A good man. One of my apprentices, not so long ago. Too shy and kind to ever be a leader, or have much to do with power or politics around him. He’ll keep behind his high walls and work on spells for as long as Faerun lets him.
“Right. Who’s Whisper?”
A Zhentarim who dwells in hiding underground, in the Stonelands. He has wits, ambition, and malice, but his Art is middling at best. He’s charged with overseeing Zhent-controlled trade through your realm and past it to the north, through the Stonelands and Anauroch. Vangerdahast is aware of him, and your Wizards of War keep rather inattentive watch over him. He bears watching, of course.
“Of course. As do we all.”
Indeed, Lady. As do we all.
Horaundoon had wasted most of the morning waiting for a wagon-merchant in a sufficient hurry to get to Arabel that he’d not stay over in Waymoot, nor turn at Dhedluk down to Immersea, and buck flatter and safer country but much heavier traffic to take Calantar’s Way from there to Immersea.
However, one had come at last, in the person of Peraegh Omliskur, dealer in scents and sundries. It seemed a new fragrance was all the rage among wealthy would-be-noble ladies in Cormyr, and the matriarchs of Arabel wanted to be as enraged as everyone else. More than that: no lady can ever have enough silk scanties, facepaints, and nailbright, and Omliskur had been waiting for a valuable cargo to pay the costs of running another wagon or two of such luxuries-pardon, necessities-north. That was why he was here now, his great dray-horses breathless and blown, enriching the horsebreeder Tirin by selling his drays at a loss and paying top coin for twice as many, so as to make lighter, swifter work of a fast haul through Eveningstar.
Not that the Zhentarim had waited in idleness. With the help of the hargaunt, Horaundoon had spent the morning in the shape of a wrinkled old man, quaveringly seeking a means of getting to Arabel “by way of the House of the Morning in Eveningstar, where I must pray at the grave of my grandmother, the Morninglord keep her!” He offered coins enough to more than make up what the wagon-merchant Omliskur had lost on the horses, so that wheezing worthy was delighted to take him as far as Eveningstar-and give him privacy in a crowded-with-coffers, rocking and pitching wagon, besides.
Horaundoon was crouched among strongchests and carry-coffers, hunched over to avoid having his skull split by the high stacks as their tiedown straps groaned and stretched at every bump and yaw, casting the only sort of scrying spell he dared try with the war wizards doubtless peering at the Swords constantly with their own spells.
Rather than try to find and watch the adventurers, riding on the road ahead of him, he’d set about watching a spot on the road he knew, waiting for them to reach it.
And here they were now, riding right into his view! He Around them, rainbow hues swirled.
Horaundoon cursed and banished his spell in an instant. Someone was watching the Swords from afar, and someone else was using magic to watch for anyone trying to scry them. That someone had become aware of Horaundoon’s scrutiny, but hopefully had lacked the time to trace it or identify him.
Hopefully.
“To Eveningstar,” he growled. Restlessly, the hargaunt shifted across his face, literally making his skin crawl.
Horaundoon sighed and settled down to, ahem, enjoy the long, bumpy ride to Dhedluk. Then on to Eveningstar, without using a trace of magic along the way.
And as usual, the hargaunt was starting to itch.
The sun was starting to lower in the west, near the end of a day later, when the Swords of Eveningstar reached the little bridge that marked the edge of Eveningstar, where a lone roadguard stood under a lantern, challenging all travelers.
“Swords of Eveningstar?” that Purple Dragon asked, peering up past the noseguard of his old-fashioned helm at the riders in the road. “Is this all of you?”
Bey Freemantle, who happened to be closest, was a man of few words, but Agannor smilingly bowed in his saddle and assured the guard that before him were indeed all the Swords of Eveningstar Faerun had ever held.
