the amphitheater. Something snatched us up and dumped us here.'
'Yes,' Shamur said. She suspected that the force had actually targeted her because she'd been about to shout, but since Tazi and the others had been sitting next to her, they'd gotten caught up in it too. 'But… were we somewhere, or somewhen, else first? Didn't we relive a bit of the past hour?'
Tazi eyed her curiously. 'I didn't.'
'What are you babbling about?' Pelenza exploded. 'What's going on?'
Forget it, Shamur told herself. Evidently her displacement in time had only been a sort of dream, and even if not, she had more pressing concerns-keeping the Foxmantle ladies from panicking, for a start. 'I'm not altogether sure,' she replied to Pelenza, 'but good fortune has placed us in proximity to an exit, and our best option is to use it and send help back for the others.'
Tazi snorted. 'I'm not going anywhere. This is interesting!'
Shamur glared at her. 'For once in your young life, don't be an idiot. This is not a game. The people in the amphitheater are in peril, and we have a responsibility to succor them.' She had more to say, but at that moment, a deep voice bellowed.
As she pivoted toward the sound, a lackey in the Hulorn's livery plunged through a nearby doorway. A rack of gleaming black antlers had sprouted from raw, oozing sockets in his forehead, and his blue eyes burned with lunatic rage. He clutched a bloody long sword in an awkward, untutored two-handed grip. Shamur*****
Shamur crouched among Gundar's coffers, her signature red-striped mask on her face and a silver amulet set with a large, lustrous pearl-the first piece of loot she'd selected to carry away-dangling around her neck. She was smiling in triumph, but the expression felt wrong and unnatural. This time, for the moment at least, she fully understood she was reliving the past, and accordingly she knew what was about to happen.
Sure enough, the door to the treasure vault crashed open. On the other side stood Gundar-clad in a nightshirt and nightcap, his beard still black with only a sprinkling of white-a pair of his dwarven guards, and a human, his household mage.
There was no way out except through that same doorway. Shamur sprang to her feet and drew Albruin, her enchanted broadsword, from its scabbard. The weapon shone with an eerie blue light.
Swords in one hand, target shields in the other, the soldiers in their mail shirts spread out to flank her. Gundar, who had a reputation as a warrior himself, came straight at her. His battle-axe, whispering and crooning with some magic of its own, shifted deceptively to and fro.
Shamur was so intent on the men-at-arms that she missed seeing the sorcerer-a stunted wisp of a man scarcely taller and nowhere near as solidly built as his employer-point his ivory-tipped wand at her. Suddenly her left shoulder was burning, cooking, as if from the kiss of a white-hot iron, and her loose black silk shirt burst into flame. She dropped and rolled among the scattered coins and gems, knowing she had only seconds to extinguish the fire before the warriors would be on top of her.
Frantically she scrambled back to her feet. Her shoulder still throbbed, and the part of her that had lived these moments before knew she'd carry a peculiar star-shaped scar for the rest of her days. That didn't matter. What did was that as she'd thrashed about putting out the blaze, her mask had come untied.
Gundar stared at her naked face in amazement. No hope that he would fail to recognize Shamur Karn! She and her family had attended a banquet here in his mansion only a tenday before. That was when she'd determined the location of his hoard.
Taking advantage of his surprise, she bolted past him, slammed the wizard out of her way, and raced toward the window which had granted her entry. For once she took no delight in the thrill of a narrow escape. How could she? Now that someone knew that Javis Karn's adolescent daughter and Selgaunt's most notorious robber were one and the same, she'd have to flee the city forever.
She was back in the foyer, back where a demented servant was about to attack her. She forced herself to think of that and that alone.
Her body reflexively began to assume a fighting stance, but she stopped herself. Her companions had no idea that she knew how to conduct herself in a melee, and it was imperative that it remain so. Fortunately, she shouldn't have to give herself away, not to handle this oaf.
The man with the antlers lifted his sword and charged her. She pretended to freeze, then, at the last possible instant, shifted aside. Trying to make it look as if she were stumbling over her own feet, she dropped, caught herself with her hands, and stretched out her leg. Her assailant tripped headlong over her ankle. The long sword clanged against the floor.
Tazi snatched up a near-priceless porcelain bust of Sune from its pedestal and smashed it over the lunatic's head. He sprawled motionless, scraps of the shattered sculpture caught in his antlers.
The Foxmantle sisters were clutching each other.
'Blessed Ilmater, blessed Ilmater, blessed Ilmater,' Pelenza whimpered. Given their sheltered existences, it was unreasonable to expect any better of them, but Shamur felt a surge of contempt. Under the circumstances, their case of the vapors contrasted poorly with Tazi's composure as she appropriated the long sword, then brandished it to test its heft and balance.
Not, of course, that Shamur intended to say anything that would encourage her daughter's hoydenish ways or give her a chance to use her new toy.
'Stop blubbering,' Shamur rapped at Dolera and Pelenza. 'None of us was harmed, and now we're leaving. Follow me.' The foursome proceeded to the exit, though Tazi trudged along sullenly, casting longing glances backward at the arena of enticing danger and mystery.
She was so intent on peering behind her that she missed seeing the venomous-looking saffron-yellow spider, its bulbous abdomen as big as a walnut, lurking in a detail of the ornate carving surrounding the door. Nor had the quivering, tearful Foxmantles spotted the creature. The arachnid crouched to spring.
Shamur slapped the spider before it could pounce at any of them and felt its body squish against her palm. Dolera and Pelenza jumped and yelped. Tazi whirled around. 'What is it?' she demanded.
'Nothing,' Shamur said. 'I lost my balance and had to catch myself. I apologize for startling everyone.' Wondering where the spider could have come from-she'd certainly never seen such a specimen before, and she'd wandered from Sembia to the southern shores of the Moonsea in her time-she surreptitiously wiped her hand on her dark blue skirt.
Tazi pulled open the door, and lesser puzzles such as the origin of the spider-or a servant who grew antlers and went insane, for that matter-flew straight out of Shamur's mind.
The door, of course, should have opened on the benighted, cobbled, torch-lit turnaround where the carriage had let them off. Beyond that they should have seen the lights and towers of Selgaunt, not tangles of underbrush, and towering trees festooned with lianas. Not shafts of sunlight piercing the canopy to fall through the muggy air.
Speechless for once, Tazi squatted, reached across the threshold, picked up the fallen, withered petal of an orchid, and examined it closely. Shamur supposed it was her way of convincing herself that the jungle was actually there.
'Everything's all… scrambled,' the younger woman said at last. 'Changing. People take on new shapes, or go crazy. You get whisked from one location to another in the blink of an eye. Places that used to be next to one another… aren't any more.'
'Yes,' said Shamur. To herself she silently added, it isn't just space that's out of joint. Time is a little disordered too, if only in my head. Perhaps, she thought, she was reliving moments from the past because she was no longer quite as firmly anchored in the present as most people.
'How can this be happening?' Dolera wailed.
'I don't know,' Shamur replied, 'but if we remain calm-'
'Hush, and listen!' Tazi said.
When Shamur did, she heard sobs, bestial roaring, and demented laughter echoing softly from elsewhere in the building. But the most ominous sound of all was the dissonant chords and staggering rhythms of Guerren Bloodquill's opera.
'Should we still be able to hear the music?' Tazi asked. 'With so many walls between us and the amphitheater?'
'I wouldn't think so,' Shamur replied. 'That lends credence to the notion that it's the opera itself that is magical and producing the phenomena we're experiencing. That in turn suggests a solution. Since we can't leave
