protective magics, too. Beside him, lounging with one elbow resting on the rather dubious charms of a carved mermaid statue that was slightly larger than life, was Mirt the Moneylender, in crimson silks hung with gaudy golden medals larger than his hairy fists. In the shadows not far behind the stage, slender and dark and half- smilingly watchful, stood Elaith Craulnober.
'He's here,' Taeros murmured. 'Let's hope Beldar's trust is well placed.'
From the gasps and murmurs arising from behind them, it seemed others were far more alarmed-and, yes, scandalized-by the sight of the notorious Serpent than the Hawkwinter.
'Well!' One matron's voice cut through the chatter like a falling axe. 'So 'tis true: they're letting just anyone in here!'
'That how you got in, Sharpfangs?' someone else drawled, and there were chuckles and titters amid the outraged feminine roaring that followed.
'Guildmasters!' an elderly voice quavered with indignation, on its way past. 'Tradesmen! Has proud Waterdeep sunk so low? They'll be opening the doors to sailors next!'
After an initial admiring glance at the slender maidservant, clad in a simple black gown and free of all ornamentation but a single emerald ribbon bound high about her left sleeve, Taeros Hawkwinter had refrained from glancing at the Lark on his arm more than briefly. But he couldn't help but notice now how she stiffened beside him at the sight of Elaith Craulnober and how her hand tightened, just for a moment.
'Easy, lass,' he murmured, as gently as he might soothe one of his falcons. 'He's only one elf, and standing on the far side of two men who could best him in battle, either one.'
Lark gave him a unreadable glance, then turned to take the tallglass of Midsummer wine a servant was offering her.
'Aha!' Roldo exclaimed. 'Proper drinks! Delopae, are you going to-?'
'Balance two tallglasses on my bitebolds? I think not, Lord Thongolir-just as you obviously think not!' Phandelopae snapped.
'Though considering some of our fellow guests, such a show might meet with approval.'
Whereupon Lord Starragar Jardath turned with a flourish and pressed his lips against hers, kissing Phandelopae into startled silence. Their clinch continued-as Faendra and then Naoni stared in astonishment-until the tall Athkatlan moaned and moved ardently against Starragar.
'Ah, the dour act melts them every time,' Beldar Roaringhorn purred, stepping out of the crowd to run a teasing finger up the exposed and sleekly muscled Melshimber back as if her gown had been designed to lay it bare just for him. 'Fair shine the Midsummer Moon on our meeting, friends! I see the fair Lark conquers all, as usual!'
'Well met, old friend,' Korvaun Helmfast said firmly and heartily, reaching out an arm to embrace Beldar, who grinned, bowed floridly to Naoni, then rose to clasp Korvaun warmly.
'Full battle-steel this night, I see! The martial look-a fine choice!'
'We are ever tasteful,' Taeros purred, winking. Faendra giggled, and a faint smile rose to Lark's lips. Still wearing it, she gave Lord Roaringhorn a firm nod.
He smiled and nodded back. 'I hope we shall all have a chance to-but hark! Eleven bells already? I must pay my respects to our hosts without delay!'
'About our hosts,' Roldo said suddenly. 'What if someone decides to put a dagger through Piergeiron in all this rub-elbows chatter? Or Mirt, for that matter?'
'No fear,' Korvaun said quietly. 'Not until swords are out openly, at least. Look you behind Piergeiron.'
'In the shadows?'
'Aye; what see you?'
Roldo peered, as Taeros accepted drinks for them all, and deftly snared a platter of fancy-fish from a passing servant.
'Someone… no, two heads. Men, sitting down.'
'Not mere men: Madeiron Sunderstone, the Lord's Champion, and the other is Tarthus, Piergeiron's pet guardian wizard. Near as deadly as the Lord Mage Khelben himself, they say.'
It was at that moment that Naoni Dyre drove a clawlike hand into her sister's leg. Faendra squealed, gave her a glare and then froze at the sight of her pale face and horrified stare, and reluctantly followed it.
