave them no time to reply as he strode forward to pluck the food tray up from the table, saying, "Terrible stuff, isnt it? And such small portions, too! So, have you heard each other's life stories yet? Picked out any juicy bits to pass on to old, bored Torm? Pledged undying love? Changed your minds? Decided what you want to do next? Yes?"
"Ah, fair morning, Torm," Narm replied cautiously, rightly ignoring all the questions. "Are you well?"
"Never better! And you two?"
"Don't leer, it makes you look ill," said Shandril crisply. "I hear you prevented my capture, or worse, last night. My thanks."
"Ah, it was nothing," Torm said, waving tray, bowls, and all perilously in the air with one hand. "I-"
"Nothing, was it?" Jhessail challenged him severely from the doorway. "Three healing spells you took, and much moaning and complaining all the while, and it was nothing. Next time we'd do best to save the magic, and you'd appreciate your folly the more." She took him briskly by the arm. "Now come away… how'd you like someone to burst into your bedroom, when you are alone with your love?"
"Well, that would depend very much on who they were," Torm began, but Jhessail was propelling him firmly out the door.
"My apologies, you two," she said, over Torm's protests. "He's just come from his bride-to-be, Naera, and is in somewhat high spirits."
Torm looked at her, as if dazed. "Bride-to-be?" he gasped. "B-b-but…" His voice faded as he was marched out the door.
"Well met, Torm," Narm said dryly as the door closed again. He and Shandril looked at each other and burst into laughter. (Beneath the bed, both cats looked pained at Shandril's giggles.) When they subsided, the two embraced again, and sat in comfortable silence for a time.
"What do you think this test will be, love?" Shandril asked. Narm shook his head.
"I know not. Your spellfire, surely, will be put to the test, but how I cannot guess." Narm frowned. "But another thing occurs to me… this Gorstag must know who your parents are… and by the way he put it to you, Elminster may well know, too."
Shandril nodded, "Yes. I want to know, but I have lived all these winters so far without knowing. I would rather know you better, Narm… I do not even know your last name let alone your parents."
"Oh, have't not told-Tamaraith, it is, my lady. Sorry. I didn't realize I had told you so little as that."
Shandril laughed. "We haven't exactly had overmuch time for talk, have we? You may have told me, and I've forgotten in all this tumult. All has been so confusing… if this is adventure, it's a wonder any soul survives it long!"
(Two cats exchanged amused glances. The one that was Illistyl pointed at the other with a paw, then spread its paws questioningly, and put its head to one side suspiciously. The other nodded and traced a sigil in the dust with one paw, saw that Illistyl had seen and recognized it-her feline head nodded, satisfied-and hurriedly brushed it out of existence again. The two cats settled down at their ease together.)
"Well said," Narm agreed. "I have not the love of constant whirl and danger that Torm does, that's one thing certain! Will we ever be able to relax and do just as we please, do you think?"
"I'd like to try," Shandril said softly, her eyes very steady upon his, Narm nodded and took her in his arms again, face set and serious. "I would like that, too, yes," was all he said. (Under the bed, the strange cat shook its head, rolled its eyes, and yawned soundlessly.)
When their lips parted again, after a time, Shandril pushed Narm away a little, and said, "So tell me the tale of your life. Who is this man I am to marry? A would-be spell-caster, yes, but why? And why do you love me?" (Four eyes rolled, beneath the bed.)
Narm looked at his lady, opened his mouth, and shut it again. "Ah… I-gods, I know not why I love you! I can tell you things about you that I love, and how I feel, but as to why-the gods will it, perhaps. Will you accept that answer? Poor it may be, but it is honest, and no base flattery, I swear? He paced, agitated. "I promise you this," he said finally, turning by the window, "that I will love you, and as I learn the whys, I will tell them to you. How's that?"
"My lord," Shandril answered him, eyes shining, "I am honored that you are so honest with me. Pray that we both remain so with each other, always. I approve, yes-now get on with your tale! I would know!" (Under the bed, two cats burst into soundless laughter.) Narm chuckled and nodded.
"Yes, I tarry. Know, then: I was born some twenty-two winters ago, in the far city of Silverymoon in the North. I don't recall it; I was still not a winter old when my parents journeyed to Triboar, and thence to Waterdeep, and-"
"You have seen great Waterdeep?" asked Shandril, awed. "Is it as they say, all bustle, and gold, and beautiful things from all Faerun in the streets?"
Narm shrugged. "It may well be so, but I cannot say. I was there but a week, and still not a year in measure, when my parents moved on. We moved about the Sword Coast North often, with the trade. My father was Hargun Tamaraith, called 'the Tail,' a trader. I think he had been a ranger, before he fell ill. He had the shaking-fever; he dealt in weapons and smith-work. My mother was Fythuera-Fyth, to myself and my sire-and her last name I never knew. They had been wed long before I was born. She played the harp and traded as my father's equal. I know not if ever she had been an adventurer. They were good people."
He stared into nothingness for a moment, and Shandril laid her hand upon his. His face was sad, but it was wistful, more than upset. "They are both dead, of course," he added calmly. "Slain in a sorcerous duel in Baldur's Gate when I was eleven-burned up in flames when the ferryboat they were on was struck by a fireball flung at the mage Algarzel Halfcloak by a Calishite archmage, Kluennh Tzarr. Algarzel flew out of the way; the ferry could not. All aboard who had no part in the dispute perished. Algarzel was slain later, or escaped into another plane, some in the city said. Whatever, he has not been seen since.
"Kluennh Tzarr left for his citadel in triumph. It is said that dragons serve him, and that he has many slaves. One day, if another does not get there first, I will be his death." His soft, cold tone chilled Shandril as he walked slowly around the chamber, arms swinging easily, eyes remote. Under the bed, the cats nodded approvingly.
"To defeat an archmage I needed magic-or at least, needed to know its ways. I knew not, then, that one cannot hope to separate them. So I tried to become an apprentice." He laughed, a little bitterly, at the memory.
"Imagine it, love-a ragged, barely lettered boy, alone and with no wealth to buy a mage's time or trouble, in Baldur's Gate where there are a dozen homeless boys on every street in the docks, pestering every mage that passes! I only escaped being turned into a toad-or just burned to ashes-by Mystra's will… nothing else can explain it.
"One day, two years after I started, a mage said yes. A pompous, sour mage-Marimmar, my master. His pride weakened him. He never worked to strengthen his art where he lacked spells or technique, in those places where he couldn't-or wouldn't-see that he was weak. But I learned much from him, perhaps more than from a smooth and masterful worker of the art. He had a temper, yes, and little patience-and he was perhaps the laziest man I have ever met, so he needed an apprentice to do all the drudge-work. You know the drudge-work," Narm added with a sudden smile. Shandril matched it ruefully.
"Marimmar disliked conflict, so he never fought mages to gain their spells-and he was obviously shining-proud that no mage ever challenged him. Those of real power saw him as a posturing know-nothing, with no spells worth seizing. Those of lesser power feared always that he must have something up his sleeve, he seemed so confident and fearless. His confidence killed him, in the end. He nearly took me with him.