It was Vangerdahast's turn to rise hastily. "Now don't you start throwing your skin at me! I knew—"
"You hoped," Myrmeen replied witheringly, bared to the waist with a bundle of leather and chain and armor plate in her hands. Her dangling suspenders, Vangey noticed with some surprise, looked very much like his own.
"Now," she asked briskly, "where do you bathe? You do bathe, don't you?"
"Huh-hahem. Ah, down that passage," he said, pointing. "There's a pool. The, uh, stars above it are a spell that mirrors the real sky, not a hole in the ceiling. The, ah, floating wooden duck is mine. I—"
Myrmeen strode forward, shifting her bundle against her bosom to free one hand—and used it to grab her host by one elbow. "Come," she ordered, starting to march him along.
"What? What're you—?"
"My hair was filthy this morning, and 'tis worse now. You can help me wash it."
"I don't—"
"Oh, yes, you do. Yours has been washed sometime this month, I'm sure of it. Come."
She half-led, half-propelled the feebly-protesting wizard down the passage.
Scarlet with embarrassment and breathless in his enforced haste, Vangerdahast vowed he would get his revenge on this ogre of a she-swordcaptain—and it would be a revenge that would last a long, long time and leave her begging for mercy.
* * * * *
The Harbortower turret was always cold and drafty, even at the muggy height of the warmest—and stinkiest—summer weather . . . wherefore this was not a popular duty-post among the War Wizards. When Huldyl Rauthur, a War Wizard of middling rank, had agreed to take it with slightly more eagerness than he'd ever shown before, old Rathandar had seen fit to grimly remind him that the old turret wouldn't stand up to any really spectacular experimental castings and that he'd personally lash some lasting stripes into Huldyl's backside if he found even the slightest sign of feminine companions teleporting or being teleported into or out of the turret during Huldyl's shifts. Steamy chapbooks and richly bad food, on the other hand, were quite understandable . . .
On this bright morning, however, Huldyl seemed unable to enjoy even one of his stack of daring chapbooks and had barely touched his amber-roast butterfowl—to say nothing of his sugar-nuts. However, he was quite alone and had thrown no cloak over the bare cot by the back window to make it even uncomfortably suitable for dalliance ... or slumber, for that matter.
Uneasily he strolled from room to room, peering out of the windows at bustling Marsember below more than he bothered to squint into the powerful farglasses aimed out to sea. "No pirates ho," he muttered, in mockery of the cry excited young War Wizards seemed to veritably itch to give tongue to ... and restlessly went back into the room he'd just left.
Rauthur was a short, stout man who always seemed to some people to be nervous, because beneath his thinning brown hair, his temples were always beaded with sweat. Those who knew him better, however, judged him a good crafter of new spells and a sarcastic, often smug man whose green eyes would blaze wildly when he was really excited or fearful.
There was no one to take note of his eyes at this moment, however, as he stood alone in the turret, tapping fingers idly on the windowsill and listening to seabirds flap and scream. He sighed, turned, started back through the connecting archway once more—and came to a sudden halt.
The chair by the table bearing his books and food was no longer empty. A young, darkly handsome man clad in black and silver shimmerweave lounged there, an easy smile on his lips and The Wanton Witch Said Yes open in one hand.
He lifted an eyebrow and the tome together. "A coded spell-book, perhaps?"
Rauthur flushed, and glanced at the floor. His guest might look like a swaggering noble or idle merchant prince—but he'd met with Harnrim Starangh of the Red Wizards before.
"I—ah—no. Uh, to make my superiors think I lacked a woman to smuggle up here so they wouldn't scry us and see . . ."
"Me? Ah, but only you can see my proper self. To the rest of the overly curious world, I am a ravishing beauty in black silks—with the face of someone you prefer to privately refer to as the Crown Princess Wrathful, I believe."
"Princess Alusair—?"
"Oh, don't gabble, man! Be bold! Plenty of perfectly loyal folk of Cormyr say arch or even biting things about the royal family and live to repeat them more loudly at revels! Besides, you'll soon not have to worry overmuch about what others think of you."
The Red Wizard lowered the chapbook with a brittle smile to reveal a tight-rolled baton of parchment.
