She tried to toss her head and-with a sudden leap of fear-found herself still standing motionless, still gazing just where she'd been looking before.
The invisible, paralyzing force was streaming into her from off to her left, about six paces away . . . where a heap of trash suddenly shifted and rose up with a little grunt of effort, falling away untidily to reveal a woman in trim dark robes, a gentle but noble face, and long flowing auburn hair-one lock of which had gone white.
'With me, as it happens,' the woman said gently but firmly. 'I believe we've seen each other recently. I'm Laspeera of the War Wizards.'
Narnra glared at her, or tried to. War Wizards again, she thought, and I can't even move my mouth to ask, or protest, or …
Laspeera cast a smiling glance at the Harper. 'I'd like to hear what's so urgent that the smooth and urbane Glarasteer Rhauligan races across Marsember like an overeager dog, toting smart-tongued street thieves.'
'So you shall,' Rhauligan replied and began to pant rapidly, his tongue hanging out.
Laspeera gave him a look. 'What's got into you?'
'Revealing my innermost overeager dog, Lady Mage,' he replied brightly.
Laspeera sighed, waved one graceful hand, and murmured, 'Get on with it, faithful hound. I grow no younger.'
* * * * *
Lord Vangerdahast of Cormyr leaned back contentedly from the table. His stomach promptly rumbled, sounding every bit as contented as he was.
The plate on the table in front of him was empty of all but a few smears of sauce, though it had been heaped high with rabbit stew not so very long ago. Good sauce, that. . .
The former Royal Magician of the Realm reached for the plate, leaning forward with tongue extended to lick it clean-but a grinning Myrmeen Lhal reached in under his arm with the speed of a striking adder and plucked the plate away. Vangey's fingertips thumped down on bare tabletop, leaving him blinking . . . then turning with a growl.
'You can thank me whenever you remember your manners,' the Lady Lord of Arabel said impishly, heading for the washbasins beside the sink.
Vangerdahast scowled at her, which caused her to lift an eyebrow reprovingly at him, over her shoulder.
Under the force of her disapproving gaze he sighed, waved his fingers as if to banish what he'd just done, and muttered, 'Have my thanks, Myrmeen Lhal. You . . . surprise me. I thought you were merely the best of Alusair's mud-spattered, eager she-blades, determined to outfight and outsnap any man.'
'Oh my, and here I thought you were just a manipulative wizard driven by whimsy, a hunger for power, and a love of being mysterious and rude to everyone in sight,' Myrmeen replied merrily, hurling herself into Vangerdahast's favorite lounge chair.
She bounced once amid its overstuffed, highbacked, and rather shabby comfort-and bent to sniff, frowning in appraisal. Then she shot him a scowl of her own. 'Don't you ever wash things? Gods' grief, man! The lice are leaping all over me!'
She sprang up, growling in irritation, and clawed at buckles and straps, rapidly shucking armor in all directions.
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
