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beside him only smiled.
"Whatever it is would have to travel much of the night. to reach us, mageling,
even if it knew we stood
on this spot. My Art will turn it away if it tries. So stand easy."
Ramath shook his head. "I've tried, Dread Master but whenever I look where
it's dark, I see her."
"Who?" The question was sharp.
Ramath swallowed. "A light-haired girl ... shrouded in flames."
"What? She's here, and moving about, hidden from all but you by magic? Or can
you see rocks and
trees through her; do you see something from your dreams?"
"A dream image I suppose, Master-yet I'm not asleep. I see her walking amid
trees, with a dwarf, a
wizard of about my age, and a fat man in floppy old boots. They're just
walking, not seeing me or
anything-but they're always heading this way, straight toward us.... 1 walked
to the cliff over there-you
saw me-and it seemed the same; straight toward me. It's-I've never known
anything like this before."
Dread Master Ghaubhan Szaurr regarded him coldly for a moment, and then said
very softly, "Who has
spoken to you of such a band of travelers?"
Ramath looked startled. "No one, Dread Master. I've not heard of or seen any
of these folk before-I was
hoping you'd know what spell or ghost was affecting me."
"I think I do," the Dread Master replied. "Go down to the Zhentilar
swordmaster by the fire and tell him
to come up to me. And pay close heed to these images you see. When you return,
I shall want a full and
detailed account of anything new that you 've seen. Hasten."
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Obediently his apprentice scrambled away along the path. Stroking his
sharp-pointed chin thoughtfully,
Ghaubhan Szaurr watched him go.
The wind flung the wizard's cloak out behind him like a black sail. Ghaubhan
stood on the rocky height
feeling its tug and listening to it flapping as excitement rose within him:
Ramath had some sort of
magesight, the gift of Mystra or Bane or some other dark power-and Shandril of
Highmoon was
coming this way.
Spellfire would be his soon; Ghaubhan could almost taste it. He thought how
best to place the warriors-
stupid brutes all, but useful against the maiden's companions for the battle
to come. It was even more
crucial to use his magelings so they stood no chance of tricking or turning on
their Dread Master. Best
if they all died at the maid's hands-men turned to ashes by spellfire could
tell no tales to seeking magic,
and could not whisper against him. If one ashen corpse wore Ghaubhan's cloak
and ring, in fact, they d
think Ghaubhan Szaurr fallen.
And given time to master spellfire while in hiding, this lowly tutor of
magelings would become a
Dread Master indeed! Then the high lords of the Keep had best look to their
Art, for the Zhentarim
would soon have a new master. . . . If that book he'd found in old Asklannan's
spell library spoke truth,
any man whose blood joined with one who wielded spellfire stood a chance of
gaining it himself. that
joining, moreover, would be a pleasure...
Ghaubhan grinned wolfishly in the dark, and waited for the hurrying steps of
Ramath to announce the
magelings return. He'd bear watching, that one ... such sight does not come
from empty air; how came
he by it? Fzoul and his upperpriests thought Ghaubhan Szaurr served the Cult
of the Dragon; Only
Manshoon and a few senior wizards knew lie in truth worked for the Zhentarim.
. . . Was this Ramath a
spy for Fzoul, then? Was he sent by someone in the Cult who'd become
suspicious of Ghaubhan's
loyalty? What fell and mysterious power moved the young fool? None known to a
lowly Dread Master,
for sure....
"'Fell and mysterious power!' I like that," Gathlarue said softly in the
night-gloom. "It has a certain
ring.. . ." "It does," Mairara agreed. "This Dread Master is an engaging
half-wit all around. Such
twisted cruelty ... such lame deceits."
"Lame they may be," Gathlarue said, "but it is my hope he does gain the
spellfire. Not only will he be
straw in our hands, but it will be entertaining to the utmost, watching him
destroying most of the
Brotherhood as he seeks to master it."
"Fun watching, to be sure," came the reply, "so long as he holds the Zhentarim
together long enough to
destroy Elminster of Shadowdale first. If we feed this Ramath visions for long
enough, our ambitious
Dread Master will not dare to start the foolishness too early. I would see
Elminster perish soon, and the
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Brotherhood is the only blade we can wield that seems strong enough to slay
him."
'There are others," Gathlarue said softly. "If we could turn the one called
the Simbul against him..."
"They love each other strongly now."
"Precisely," Gathlarue said. The slow smile that stole onto her face then made
Mairara shiver despite
herself. "Precisely. ... "
Nine
DEATH BEHIND THEE, ITS CLAWS UPON THY SHOULDER
Time is the thief that knows no locks.
Faeranduil of Neverwinter
Sage Sayings of the North
Year of Sunset Smoke
"Fare thee well, too, Baera," Mirt said roughly, and then his arms were
tightly wrapped around her,
squeezing as though by mere strength he could hold onto some part of her
afterwards. The fat Harper,
looking somehow sleek and striking this morning after her bath, gripped him
back just as hard, and
they stood locked like two wrestling bears for a long moment.
"Go, then," Baergasra said finally and pushed him away. Her voice was suddenly
husky, and her eyes
glimmered like the morning dew. "I fear I'll not see you again, Old Wolf." She
waved him away sadly.
"So go-quickly, all of you; I hate tears. Let me be lonely again."
"Well," Delg said gruffly, "if you took a bath more often, mayhap you'd be
lonely less often...."
He ducked under her wild and immediate grab and came running back to his
companions, grinning
from ear to ear.
"Next time, little man," Baergasra called after him, hands on hips, "I'll have
a cake of soap ready for a
certain dwarf. Begone, the lot of you!" She snorted, and then waved farewell.
Mirt, shaking his head at Delg, led them over a hill that hid the Wyvern from
view behind them, and
hid Baergasra with it.
The fat old merchant's shaggy head swung to and fro as they walked on. They
all went slowly under the
weight of much new-bought food as Mirt peered watchfully at every tree and
rise around them. At
length his gaze came to rest on Narm. striding along beside Shandril in his
customary silence. "Are you
well enough?" lie rumbled anxiously. "Any pain?"
Narm grinned. "I'm. .. well, it seems. Worry not! It's in the past and done."
"As you were nearly in the past and done yestereve," Delg added meaningfully.
Narm sighed, then raised an eyebrow carefully. "Are you always this cheerful,"
he asked the dwarf, "or
is this sonic sort of special occasion?"
The dwarf shrugged. "I-something's amiss; I feel it in my bones. I m a little
... bladesharp, this morn."
He shook himself as a dog shakes off water when climbing out of a pond, and
went on down the road.
Mirt rolled his eyes and shook his head but said nothing.
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Narm and Shandril exchanged glances. "I have a bad feeling about that,"
Shandril said softly.  When
Delg senses something amiss, he's usually all too right-something goes amiss
before the clay is out. So
please, Narm ... be careful; watch always for danger."
Narin nodded wryly. "What else do I ever watch for since we first met?" He
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