Narantha knew by now what she carried. The small coffer in her chatelaine held something Uncle Lorneth had told her to describe to the disloyal young lordlings as “my gift to you: a thing of pleasure magic deemed suitable only for those of noble blood by its makers, a priestess of Sharess and her lover, a priest of Siamorphe.”
Like all of her earlier offerings, it was a gem enspelled to display softly shifting scenes of beautiful unclad women in its depths, that she could handle safely but that would magically sink into the skin of the men she met with, and melt away.
Uncle Lorneth claimed not to know the precise details of what it did to those lordlings, but Narantha suspected it laid a magic upon them that allowed the war wizards to eavesdrop on their thoughts for signs of treason-and perhaps even trace their whereabouts.
She was well content to broaden the reach of the Crown against those who plotted against it, though she found most of the young, perfumed, arrogant lordlings she encountered even more stomach-turning than she’d thought them before coming to know Florin Falconhand.
Now there was a man…
Narantha purred at the memories that rose at the very thought of him, and almost bit her lip as she smiled. Then she remembered she was alighting from her carriage at the very gates of Erdusking House, and hastily schooled her face and mind to cool attention to the task at hand.
So far as the finer folk of the Forest Kingdom knew, the Lady Narantha Crownsilver was seeking suitable mates among the eligible male nobility of Cormyr. Her quest had commenced with this tour of brief courtesy visits, that favored no particular young lord, but allowed her to meet them all-alone and face to face-without the many distractions of revels and court balls.
Her gown was demure yet spectacular in its elegantly shaped and luxurious way, the spires of its high collar rising on either side of her elegantly piled and styled hair. Her earrings dangled a-sparkle with gems of the most exquisite gaudiness, and her eyes glowed as large and mysteriously dark as her maids could make them.
One of the Erdusking gateguards swallowed visibly as he handed her down; the other, kneeling before Narantha with his greeting-cloak flourished just so for her to tread upon, was devouring her hungrily with his eyes.
She gave him the briefest of winks, and made sure to advance her left foot first so her slit gown swirled to show him a daringly high glimpse of her upper thigh, but kept her face expressionless.
Having a servant in charge of a gate smitten with you might well come in useful in time to come.
Narantha carefully kept her face blank as she passed through the gate and felt the strange fluttering in her mind that meant a wizard’s probe was biting deep, battering against whatever it was that Uncle Lorneth had put in there to defend her.
She was annoyed at the invasion-but, uncomfortably, something inside her head was even more angry than she was.
“I’m beginning to truly like the lass,” Horaundoon said, in answer to the hargaunt’s inquisitive chime. “ ’Tis almost a pity she’ll be dead soon.”
The hargaunt gave forth a melodious rising burst of chimes.
“No,” the Zhentarim told it, “they’re not really gems at all. They look and feel like gems when my spells are complete, yes. That’s to stop anyone from destroying a mindworm before it goes into them.”
Horaundoon strode across the chamber to the articulated claws set atop a spell-scorched pedestal, and the faintly glowing not-gem in their grasp. He plucked it forth and turned it in his hand, watching tiny sparkling motes of unbound magic play along its facets.
“A beautiful stone, or so it appears, with a sequence of spell-images in its depths, of languid unclad maids that fade in and out of view in an endless cycle. They make the males Narantha’s subverting for us pick up the stone, to gaze in at the beauties more closely.”
The hargaunt chimed again. Horaundoon put the stone back into the claws, and smiled a slow wolf’s smile. “The moment they touch this mindworm of mine, a spell floods into them, imparting such intense pleasure-the greatest rapture most of them will ever know-that they clutch and hold it, enthralled by the sensations, as it melts into them. Conquering another mind in this ripe-for-plucking kingdom.”
The Erduskings were a suspicious house, it seemed. Two hulking guards-in full plate armor, all black enameled and teased into spike points in many impractical places, and worn with skirling, clashing scabbard chains-met her at the grand entry doors with their visors down and pointed the way she was to proceed with the spikes on the heads of their battle-axes. Then they escorted her, their boots making ominous thunder on the thick owlbear rugs.
Up a grand and seemingly endless stair with steps broad enough to be landings, then down a passage past the stuffed and mounted heads of many beasts who looked quite annoyed to have been slain by an Erdusking, to the double doors that led to an audience room furnished in old Erdusking armor and yellowing marble heads of Erdusking ancestors.
Narantha’s quarry stood alone in the center of the room, smiling ever so slightly. The eldest son and heir of House Erdusking had to dismiss the guards no less than three times before they reluctantly stepped out of the room, closed its doors-and undoubtedly took up swords-drawn positions on the other side of them.
The treasure they were guarding seemed hardly worth the trouble.
Malasko Erdusking was tall, hook-nosed, and cruel of face and manner, supercilious when he wasn’t being openly lustful. The reek of his oiled, dyed, jet-black hair made her nostrils flare and her throat tighten, and Narantha had to fight for the control of her face and eyes she’d need to fulfill her latest delivery for Uncle Lorneth.
Thankfully, like many nobles, Malasko saw what he wanted to see.
“You shudder for me, I cannot help but notice,” he purred archly, shifting his long limbs to strike yet another pose. The man seemed to live in a series of indolent poses, impressive in his skin-tight black hose and tunic.
Malasko saw where her gaze rested and smiled a velvet-soft smile. “We seem very well suited for each other. Don’t you agree?”
Narantha ducked her head a little, letting him think her smile was one of shy desire. “My lord,” she murmured, “I need…”
She let her words hang, to see how he filled the silence.
His smile broadened. “A lord and master worthy of your beauty,” he breathed. “Little Crownsilver lass, I am the answer to your every need.”
Afraid she might giggle, Narantha bit her lip, cast her eyes down to the eternally snarling head of the dire bear rug at her feet, and murmured, “I begin to believe so, Lord Erdusking. Yet, as you must have heard, I am, above all, obedient. To you, if we are wed, but until then to my parents-and ’tis their will that I see all unmarried noblemen of suitable age in the realm who will receive me, ere I make a far narrower choice. I have other mansions and men to visit yet, I fear.”
“Ah, but surely none can even begin to-”
“Lord Erdusking, this may well be so, but I follow my father’s will in this.” She raised her eyes to him, and said almost pleadingly, “And while it would take a man of Cormyr-shaking bravery to defy Lord Maniol Crownsilver, any man who would think to defy the Lady Jalassa Crownsilver must be several different kinds of babbling fool. A description that obviously can never fit you, Lord.”
Malasko was momentarily-for the first time in more than a season-at a loss for words. Laughing uneasily-had he just been insulted, or had he not? — he said soothingly, “Of course not, Lady Narantha.”
“Yet so that hope fades not entirely from your eyes,” his shapely visitor said huskily, taking a small, glossy coffer from her chatelaine, “I deeply desire that you accept this small token from me, to remind you of my desires, that burn always, close beneath the smiles and manners I present to the watching world.”
She held out the coffer, opening it with deft elegance.
Malasko Erdusking was chuckling, “Ah, Lady, such a gift is hardly necessary, between such as we two…”
His voice trailed away as he caught sight of the gem-impressively large even to the wealthiest of nobles, which the Erduskings were not-and his eyes grew larger.
