The mariner glided across the deck, silent as a cat. Dhamon held the glass to his eye and looked out over the water.
“Still lookin’ at that scepter?” Blister addressed Usha, who was sitting on a thick coil of rope. “I’ll admit it is pretty. And awfully valuable what with all those gems on it. But I’d get tired of looking at the same thing all the time. Of course, there isn’t much else to look at, I suppose. There’s water. Lots of water. You could count the panels of wood in the captain’s cabin. I already did that, though. So maybe we could—”
“Good morning, Blister!”
“Good morning to you, Jasper.” The kender turned her attention to the dwarf. “Usha’s lookin’ at the scepter again.”
“I can see that.”
“She’s still trying to remember something.”
“I think I’ve figured out a way to help her do just that.”
The kender’s eyes grew wide. “Really? What? How?”
The dwarf sniffed the air. “Mmmm. Breakfast. Rig and Fiona are in the galley, working on something tasty.”
The kender scurried toward the stairs. “I told Rig I’d cook breakfast! I wanted to use that jar of blue flour I found last night!”
“What did you have in mind?” Usha asked the dwarf.
“Something I should have thought of a long time ago, if I’d been thinking right. Remember when we were in Ak-Khurman, and I, uh,... made the spy a little more cooperative? The spell might work on you, too.”
Usha’s eyes sparkled as she set the scepter at her feet. “Please, Jasper. Anything to help me remember.”
The dwarf reached inside himself, felt for the spark, and coaxed it to grow. The sooner he accomplished this, he told himself, the sooner he could go back below deck where he didn’t have to watch the water pitch and roll and where his stomach didn’t seem to rise quite so high into his throat. He held a stubby hand out toward Usha, rested it on her leg and stared into her golden eyes.
“Friend,” the dwarf began.
“Friend,” Usha heard herself reply. She closed her eyes, and the blue of the Southern Courrain Ocean disappeared. Her world was filled, instead, with green.
Usha watched Palin leave, the forest of the Qualinesti swallowing him along with Feril and Jasper. The green filled her vision and made her feel suddenly empty and isolated, somehow frightening her a little. For several moments all she heard was her own uneasy breathing. She felt in her ears the beating of her heart, and faintly she heard the rustling of the leaves in the slight breeze.
Then the birds in the tall willows around her resumed singing, signaling to her that Palin was moving farther away, no longer worrying them. The chittering of chipmunks, chucks, and ground squirrels reached her, and she sagged against the thick trunk of a shaggybark, taking the myriad sounds of the tropical forest. She tried to relax. Had the circumstances been different, or had her husband been accompanying her, she might have enjoyed her surroundings or at the very least appreciated them. However, as it was, she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable, a wary intruder in the elven woods.
Once again, as it had happened before, the elf stepped into view. Once more she heard her name as if it were a curse. The details were as vivid as if she were back in the Qualinesti Forest.
“It is called the Fist of E’li,” the Qualinesti woman was saying, “an ancient thing once wielded by Silvanos himself. Ornate, it is said, bejeweled and pulsing with power. Perhaps if we had the Fist, we could do something against the dragon’s minions.”
“If Palin gains it, you can’t take it away!” Usha surprised herself by the vehemence of her tone. “We need—”
“I’ll not take it, if he finds it—though I doubt that will happen. I’ll be glad enough to keep it away from the occupants of the tower. But I’ll accept a promise from you, provided your husband returns here with it.” The elf’s eyes glowed. “If the scepter is not consumed by whatever your husband has planned for its use, then you will do everything in your power, Usha Majere, to keep it safe and to return it to us. You will risk your very life for this scepter—the Fist of E’li—if need be. Do you understand?”
“Risk my life,” Usha murmured. “Keep it safe. I promise. But you must tell me what the Fist does. You owe that to me after stealing my memories.”
“I will tell you, Usha, but only because I do not believe Palin Majere will ever return from the tower. Legends claim Silvanos used the Fist of E’li, the Fist of Paladine, to rally the elves, to incite them, to inspire them, to urge them to champion his causes. Some say the Fist of E’li is a mind-controlling device. I prefer to believe those elven scholars, however, who insist the Fist only reinforces what people already believe or support. It simply lends them the courage to stand up for their convictions. The Fist, these scholars say, gives people the resolve to embrace with deeds what is harbored by their thoughts. I believe this, too. The Fist is not capable of corrupting people.”
“I understand,” Usha said softly. “The Fist can’t change people’s minds or control their thoughts. But it can give them confidence.”
“Yes. And it cannot force them to do something out of character,” the elf continued. “E’li would not have had that. He would not have wanted unwilling armies, followers who were no more than marionettes to be controlled by his thoughts.”
The elven woman reached up and twirled a strand of Usha’s hair about a slender finger. “Some scholars say the Fist has other properties, too, Usha Majere: that it makes its wielder more confident, and that it can enhance the appearance of the wielder, making him more pleasing to the eye or more accepted by his audience perhaps. Or, perhaps it is merely the beauty of all the gems, making the wielder seem more attractive or stately.”
“Stately,” Usha repeated. Her brow furrowed. “But if the Fist of E’li doesn’t change people’s minds or accomplish anything drastic, what makes it so powerful and valuable to my husband?”
The elf’s eyes twinkled. “I suspect Palin Majere knows nothing of what the scepter can actually do. He simply thinks it is an ancient artifact that will help fulfill his quest. It does possess arcane power, Usha. For the Fist is also a weapon, and it can slay at command, provided the wielder concentrates on his foe and knows how to call upon its killing force. With one strike it can reduce enemies to cinders.”
“Could it slay a dragon?”
The elf stepped away, regarding Usha. “A dragon? Perhaps, perhaps not. I doubt it would do more than wound a great overlord such as Beryl. E’li would not have had such a foe in mind when the scepter was fashioned. Besides, an overlord such as the Green Peril would sense the magic in the scepter and would unleash her horrible breath, destroying the wielder and the Fist before the artifact could be used against her.”
“We must tell Palin about the scepter’s powers. It is possible that he might find a way to—”
“No. The powers of the Fist are like your isle of the Irda: a precious secret the two of us have shared. The secret belongs to me and my chosen followers, and with elven scholars. Palin might indeed wield the Fist capably as it was intended. But if he fails and it is stolen from him, the knowledge of its abilities will also be stolen, and the Fist could be turned into a force for evil. That will be his test. Secrecy is best, I think.”
“Secrecy,” Usha repeated. “I understand secrets.”
“You know nothing about the secrets of the Fist of E’li,” the elf said, her voice monotonic, spellbinding. “You will remember nothing of our conversation. You will remember none of these things, Usha Majere. You will only remember our forest and your vow about the Fist.”