Narantha looked long at the scene before her, breathing deeply of the clear air. The merest ghost of a breeze was bringing her the sharp scent of bruised needles, and just a hint of unseen, distant woodsmoke. She had never really looked at a sky before, or wild and magnificent Cormyr laid out in a vista before her. The green glory of trees and rolling hills…
Narantha pursed her lips and shook her head. She had gazed, but she had never really seen before. So much time wasted, so many petty nothings and empty fripperies crowding her life.
Florin was standing beside her, looking down at her. She looked up at him, not knowing how to say what was in her mind.
He caught hold of her hand with his own, and squeezed. “Memories are treasures,” he murmured. “Lock the best of them in your mind forever, the most splendid moments, and throw away the rest. Any day when you gain such a treasure is a day well-spent.”
She nodded, her throat tight on the edge of tears, and they walked on in silence together, still holding hands.
Jalander swallowed. Vangerdahast was looming over him, having appeared as unexpectedly and disconcertingly as always. He could not avoid that commanding gaze; bristling eyebrows lifted in a silent question, the eyes beneath them hard and keen.
Jalander was not a junior war wizard, and so could-just-control his awe and fear at such close attention from the Royal Magician of Cormyr. “ ’Tis these new ward-spells you’ve had us working at. They work well enough when cast on Jester’s Green or a back pasture somewhere, even when guarding someone who’s moving. But they keep collapsing-and going wild, too, in little outbursts here and there-whenever we cast them anywhere near the palace. Even up at High Horn we had problems. Too many other magics-”
“Indeed,” Vangerdahast said. “Wards upon wards, old enchantments underlying those we know about, some slumbrous and many awakening without warning. They all interfere with each other. I feared as much. So the gaps in our armor must remain.”
Jalander Mallowglar dared much, then. He dared to sit back in his chair and observe, “I thought you’d be more upset than-than you seem to be.”
“Lad, if I let Cormyr see how upset I am most of the time, they’d lock me up as a madman. If I showed all Cormyr why I’m upset, they’d flee the realm so hard and fast, screaming their terror to the skies, that most of them would probably drown in the Dragonmere before they noticed they’d run right off the ends of our piers!”
There was a sudden shriek from the deep words to their left, and Narantha tensed, wide-eyed. “What’s that?”
The shriek rose wildly and broke off suddenly, leaving an ominous silence. Florin strode on.
“Aren’t-aren’t you going to go see?” Narantha asked, aghast. “That was a woman, frightened and in pain! Something just happened to her! Don’t foresters care-”
Florin spun around, looking grave. “That was a wolf, not a woman-and it was dying. Under the claws and jaws of something large enough to kill a wolf at a pounce, without much of a fight.”
He shrugged, and added a little sadly, “Whenever you hear that sort of noise, ’tis too late to do anything.”
Narantha stared at him, her face white, and Florin added, “ ’Tis the way of things. The forest is fair to gaze upon-but cruel.”
“Gods,” she said, her voice almost a sob ere she steadied it. “Even here. I thought-I thought…”
“You thought that out here, because ’tis beautiful and you’ve lost your first fears of it, that things are, ah, gentler than the games of verbal and social dagger-hurling nobles play at?” Florin’s voice was soft. “Ah, now, that would be a world…”
He drew his sword again, and reached out his free hand to take hers.
“Come, Narantha. The light will fail soon, and we must find a good place to camp-or yon wolf’s fate may yet be ours.”
Narantha shivered. “I… Florin, I’ve been horrible to you.”
And I far more so to you, Lady, did you but know it, Florin thought, guilt jabbing at him through his relief that playacting at being both square-jawed hero and veteran forester was largely done. Oh, you’d never forgive me, if only you knew. I wonder how long it will be, before I dare to tell you I chased you out here just for sport?
“No,” he said soothingly, “you were just being… what you thought nobles should behave like. And you may have done so very properly; you’re the first noble I’ve ever met.”
Narantha shook her head, smiling ruefully. “No, we don’t all have my temper. If we did, there’d be very few nobles left in the realm now. Just a lot of crypts full of nobles who killed each other.”
“Oh?” Florin gave her an innocent look, but arched a by-now-familiar eyebrow. “I thought there were lots of crypts full of-”
She dealt his arm a friendly blow, her smile going wry, and said, “ Please don’t make this harder for me. I–I’m not good at apologies; I’ve had little practice.” She drew in a deep breath, and pulled Florin to a halt, to look up at him squarely.
“And… and I find I very much want to apologize to you.”
He looked down at her in grave silence, and she added in a rush, “I’m sure my tongue will get the better of me again, but I see you as a friend now, not a servant-and I want to have you as a friend.”
Florin started to smile, and Narantha swallowed again and asked, “Please? May I?”
“If you’ll trust me,” he told her, raising her hand in his grasp to his lips, “I’ll trust you-and if we do that, we’ll be better friends than many who hail, jest, and gossip together.”
Narantha blinked, then whispered slowly, “I have never trusted anyone, in all my life.”
It was Florin’s turn to blink. “Gods above and below,” he murmured. “No wonder all nobles are mad.”
He put his arms around her, and Narantha hugged him tight. A few breaths later, Florin realized the noble lass in his arms was crying against his chest. He stroked her hair and rocked her in his arms, looking warily about at the darkening forest.
Overhead, in the reddening sky, the stars began to come out.
Tathanter Doarmond happened to be one of the most handsome Wizards of War in all the realm, blessed by the gods with an impressive, mellifluous voice. It was for that reason that, despite his junior standing and comparatively paltry mastery of the Art, he was often called upon to speak for the war wizards when old Thunderspells wanted a courtier impressed-or a citizen scared right down to the soles of his boots.
Just now, he was busily frowning his best “I fear you’re in serious trouble” frown as he stared again at the two letters lying on his desk. They contradicted each other so flatly that even a child would have been forced to conclude that one of these two merchants was lying.
Yet was this a matter for the Wizards of War, or merely a trader-perhaps both-saving himself a few coins in taxes? Not that even a single deception should pass unchallenged in the Forest Kingdom, but among merchants there were so many thousands upon thousands of them that no mage could hope to catch every last one. Moreover, Tathanter had been instructed to consult War Wizard Ghoruld Applethorn whenever he found himself uncertain… and Tathanter was more than a little afraid of coldly smiling, dagger-eyed Applethorn, master of wards and crystals. Perhaps His office door squealed open and his closest friend and fellow war wizard Malvert burst in, bending close to his ear to hiss, “Tath! Remember you Garrlatus? And Sonthur, the one who was blasted to bits in his first tenday as a war wizard? Well, old Thunderspells thinks he knows what they were killed with now!”
“Oh? Killed by whom?”
“ That he doesn’t know-or if he does, isn’t saying. Garrlatus and Sonthur were both spell-blasted when seemingly alone in warded chambers, studying their spells. Apparently whatever felled them was the same thing. Well, Thunderspells got to thinking what it might have been, and remembered the Arcrown did that sort of slaying. He thought he’d better try its powers to make sure, went to get it, and sure enough: the Arcrown’s been stolen!”