his rooms.
The light spell still gleamed from his belt buckle, but that pale brightness was completely overwhelmed by the brilliant glow emanating from a dozen different places in his treasure chamber. Jewels and scepters, a crown, and a magnificent wand all shone with magical light. A chest, overflowing with coins, glowed crimson as though from the embers of a fire. Yellow and green light rose from statues and paintings, while a magical chandelier- perpetually illuminated-brightened the place more than a hundred candles.
Hoarst spent a few moments perusing his trinkets, fondling the limitless piles of coins, admiring his favorite painting-which displayed a partially disrobed woman beside a deep, clear pool-hoisting a prize scepter, and cradling the hilt of a splendid flying dagger.
But business, not pleasure, had drawn him there, and he had precious little time to waste. He moved to a jar that was full of powdered flakes of gold. He needed both hands to hoist the heavy vessel until he slipped it into a bag of holding. Then he was able to suspend it from his belt as if it were a small purse. He found another small chest, one containing pure, crystalline diamonds, and added that to the bag. After a moment’s thought, he dropped the enchanted dagger into the bag as well.
Securing the wizard locks behind him, he went out through the dungeon tunnels and back up the long stairway, returning to his lab to find that the women had followed his instructions precisely. A great fire burned under his cauldron, and the wine and other ingredients had been brought over to the nearby table, where they were neatly arrayed.
He dined in the laboratory, mixing and working through the meal, then chanted spells and wrote arcane symbols deep into the night. The women tended the fire while he slept, and he continued to mix and cook for all the following day. Powdered gold, its weight equivalent to two thousand pieces of steel, was added. He put the diamonds-ten times the value of the steel-in his grinder, and reduced the precious stones to powder after an hour of hard labor.
For six more hours, the huge cauldron boiled, the magical potion taking effect until, finally, there was only one thing he needed to add.
“Sirene, come here,” he ordered.
The albino woman came to him immediately, willingly. She was clean and perfumed following her bath, and he was pleased. She well knew that albino blood was rare and much treasured as a spell component, and once again she proudly held out a finger, ready for the prick of his lancet.
“Do you need another drop of my blood, my lord?” she asked, relishing the power of her special status, inwardly sneering at the jealously of the other women.
“You understand me too well,” he said with a smile. “But this is a very special potion with very special requisites.”
The magical knife was in his hand, but she was looking only at his eyes.
“I am sorry to tell you this, my dear,” he explained. “But this time, I need all of it.”
Selinda returned to the little inn at the end of the dark alcove the next night. Though there was no sign outside the place, she learned from other patrons that it was called the Hale and Farewell, in honor of the parties sailors had before their ships left port for long voyages. She learned the proprietor was the man who had spoken to her outside the alley the first night she stopped, and that his name was Hale. People referred to him as Lame Hale, and he seemed to take that reference to his gimpy leg with fine good humor.
The third night she teleported from her room directly to the alley, very much surprising Lame Hale as he leaned against the dirty wall and scouted the street for prospective customers. But he seemed glad to see her again, and she enjoyed his compliments. She was soon inside and being welcomed by a host of familiar customers. She didn’t lack for an invitation to sit at a table with a group of travelers or share some gossip with some of the lady merchants who held court in the corner room.
The sailors told stories of exotic ports and terrifying storms, and she relished their tales of adventure. There were old soldiers too, and-for a drink or two-they could be coaxed into recounting campaigns against the Dark Knights, surreptitious missions under the realm of Khellendros, or battles against Ankhar the Truth on the central plains. Selinda stayed late each time she visited the place-usually the sun was coming up by the time she went home-and she always departed on foot, waiting until she was out of sight of the Hale and Farewell’s front door before teleporting home.
She told no one her name, and no one asked. She was treated well, as befitted her beauty and the generous tips that she left following each visit. The exotic music, oily and smooth and a trifle atonal, appealed to her in ways that the flutes, lyres, and drums of other local musicians did not. On her second visit, she had learned the unusual musicians and their instruments came from so far away that they were unknown on most of the continent of Ansalon.
It also pleased her to go to a place where no one knew her as the wife of the emperor, where her legacy as the Princess of the Plains, the woman who would help unite Solamnia, was mere myth. She had grown up in the city, a daughter of privilege, and-when she was honest with herself-she admitted that she was spoiled by her rich father. If he hadn’t exactly been doting, Bakkard du Chagne had never allowed her to want for any material things, and she came to adulthood expecting that as her due. Her marriage to the most powerful man in her world had done nothing to lessen her sense of entitlement, but it had walled her off from life.
There in the dark inn, those walls were broken. She laughed at the sensation of complete freedom and relaxed among the jovial strangers. She even joined in the gossip about the emperor, which was surprisingly common. Everyone had an opinion of her husband, and most opinions were unfavorable-though a few of the veteran soldiers spoke up for the new discipline and pride of the Solamnic nation. Others mocked Jaymes as being afraid of his own shadow and paranoid to the point of lunacy with his edicts and restrictions. If the new edicts had put any fear of reprisal into her new friends, they certainly hid the fact very well!
On her fourth or fifth visit, Lame Hale came over to sit at her table. She nodded a greeting to him.
“I am delighted to see that the mistress finds my humble establishment to her liking,” he said with an easy smile.
“It’s a lovely place,” Selinda declared. “Everyone is so nice, and you have such a splendid mix of people from all over.”
“Ah, yes. And don’t forget the music!” He gestured to a slender, pale-skinned musician who was working with some kind of flute that was as tall as a long spear. The man was producing notes that seemed to transcend scale, just then playing in a mournful minor key that made Selinda feel achingly sad.
Hale cleared his throat. “Perhaps I could introduce the lady to something new?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”
Hale whistled loudly, and one of his serving maids hustled over to the table. Like all of the inn’s maids, the young woman wore a gown that dipped very low in the front and was braced with a knee-length skirt. She curtsied to her master.
“Bring the gracious lady a Red Lotus,” Hale said in his soft but curiously seductive voice. He turned back to Selinda. “It is another concoction that comes out of the east. I believe you will find it very pleasing.”
And indeed, Selinda did. The drink was tart, with a hint of some kind of berry that covered up stronger, unusual tastes. It felt soft yet prickly on her tongue, and when she sipped it, she found the sensation strikingly pleasurable. Before she knew it, her glass was empty, and Hale was motioning for another…
And another after that. It seemed the drink was focusing her thoughts, heightening her awareness, and she found herself laughing very loud at something-she couldn’t say what it was. The lights were suddenly very bright then seemed to fade almost to black. They flared up again with a sudden, wavering brilliance that she found absolutely hilarious. She wondered at the fact that no one else seemed to take notice of the distortion, but she didn’t wonder very much as the music started up again.
A fiddle player had joined the man with the exotic flute, and they picked up the tempo into a lively jig. Suddenly Selinda was up and dancing, and everyone was clapping in time to the music, cheering her on, and it was simply the most wonderful, exhilarating experience in all of her life. Laughing, she encouraged the musicians to play an extra song, and was terribly disappointed when, a long time later, they pleaded the need for rest.
She felt a little unsteady on her feet as she made her way back to the table, where the proprietor still sat, beaming happily at her. He was such a nice man!
“Perhaps the mistress would come with me now?” said Hale.
A glimmer of alarm tried to find its way through her fuzzy brain. But all she could think of were Hale’s eyes,
