'Of course,' the King of Cormyr said quietly, and put his arms around her with the greatest of care.
'Gods, but I'm hungry,' Shandril murmured into Narm's ear as another wagon rumbled deafeningly past, sending the dust swirling up around them. 'Grubby, too. Ah, for a bath!'
'The river's just back there,' Narm suggested slyly.
Shandril pinched him. 'Did you see how many dead fish were floating around those docks? No, thank you!'
'Well, how about yon bright establishment?' Narm waved across the crowded street. More mules than people inhabited Scornubel, it seemed, and thanks to the dung no one cleared away, buzzing flies outnumbered both together. They looked at the bright signboard of a shopfront that seemed grander than most.
'The Sun Over Scornubel,' Shandril murmured, squinting through her hood to read the name on the sign aloud. 'A club, do you think? Or a proper inn?'
'Well, there's washing hanging, out behind-bedlinens,' Narm replied. 'I saw it a few paces back… and smell the food?'
'Well, then, why are you holding me back?'
'Do priestesses of Chauntea use inns or just sleep in the fields? And-your penance?'
'Sisters of the Soil certainly slept under Gorstag's roof, back in Highmoon,' Shandril said. 'Often.' She took a step toward the signboard, pulling her rope harness tight in Narm's grasp. 'Come on. I'm hungry.'
'And if I refuse?'
'I,' Shandril reminded him, with a wry grin that he could hear in her voice, 'have the spellfire, remember? I'm not to be argued with.'
'Yes,' Narm agreed quietly, holding firmly to the ropes that bound her arms to her sides but letting her walk forward, “thwart me out, out does the rest of the Realms know that? And how urgently do you want them to?'
'No, Torm, I'm going alone,' Sharantyr said firmly, for perhaps the eighteenth time. 'Much as I enjoy your lame jokes and prancing pranks, there are times when stealth is necessary, and a little quiet so one can think, and even something called 'prudence,' which I believe would require Elminster and about a year of his unbroken time to make you fully and truly understand. So bide you here with Rathan, drinking far too much and annoying the good folk of Shadowdale, and let me see to this in my own way.'
Wordlessly the thief held out the next piece of her leather war-harness, to help her put it on. He was holding the breastplates, of course.
Sharantyr stepped forward until she filled them, lifted her arms so he could bring the buckles around, endured his novel way of doing so in good-natured silence, and as he casually brought one of his knives up to her throat intercepted his wrist in a grip of iron and said, 'No, Torm. As much as you find it hard to believe that any female could refuse you in anything, I'm going to do just that. Threaten and coerce all you like: You stay here. Now I'd like to be on my way. I'm almost dressed despite your kind help, the sun waits for no laggard, and if you delay my leaving I'm going to toss you in the nearest horse trough and hold you there while Shaerl douses you with all the vile perfumes her older Rowanmantle kin insist on sending her from the highhouse fashion lounges of Suzail-and believe me, you wouldn't like that.'
'Ah,' Torm said impishly, 'but just how far d'you think you're going to get without this?' He opened his hand, and the ranger saw the little ivory skull gleaming in it.
Sharantyr sighed, made a grab for it that He easily ienueu off-and as he twisted away, chuckling, brought her booted left foot up hard into his crotch with all the force she could put behind it.
His codpiece was armored and would leave a bruise on her shin that might take a month to stop aching, but the thief of the Knights was smaller and lighter than the lady ranger, and her kick launched him into the air with a startled whistle of pain and escaping breath that took him into senselessness with nary another sound-save for the meaty thud of his body falling with full, limp force into the waiting arms of Rathan Thentraver, Stalwart of Tymora. The priest winced, cradled Torm as gently as one might hold a babe, and lowered him deftly to the floor.
'Had he not been armored, lass,' he said gravely, 'that would have been far less than kind. As 'tis-well, one can't deny he hath reaped a harvest his own hand hath most enthusiastically sown. The cup will have cut his thighs. He'll be stiff and sore for some days, and then-1-I fear, as should we all-himself again.' He tossed her something small and smooth: the ivory skull.
