Then he brought his gaze down, hawklike, directly to meet the wizard's.
Stormcloak's eyes were steady upon him. He waited.
Silence. Heladar sighed inwardly and asked, 'Well?'
'My lord?' The mage added the slightest mocking twist to the title.
'I asked you a question, mage.' Heladar kept his voice cold, level, and patient. 'Have you an answer for me?'
Stormcloak was silent. Heladar propped an elbow on the nearest stone crenellation as if he had all the time in the Realms, leaned against it, and waited.
The mage waited a moment more, testing Longspear's gaze, then said softly, 'My spells are ready to defend the High Dale, for the greater glory of the Zhentarim.'
For the Zhentarim-not for Heladar Longspear.
The Lord of the High Dale gave him a wintry smile to show that his verbal jab had not been missed and said, 'What is it I hear from Zhentil Keep, then, of magic going wild and mages falling mad?'
Angruin took a step closer, frowning. 'Wild magic? Who has told you of this?'
Longspear smiled a long, slow smile. 'One,' he said carefully, 'whom it is better not to name. I assure you that you know him. He inhabits a lofty tower.'
Angruin kept his face mildly interested, no more. Manshoon. Longspear's words could mean only one man: he who dwelt in the Tower High. Lord Manshoon, leader of the Zhentarim. This Heladar Longspear must enjoy more favor than he'd thought.
Longspear, who'd just launched his greatest bluff so far in his dealings with this haughty wizard, smiled and hoped he'd get away with it. 'Well?' he asked again. 'The day does draw on, Angruin. I can't order the men to best effect unless I know how much I can rely on your magic, and that of the lesser mages. What say you?'
Angruin Myrvult accepted the extended hand of peace somewhat reluctantly. 'Our Art-the magic of all men, from what I hear and suspect-has become somewhat… unsettled. Yet we stand with you as always, Lord Longspear. Moreover,' he added, lifting his hands to reveal the wand at his belt that his fingers had been tightening around as they spoke, 'we are never without at least one… aid.'
'Good,' Heladar told him. Before Stormcloak could add the inevitable threat, he spoke it for him. 'I'll remember that.'
The Lord of the High Dale went down the stairs, feeling cold eyes on his back all the way down. He kept his shoulders broad and square, taking satisfaction in his daring at turning his back on Angruin for so long. No one else in all the dale dared to.
Jatham Villore looked out of his shop, up at the frowning bulk of the High Castle looming above the trees. 'Yet the eating of bad bread may make a haunt of the dreams of even a lord,' he echoed the quotation. No, the word had been 'kings,' hadn't it? No matter.
Heladar and his bullying mages were upset indeed, for the first time since they'd come here. Perhaps their rule could be weakened or even broken altogether.
That would please his masters very much.
Jatham went quietly into his shop and bolted the door. This wouldn't take long. Just a simple spell or two to confuse and befog magical attempts to locate things and folk such as the mysterious enemies who'd twice been so bold as to strike out at the lord's Wolves and mages.
Or even more times, if Longspear and Angruin had not told all. Jatham grinned as he bolted an inner door behind him. These cloaking spells had saved his own skin more than once. Back in Thay, he'd learned their ins and outs very thoroughly, for wise masters had told him that his success as an agent-his very survival-depended on such knowledge. They'd been right, of course.
Jatham laid hands on what he'd need, closed his eyes briefly to gather his will, and began the whispered chant. At long last, it was time to act.
They had almost reached the hard-eyed guards when Elminster snapped his fingers and laid a firm hand on the inside of Sharantyr's elbow, dragging her to a halt.
'I must be getting old,' he muttered. 'I almost forgot.' He gestured toward the bushes. 'Go in there to relieve yourself,' he directed.
Sharantyr raised an eyebrow. 'I don't need to at the moment, thank you very much, Old M-'
As she spoke, Elminster smoothly produced the two wands he was carrying and slid them up the sleeve of the arm he was clasping.
'All I need ye to do is slide these under thy-'hem-chest, Shar,' he murmured. 'Beneath them, mind, where no searching guard will feel them. Hurry, now.'
Sharantyr gave him a look and did as she was bid. She came out into the road fumbling with the lacings at her belt and saw two of the guards exchange amused looks. The wands felt cold and hard next to her skin.
He grinned at her. 'I'll reclaim them as soon as I can, lass,' he promised.
'I'll just wager you will,' she replied in warning tones.
'One more thing,' Elminster added hurriedly. 'If I signal you-so-by scratching my ear, think hard of Sembian trade, merchant contacts, and making money there. Keep thinking of those things until I scratch there again.'
'You mean someone might pry at our thoughts?' Sharantyr asked warily.
Elminster nodded and added loudly, 'I've told ye, gel, if ye drink so much before setting out, o' course the walking'll see thee in the bushes all too soon!'
The guards smiled at his words, waving them to one side of the road and staring hard at them both.
'A copper each for passage into the High Dale,' said the larger one shortly, holding out his hand.
Elminster meekly took two coppers out of his purse-two coppers he'd picked up in the guard hut at the other end of the dale, not so long ago-and paid them over.
'Stretch out arms afore ye,' said another guard, blade drawn. 'We have orders to search all who enter the dale. Resist us, or reach for any weapon, and you'll see nothing else in this life but your own blood, all of it leaving you.'
Haragh Mnistlyn leaned forward in his chair. A warrior woman traveling with an old man was certainly odd. Best give these two the full scrutiny.
He stood up, making a certain sign. The guard who was watching for it drew his blade and motioned to another of his fellows. They took up positions near the two who were being searched, near enough to disrupt the casting of a spell with a quick lunge.
Haragh stood under his awning, watching the faces of the two narrowly, as hard-eyed as the guards, and began the casting of a spell to read minds.
Elminster scratched one ear and Sharantyr frowned slightly. Hard, probing hands wandered over them both. They waited, unmoving.
Until they heard a gasp.
Everyone turned. The mage who'd sat in the chair under the canopy, back from the road, was standing horrified in the midst of well-trodden grass. In front of him, as they watched, little white flowers were appearing, first singly, then in clusters of three and more. Swiftly, silently, the flowers appeared out of nothingness, without any fuss or spell-smoke.
The mage stared down at them, stunned.
Sharantyr glanced quickly at Elminster. His eyes had widened just a trifle, but now he was nodding, slowly, as if he understood.
He stepped forward, ignoring the blades held ready near him, and clapped his hands. 'Beautiful!' he said enthusiastically. 'I've seen no better in the tavern spell-contests of Waterdeep itself! My thanks, mage. Has the High Dale become a place where magic is embraced and its beauty appreciated?'
Haragh's mouth opened and shut, but no words came out. He stared down at his hands, then sat down suddenly in his chair, shaking his head.
Elminster's face fell. 'Oh, dear,' he said to the nearest guard. 'Did he intend to cast something else? My apologies, if I've offended…'