Huldyl Rauthur leaned forward eagerly, his eyes catching green fire, and the wizard best known in Thay as Darkspells unrolled the parchment to splay seven scrolls out in a fan array on the table. The sugarnuts were in the way, and without even looking up the Red Wizard sent them drifting smoothly through the air to hover by the War Wizard's face. The chapbooks descended only slightly less smoothly to a soft landing on the floor.
Hesitantly Rauthur plucked a sugarnut from the air and ate it.
Darkspells looked up at him, smiled again, and spread his hand in a flourish above the parchments. "So there you are: the seven spells, as agreed. The coins you've had already should be more than enough to buy you a handsome abode in Athkatla, Waterdeep, Sembia, or anywhere more distant, for that matter. These magics should enable you to slay with ease any War Wizards who come hunting you. Practice their use in private to ensure yourself of their stable and complete nature, power, and worth."
The scrolls rose in unison and drifted toward Huldyl in the wake of the sugarnuts, which the War Wizard gobbled more of hastily, wiping his sugar-coated fingers nervously on the front of his tunic.
Harnrim Starangh leaned forward over the table with an eagerness that matched his own. "I hereby reaffirm my earlier promise: the same amount of cash and seven more very useful spells will be yours when I've safely reached Vangerdahast and gotten away again."
Rauthur fielded the scrolls with a chuckle, eyes alight. "I'm your man, Lord Starangh, I am indeed. This is ... princely."
"Prince," the Red Wizard purred. "Now there's a title to aspire to. You could, you know, if you time things right and use just the right spells to tame Alusair to your will and bed. After she delivers you an heir, there'd be no need to sit still for the searing of her tongue any longer. A little spell-blast, a lot of mourning, and you could then do as her father did: have your pick of all the women in the kingdom."
The War Wizard's chuckle was a weak one, this time, and he shook his head, shrugged, and said, "Lord, you've more boldness in you than I do." He shook his head again, in admiration. "Wouldn't that be something, though . . ."
Darkspells let him ponder for a moment or two then said gently, "To bind the trust between us, I'll now complete that linking spell . . . if you're agreed?"
"A-aye," Rauthur replied, in a low voice. He ran a hand through the thinning hair atop his head and blurted, "Remind me, Lord Starangh, of its specifics. I'd not want to put a foot wrong, if you understand me."
"Of course." the Red Wizard said gravely, watching the last of the sugarnuts hastily disappearing down Rauthur's gullet.
"Things that befall one of us also befall the other, at the same time. These shared fates are drunkenness, injury, hostile—but not self-cast—enspellment, and death. We will not share thoughts, emotions, dreams, or other things I've not spoken of: these things and these only. The spell will fade in a year." Starangh locked gazes with the War Wizard and added in dry tones, "Which will give you plenty of time to disappear from both Cormyrean justice and Thayan regard."
Huldyl Rauthur smiled rather uncertainly and grunted, "My thanks, Lord. Do it."
Starangh nodded and beckoned the War Wizard over to him, rising from his chair to hold up both hands, palms outward and fingers together. Hesitantly Rauthur set aside the scrolls and held out his own hands to match.
Palms touched. The Thayan nodded approvingly and murmured a short incantation, awakening a tingling in them both that left their forearms shuddering as they stepped back from each other.
"I'm ready to proceed when you deem the time is right. Contact me at any time of day or night. I'll be pleased if you guide me through the defenses of Vangerdahast's sanctum to him sooner rather than later, if you take my meaning."
"I-I do," Rauthur assured him hastily.
Harnrim Starangh smiled thinly. "Just one thing more, Prince-to-be Huldyl. If this linking spell between us is broken, I'll instantly be aware of that and of your whereabouts at the time—and may well be forced, for reasons of prudent diplomacy, you understand, to strike out from afar with slaying magic to obliberate Huldyl Rauthur and whoever helped you remove the spell."
His smile widened and stayed broad and promising as the man called Darkspells silently faded away.
Leaving Huldyl Rauthur standing alone in the Harbortower turret, shivering in fear, with The Wanton Witch Said Yes lying fallen at his feet.
Fourteen
NARNRA TAKES A TASK
Well, we all have to work at SOMEthing—even the gods. So pick up that bucket, and let's have no more of your backtalk.
The character Farmer Juth