Sharantyr caught it and told Rathan, 'I wish, just for once, he'd let someone else's will prevail. When he awakens, tell him I'm sorry for doing this… but this matters much to me: not just the doing of it, but undertaking it by myself. The days and months and years pass, and I wither in his shadow.'
The priest nodded. 'I understand just what you mean,' he said, 'and will tell him. Tymora and all the other benevolent gods watch over thee, Sharantyr-and come back safe to us.'
The lady ranger put the skull into her belt pouch, adjusted the slender long sword that rode on her hip, and looked up at him with a sigh, then a rueful grin.
'Well,' she replied, 'I suppose there's always a first time.'
'Better?' Narm asked, as he tightened the ropes around her arms again.
'Much,' Shandril said, and kissed his cheek as he bent past her. Narm gave her a grin-it made Thaerla of Chauntea's face wrinkle up like a benevolent toad-and said, 'I'm not sure how you're going to like sitting there watching me eat and drink when you can't have anything.'
Shandril stiffened. 'I'd forgotten that,' she said slowly. 'Narm, I've got to eat. I-won't they bring food up to us, here?'
'I'll go see.'
'No, we'll go see. I'm not parting from you, not even for a moment. This is Scornubel-anything can happen.'
Thaerla of Chauntea's smile was decidedly wry this time. 'Try that last sentence of yours again, and put the word 'Highmoon' in place of 'Scornubel.' Then try it with 'Shadowdale.' 'Waterdeep' has a nice ring to it, too.'
'Hush! That's not funny!' The penitent priestess wriggled her arms, testing the ropes around her and added in a smaller voice, 'True, though. I'm not happy to say it, but… 'tis true.' The Sun was a good inn and a popular one. In Scornubel, that meant it was something of a fortress, uneasily cloaked in small touches of luxury. Room doors in the Sun came with their own lock-props, to be set by patrons on the inside when being intruded upon was not highly desirable. Narm shot the bolt, lifted the prop aside, and indicated the door with a flourish. 'Penitents first?'
Cautiously Shandril pulled on the door-ring, and even more cautiously peered out. The passage beyond was empty. It ended in a short flight of steps leading down onto a landing that overlooked the forehall of the inn-a landing that sported a lounge Seat for the use of patrons, and two smaller, harder seats flanking the passage. On one sat a uniformed servant, and the other was occupied by a hard-faced, openly armed guard. Thaerla of Chauntea exchanged a few polite words with the servant and towed her silent penitent back to their room.
'That was simple enough,' Narm said, going straight to the window to test its frame of iron bars-old and rusty, but solid. 'I'd rather stay right here until late morning on the morrow, and go seeking the Tankard and our caravan-master then.'
A short, choked-off scream came in the window, and he gestured ruefully in its direction. 'The local sights seem- well, a trifle too exciting.'
'I hate this place,' Shandril said softly. 'A whole city full of folk being brutal to each other, cheating and threatening and coercing…'
Narm shrugged. 'So we get away from here as soon as Orthil Voldovan will take us-and go straight to Water-deep, another den of harmony, fresh air, and public safety.'
'Stop it,' his lady whispered fiercely. 'I'm serious, Narm. What if someone drugs or poisons our food? 'Twouldn't surprise me!'
Thaerla of Chauntea raised one chubby but triumphant finger. 'Ah, there I can be of some service. Jhessail taught me a very rare spell that reveals taints and poisons to a mage-as purple glows.'
'And if you cast it, there goes your disguise, just as my spellfire shattered mine,' Shandril muttered into his ear. 'Leaving us for all the world to see in the heart of this-this city of thieves, slavers, and brigands!'
Narm sighed. 'So what would you have me do? Let you faint of hunger?'
'Narm,' Shandril said in a low whisper, 'I don't know. I haven't known 'the wise thing to do' since I first left Highmoon… and I don't seem to be getting any better at it. I-'
There was a sharp rapping at the door. Narm clapped a hand over Shandril's mouth for a moment and slid
