'I can hold him,' Bro insisted after they narrowly avoided a tree that began as a shadow and grew to maturity in half a step. 'He'll trust me.'
It went against the Simbul's judgment, but her way wasn't working. Alassra exchanged her firm grip on Bro's sleeve for a gentler hold on his sister's hand. Zandilar's Dancer was too spooked to trust anyone, but a second strong hand on his halter convinced him to stand still.
'What happened?' Bro asked when several moments passed without changes in the trees around them.
Zandilar's Dancer had pulled them a hundred paces from the clearing and who-knew-how-many years. More than she wanted to count. It was still night, still the Yuirwood. The forest had changed around them, but the trees had grown, not shrunk.
'We're back where we belong.'
'Back?' he asked, as if he'd understood nothing.
'We were dis-'
The Yuirwood burst into flames around them. For a moment-an eternal and terrifying moment-Alassra knew she was on fire, then the moment and the fire were behind her. She was alone, blind, numbly aware of her arms or legs, but not the cloth of her gown or the leather of her boots. Her mind was clear and empty. Every spell the Simbul had studied in Velprintalar had been burned out of her memory: Another new experience that she hoped not to repeat.
Empty-headed as she was, Alassra remained far from helpless. Mystra's Chosen were never helpless: The goddess's protection flowed in their veins. Alassra's senses, except for the forgotten spells, restored themselves. She assessed her injuries and analyzed the events that had overtaken her.
She'd been wrong to tell Bro they were back where they belonged. They'd merely arrived in a time and place where the Yuirwood had seemed changeless-until a forest fire swept through it. The flames had stunned her, but whatever magic had carried them through time, had carried them too rapidly for the fire to harm them.
To harm her.
Alassra opened her eyes, hoping that her more fragile companions had survived.
They had.
The half-elf, his half-sister, and the colt lay on the nearby ground, lit by stars and moonlight that seemed- Alassra narrowed her eyes to study their positions-where they should be a few hours before dawn on the second day after her six hundred and second birthday. Smoke and soot clung to their clothes, but they were alive and, like her, unhurt. Her staff lay beside the colt. She picked it up and with a fingertip gesture brought a globe of cool light to its gnarled head. Wood, thanks be to Mystra, couldn't be stunned, couldn't forget the spells bound within it.
Propping the staff against a tree-trunk, Alassra made a closer examination of her companions. When she was satisfied that her initial assumptions were accurate, she touched Bro's arm lightly.
He came awake with a jolt. 'Fire! Fire! The cottage-'
'Not here. Not now.'
Wide-eyed and not breathing, Bro stared at her, stared beyond her, seeing things Alassra wished he could forget. Finally his ribs heaved.
'Tay-Fay?'
'Behind you. Zandilar's Dancer, too. They've had a shock-too many shocks for one day and night-but they're safe.'
Bro started to say something, thought better of it, and shook his head instead.
'Try to rest. I'm going to hie myself back to Velprintalar for a little while-just a little while. Do you understand how magic works, Ebroin? Even storm queens have their limits. I've got a spell or two left that would get us all home before the sun comes up, but it would be a rough ride for you, your sister and the horse. Easier and better if I go alone and come back when I can give you gentler passage.'
He raised his head. The eyes that were so bleak and distant a moment ago, were lively now, glancing from the colt to the trees. Alassra knew, without magic's aid, exactly what the youth was thinking.
'Will you take Taefaeli with you now, please?' Bro asked.
It was the Simbul's turn to stare at the trees. The colt was a puzzle she wanted to solve, the means-the birthday gift-to lure Elminster to her privy chambers, but her wants paled beside Bro's needs. Zandilar's Dancer was the youth's only link to his past and to the Yuirwood itself. He'd said it himself: he wasn't a farmer and it was a rare Cha'Tel'Quessir who truly enjoyed city life.
'I'll come back at sunset. You'll be here, won't you, Ebroin?'
'Take Taefaeli, please.'
'I don't know. It will be a strain, but I suppose I can take her now. Better she wakes up in a strange bed than a strange forest?'
If Elminster had been there, or any of her sisters, especially Alustriel, they would have warned Bro that his secrets were exposed, but as it was, the youth had no advisors and walked calmly down the path Alassra prepared for him.
'She likes honey on her porridge.'
'Honey and porridge, when she wakes up. But what about you, Ebroin? Will you be all right… until sundown?'
'This is the Yuirwood and I'm Cha'Tel'Quessir.'
'Cha'Tel'Quessir with no knife in his belt or boots on his feet.'
The youth's attention dropped to the ground and stayed there with his mouth open and his fingers splayed in panic. Alassra thought he'd lost his shoes during their time-trek, then she remembered his bare feet in the Sulalk stable.
'I'm sorry.'
Bro didn't notice the Simbul's very rare apology. 'The stream,' he muttered. 'Oh gods, my boots are still beside the stream.'
'Take mine,' Alassra said quickly. 'Don't worry, they'll fit: I've got huge feet.' She undid the thongs and kicked free of the leather. 'And a knife.' She opened her belt and removed the first of several sheaths.
The sheath held a plain dagger with a brass-studded hilt and a single-edged blade. A peddler had given it to her after she rescued his donkey from a muddy ravine. Short of the donkey, it was the man's most valuable possession, so she'd kept it, as she kept many things, until she found better homes for them. It could neutralize most poisons on contact and deflect simple spells; but the Simbul could neutralize any poison and her ability to deflect magic was second to none.
She gave it to Bro along with a single strand of her silver hair, which she tied around his wrist. 'I know you'll be here at sunset. I'll bring you better clothes and a more useful knife. But if you need me here before then, squeeze the knot and say my name. I'll hear you; I'll be here before you take your next breath.' He looked doubtful, ready to break the strand and run for the trees immediately. 'Think of your sister, Ebroin. You wouldn't want me to tell her that I'd left you here, alone, and something bad had happened to you.'
Bro swallowed hard. He slid the knife onto his belt and left the hair alone. 'Take care of her.'
'Peace between us, Ebroin?' Alassra offered her hand.
He shook his head. 'Just take good care of her. Don't let her forget that her mother was Cha'Tel'Quessir.'
'I won't.'
Alassra retrieved her staff and the child. She smiled at Bro, who turned away, and reached within herself. Finding the source of Mystra's blessing-the silver fire of the Chosen-she let it take her and the child back to her privy chambers.
7
The city of Bezantur, in Thay Between midnight and dawn, the fifteenth day of Eleasias, The Year of the Banner (1368DR)
Fine ash and cinders, black as the starless Bezantur sky visible through arrow slit windows, trickled through the elegant fingers of Mythrell'aa Vianul, Zulkir of Illusion, mistress of Serpent Tower. The sparkling powder fell into