“Right,” the guard replied. “Go you right along this road, and tie your mounts up at Tessaril’s tower. Stone building, big porch along the front, rises to the closest thing to a tower Eveningstar has-until you get to the temple, that is. The tower’s two buildings this side of the Tankard, that’s the Lonesome Tankard Inn, standing in the corner where this road meets, and ends at, the High Road ’twixt Tyrluk and Arabel. Go nowhere else, for the Lady Lord of Eveningstar has pronounced summons on you.”
Agannor blinked. “Pronounced what?”
“Under Crown law, you must go straight to see her, tarrying not and turning aside nowhere else.”
“Right,” Agannor mimicked him, and rode on, the rest of the Swords following.
Two guards awaited them on the tower porch. They took the saddle-weary Swords’ reins and pointed them inside with the words: “Audience room. Now. Expected.”
Inside, yet another Purple Dragon stood facing them, at the back of the entry hall. There was an open door beside him, and he was pointing at it. The Swords tramped forward.
“I feel like I’m being herded,” Jhessail muttered to Martess, as they went through that door-and found a lone woman sitting behind a desk. She stood up to greet them with a smile, ash-blonde hair falling free over her shoulders, and proved to be as tall as Islif, though more slender of build. She dominated the room just as the king had dominated the inn when they’d dined with him.
“They’re all the same,” Narantha whispered to Florin, as they shuffled in to stand in an uneasy cluster, facing Tessaril. “Eyes like drawn daggers.”
The lady lord folded her arms across her chest, gave the Swords a smile that never quite reached her eyes, and asked pleasantly, “Your charter, please?”
Florin undid his breastplate again to proffer it, and Tessaril took it and read each name aloud in turn, raising her eyes to see who answered. When she was done, she looked to Narantha and said, “You seem unaccounted for.”
“I am the Lady Narantha Crownsilver. I am not a Sword of Eveningstar, but travel with them at the king’s personal suggestion.”
Tessaril smiled. “As I recall, His Majesty’s precise words regarding me were: ‘She can give you directions to the Halls, and be your guide in matters ethical while you are within her writ’ and his precise words regarding you were: ‘I must, by blood and the needs of the realm, forbid the name of Narantha Crownsilver from appearing on this or any adventuring charter’ and ‘in the Cormyr I reign over, friend may freely ride with friend-so keeping this precious lady safe and away from you or safe in your company is entirely your affair.’ Somewhat less strong and firm than suggesting you travel with the Swords. Wherefore, as a noble who might some day lead the Crownsilvers and therefore is of great value to the realm, you must bide with me, in the guest chambers here in my tower, and not stay with the Swords at the inn or for that matter in the open, nor enter the Halls with them.”
Narantha drew herself up, eyes blazing, and Tessaril added in the mildest of voices, “And I am certain that, understanding your duty to the realm as you do, your own reputation, and what it is to be truly noble, you would not dream for an instant of disobeying, rebuking, or even arguing with one of the king’s lords.”
Someone among the assembled Swords snickered-someone who sounded suspiciously like Pennae.
Tessaril gave no signs of having heard that mirth, but looked from a simmering Narantha to the rest of them to say gravely, “As the gauntleted hand of the Dragon Throne here in Eveningstar, I must keep order. This involves being always aware of perils and disputes in my domain that may in time, like fires, flare into something greater. Wherefore it should come as no surprise to you that I’ll have my eye on all of you. Please come to me for advice, aid if you need it, and to report anything you see fit that I should know.” She spread her hands. “Will you share your immediate plans with me, please?”
Narantha looked at Florin, who took a pace forward, met Tessaril’s gaze steadily, and replied, “Lady Lord Winter, we’ve no desire to gain your disfavor. I tell you in truth that we plan to forthwith enter the Haunted Halls north of the village, as I’m sure you’re aware the king requires us to do. If we can, we’ll scour it out, though I fear that may prove more than we can handle. You recommend we take rooms at the inn?”
Tessaril gave him the ghost of a smile. “I do. You are expected.”
She strolled toward the door. “I wish you good fortune. Report to me if you intend to leave the vicinity of Eveningstar, or if you witness anything that might be of great interest to the security of Cormyr.”
