Wanlorn's welcome.
The bearded man smiled broadly, seized that hand, and shook it in a warrior's salute. 'In to see Lord Esbre Felmorel,' he said, 'and share some private converse with him, good lad, whilst I partake of one of his superb feasts. Ye may announce me.'
'And then again,' the captain hissed, leaning forward to glare at the stranger nose-to-nose, 'I may not.' Blazing green eyes stared into merry blue-gray ones for a long moment, then the captain added shortly, 'Go away. Get gone from my gate, or I'll run you through. I don't let rude brigands…or clever-tongued beggars…'
The bearded man smiled and leaned forward to land a resounding kiss on the guard's menacing mouth.
'Ye're as striking as they said ye'd be,' the stranger said almost fondly. 'Old Glavyn's a fire-lord when he's angry, they said. Get him to spit and snarl and run ye away from his gate…oh, he's a proper little dragon!'
One of the other guards sniggered, and Guard Captain Glavyn abandoned blinking, startled, at the stranger to whirl around with a snarl and thrust his glare down the throat of a more familiar foe. 'Do we find something
'Ah, Glavyn, Glavyn,' the bearded stranger said admiringly, 'what flow! What style! Splendid words, stirringly delivered. I'll tell Esbr…the Lord so, when I sit down to dine with him.' He clapped the captain on one shoulder and slipped past him in the same movement. The guard captain exploded into red rage and snatched out his weapons to … or, rather, tried to. Somehow, strain and struggle as he might, he couldn't make either mace or dagger budge, or uncross his arms to reach for the short sword slung across his back or his other dagger beside it. He couldn't move his arms at all. Glavyn drew in breath for what would have been a hoarse, incoherent scream, but for…
'My lords, what is all this tumult?' The low, musical voice of the Lady Nasmaerae cut through Glavyns gathering wind and the rising alarm of his fellow guards like a sword blade sliding through silk. Four men moved in silence to place themselves where they could best…that is, without obstruction…stare at her. Slender she was, in a gown of green whose tight, pointed sleeves almost hid her fingers but left supple shoulders bare. A stomacher of intricate worked silver caught the gleam of the dying day, even through the rain and mist, as she turned away slightly in the darkness and worked some small cantrip that made the candelabra in her hand burst into warm flame.
By its leaping light eyes that were dark pools grew even larger, and indigo in hue…indigo with flecks of gold. Lady Nasmaerae's mouth and manner seemed all chaste innocence, but those eyes promised old wisdom, dark sensuality, and a smoldering hunger.
A smile rose behind her eyes as she measured her effect on the men at the gate, and she added almost lightly, 'Who are we, on a night such as this, to keep a lone traveler standing in the wet? Come in, sir, and be welcome. Castle Felmorel stands open to ye.'
The hawk-nosed stranger bowed his head and smiled. 'Lady,' he said, 'ye do me great honor by thy generosity to a stranger…outpouring, as it is, of a trusting and loving manner that thy gate-guards would do well to emulate. Wanlorn of Athalantar am I, and I accept thy hospitality, swearing unreservedly that I mean no harm to ye or to anyone who dwells within, nor to any design or chattel of Felmorel. Folk in the lands around spoke volubly of thy beauty, but I see their words were poor, tattered things compared to the stirring and sublime vision that is… ye.'
Nasmaerae dimpled. Still wearing that amused smile, she turned her head and said, 'Listen well, Glavyn.
The guard captain, red-faced and still trembling as he fought with his immobile arms while trying not to appear to be doing so, glowered past her shoulder and said nothing.
The Lady Nasmaerae turned her back on him in a smooth lilt that wasn't quite a flounce and offered her arm to Wanlorn. He took it with a bow and in the same motion he assumed the lofty bearing of the candelabra, their fingers brushing each other for a moment…or perhaps just a lingering instant longer.
As they swept away out of sight down a dart-paneled inner passage, the guards could have collet-lively sworn that the flames of that bobbing candelabra
One might have expected him to draw forth the weapons he'd so striven to loose these past few breaths…but instead, the captain poured all his energy into a vigorous, snarling-swift, prolonged use of the tongue.
By the time he was finally forced to draw breath the two guards under his command were regarding him with respect and amazement. Glavyn turned away quickly, so they wouldn't see him blush.
The arms of Felmorel featured at their heart a man-timera rampant, and although no one living had ever seen such an ungainly and dangerous beast (sporting, as it did, three bearded heads and three spike-bristling tails at opposing ends of its bat-winged body), the Lord of Felmorel was known, both affectionately and by those who spoke in fear, as 'the Mantimera.'
As jovial and as watchfully deadly in manner as his heraldic namesake was reputed to be, Esbre Felmorel greeted his unexpected guest with an easy affability. praising him for a timely arrival to provide light converse whilst his other two guests this night were still a-robing in their apartments. The Lord then offered the obviously weary Wanlorn the immediate hospitality of a suite of rooms for rest and refreshment, but the hawk-nosed man deferred his acceptance until after the feast was done, saying it would be poor repayment of warm generosity to deprive his host of a chance to share that very converse.
The Lady Nasmaerae assumed a couch that was obviously her customary seat with a liquid grace that both men paused to watch. She smiled and silently cupped a fluted elven glass of iced wine beside her cheek, content to listen as the customary opening courtesies were exchanged between the two men, down the long and well-laden, otherwise empty candlelit feasting table.
'Though 'twould be considered overbold in many a hail to ask so bluntly,' the Mantimera rumbled, 'I would know something out of sheer curiosity, and so will ask: what brings you hither, from a land so distant that I confess I've not heard of it, to seek out one castle in the rain?'
Wanlorn smiled. 'Lord Esbre, I am as direct a man as thyself, given my druthers. I am happy to state plainly that I am traveling Faerun in this Year of Laughter to learn more of it, under holy direction in this task, and am at present seeking news or word of someone I know only as 'Dasumia.' Have ye, perchance, a Dasumia in Felmorel, or perhaps a ready supply of Dasumias in the vicinity?'
The Mantimera frowned slightly in concentration, then said, 'I fear not, so far as my knowledge carries me, and must needs cry nay to both your queries. Nasmaerae?'
The Lady Felmorel shook her head slightly. 'I have never heard that name.' She turned her gaze to meet Wanlorn's eyes directly and asked, 'Is this a matter touching on the magic you so ably demonstrated at our gates…or something you'd rather keep private?'
'I know not what it touches on,' their guest replied. 'As we speak, 'Dasumia' is a mystery to me.'
'Perhaps our other guests…one deeply versed in matters magical, and both of them widely traveled… can offer you words to light the dark corners of your mystery,' Lord Esbre offered, sliding a decanter closer to Wanlorn. 'I've found, down the years, that many useful points of lore lie like gems gleaming in forgotten cellars in the minds of those who sup at my board-gems they're as surprised to recall and bring to light once more as we are that they possess such specific and rare riches.'
A fanfare sounded faintly down distant passages, and the Mantimera glanced at servants deftly dragging open a pair of tall, ebon-hued doors with heavy, gilded handles. 'Here they both come now,' he said, dipping a whel-lusk, half-shell and all, into a bowl of spiced softcheese 'Pray eat, good sir. We hold to no formality of serving nor waiting on others here. All I ask of my guests is good speech and attentive listening. Drink up!'
Side by side, and striding in careful step…for all the world as if neither wanted the other to enter the hall either first or last…two tall men came into the room then. One was as broad shouldered as a bull, and wore a high-prowed golden belt that reached almost to his bulging breast. Thin purple silk covered his might) musculature above it and flowed down corded and hairy arms to where gilded bracers encircled forearms larger than the thighs
