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!”
“The Iron War Crown? From the vaults?”
“The vaults. They say Vangey’s frothing, for to get it out of there without triggering all of his personal warning-wards, the thief must be one of the Obarskyrs-or one of us. ”
Tathanter whistled. “Oh, that’s going to be sweet! Tantrums of Mystra, if he’s going to be mind-reaming every last one of us, the kingdom’ll go to the rutting dogs!”
“Pretty much,” Malvert agreed bitterly. “I caught just a touch-a stray edge-of one of his mind-probes once, that time he came after Talarla to find out who she’d been sneaking out at night to kiss and cuddle-remember? — and I thought I was going mad. My head hurt for days, and every few paces I took, memories kept tumbling out of nowhere and flooding my eyes. All I could see was them, not what was really around me. Couldn’t sleep, kept seeing Vangerdahast smiling, skeletons tumbling out of shadows or reaching for me, their grinning skulls always looking like Vangerdahast…”
“Mal! Enough! Say his name that often and you’ll have him down here reaming us for real!”
Malvert nodded quickly. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have… you really have no idea how horrible it was. I only have to think of it… Now, after all this time…” He clawed the air in a great sweeping away of something unseen, and added briskly, “So, would your wagered coins be on one of us, a bored Obarskyr playing at pranks or a parlor cult for nobles… or a sinister Obarskyr?”
“One of us, I’m afraid-though any of your royal alternatives sound far more entertaining.”
“Huh. No disagreement here. Remember the last scandal? Queen Fee’s mysterious stalker?”
Tathanter chuckled. “Aye, and I remember who it was, too. Alusair the toddler, spying on Mummy to learn how to be a queen! How humiliating for our Imperious Leader! I thought he was going to vomit up a litter of kittens on the spot, all down his royal magicianly robes!”
“Well, Vangey evidently remembers that too. For now, he’s not mindbursting all of us, but setting us all to hunt for the Arcrown. He seems to think it may have found its way to Arabel, so accordingly, I bring you your bright new orders.”
“The Dragon you do! What about our morrow-night card game?”
“If we’re lucky, we’ll be playing it with the Acting Captain of the Watch of Arabel, a-”
“A watch officer? They’ve got us working with guilty-if-I-don’t-like-you watch stoneheads now?”
“Well, he’s really a Purple Dragon ranker: the king gave secret orders a few years back, it seems, that thanks to the everlastingly rebellious tendencies in Arabel, all watch officers in that fair city be Purple Dragons, and so right under his thumb-”
“Huh. And we know which cunning royal magician was behind that, don’t we?”
“Aye, I doubt not. But Vangey’s cunning hand or not, this acting captain’s hight Taltar Dahauntul, and I’m told he-”
“Ah, yes, the stalwart Dauntless!”
“Hey?”
“ ‘Dauntless,’ everyone calls him. He seems to like it, and uses it himself now, too. Duke Bhereu once called him that: ‘dauntless in pursuit’ or some such thing, and the name stuck. He’s all right. A little grim and ‘it be against my sworn duty to laugh at anything,’ but then they all are. Old Thunderspell’s orders say anything about what wands and such we’re supposed to take?”
“No,” the inkwell under Tathanter’s nose said with some asperity, in a voice that made both war wizards freeze into instant gape-mouthed silence, their faces going pale, “but I’m on my way down to you two mirthful gossipers, to rectify that. Remain right where you are, though if you feel the need to wet yourselves, the potted plant by the window is quite dead; you can use its pot. Oh, and Doarmond: both merchants penned untruths into their little missives to you, but Harmantle is the one who should see a dungeon cell before the night is over. I’ll see to that. Both of you are going to be rather busy.”
“Sometimes it seems as if I’ve been walking in the forest with you forever,” Narantha mused, “yet it’s been just a few days. And this is our last? I don’t want it to end, now.”
“I’m afraid this must be our last,” Florin said. “Delbossan will be mad with worry-he’s probably been searching day and night since he lost you, and must be raving and reeling by now for lack of sleep. If he’s dared to tell Lord Hezom, there’ll be scores of men out searching for you, and if he hasn’t, Hezom will probably have sent riders south to see what’s delayed Delbossan. And if any war wizard has got wind of what’s befallen, your parents will know by now, and they’ll be tearing the Royal Court apart chamber by chamber getting Purple Dragons out of their barracks and onto horses and up here at fast gallop!”
Narantha made a face. “I don’t want Lord Hezom’s teachings. I want… oh, I don’t know what I want. I-”