Across the cavernous but crowded hall, resplendent in gaudy flame-orange silks that would have looked better on him if they'd been cut to fit or he'd been a bit less, as ladies were wont to say, 'ample of haunch,' Jarago Whaelshod was proudly escorting a lush beauty the Dyres knew was a highcoin lady from the Lasheira's Low Lamps festhall, because she frequently needed Faendra to repair torn gowns.
The master carter had stopped to display his nicely gowned ornament to… someone else strolled out of the way, and Naoni and Faendra gasped in unison: Karrak Lhamphur, in a green swallowtail jackcoat of great lushness, that made him seem to be an officer of some unknown but far-behind-the-times navy. Lhamphur, too, had brought a beautiful female along, but at least he'd had enough measure of honor to have it be his wife.
The two New Day members were not much more damaging to watching eyes than dozens of the wincingly clad, overexcited, ill-at-ease tradesmen here in the Silks this night, but they could hardly fail to recognize the two daughters of Varandros Dyre… and worse: if they'd been invited and had seen fit to attend, so too probably had the Shark of Stonemasons himself!
'Father!' Naoni gasped. 'He must be here, somewhere!'
'Gods, what if he sees us?' Faendra wailed.
'What of it?' Korvaun asked quietly. 'You're both among the brightest flowers in all this hall, and do him proud. Moreover, you're conducting yourselves as ladies-though, Faendra, might I warn that ladies don't squeal?-and we shall treat you with all chaste honor, wherefore he should see nothing to cause him complaint.'
'Indeed,' Roldo put in helpfully. 'Just act and speak as if your father's standing right behind you, henceforth, and you should be fine.'
Lark and Phandelopae Melshimber snorted in unison at these words and then gave each other challenging glares.
'The Mistresses Dyre are greatly comforted by your helpful suggestion, I'm sure,' Taeros Hawkwinter observed sarcastically.
Naoni and Faendra exchanged unhappy glances, but they'd have been far more upset if they'd turned in just the right direction at that moment to peer into the laughing, chatting crowd, and so behold a particular face that had gone from ruddy to white in an instant, upon commencing to stare at them.
Varandros Dyre was extraordinarily uncomfortable in his hired finery-Gods above, why did these collars have to itch so?-and too hot besides… and this din was deafening.
Yet the drinks were free and potent-firewine, by the Altar, the best that had ever raged down his gullet!-he'd never tasted smallmeats so fine, and Nalys was even more beautiful than he'd paid her to be. Quite the actress she was being, too, looking and sounding the part of a fine lady. None of the overloud haughtiness of the real noblewomen he'd observed here thus far. His daughters would doubtless be disapproving, but blast it, a man has to His gaze, roving across the noisy tumult filling the vast, crowded hall, fixed upon a distant face.
And froze with a gut-dropping lurch.
Naoni! His Naoni, looking as serenely noble and as beautiful as-as any ten women here, by all the Watching Gods! And there-aye, his little Faen was right beside her, standing in a little cluster of the Gemcloaks. Faendra might have been her mother, come back to life, and Varandros felt his throat tightening.
Oh, Ilyndeira, if only you'd lived to see this…
He could not stop looking at his daughters. In, yes, in awe. When had they turned so beautiful?
Someone stepped into the way of his stare, pointing. 'Who's that yonder-the incontinent dragon?'
'Lord Tesper? No, couldn't be! What a costume!'
'I know the lady with him, I do, but can't quite… well, we'll know at the unmasking.'
'Yes! How soon-?'
The floor beneath the chatterers trembled briefly, and someone let out a startled shriek. Dyre frowned. Well, at least the disturbance had shifted them out of the way, so he could look at Naoni and Faendra again, but… this was a big building; it would take a lot to make it shiver so. A spell?
There was another brief, heavy shuddering, soundless but strong enough to make someone drop a platter and evoke several screams.
