by Lisa Smedman
Q'arlynd could easily have teleported to the precise spot in Silverymoon he needed to visit, but he wanted to take the measure of Flinderspeld's adopted city. Its inhabitants turned out to be a mix of surface elves, humans, and dwarves, leavened by the occasional surface gnome or halfling. All seemed hostile, despite the silver star that had been limned by the gate guards' magic on the back of his hand: his pass to move freely within the city.
He passed a white marble tower with star-shaped windows of "glass" made from thin-cut, sky blue jade. Clerics in blue robes and skullcaps-most of them surface elves or humans, and all bearing wands, staves, and a multitude of magical trinkets-passed in and out of its wide front doors. This was the Temple of Mystra, one of the goddesses Qilue honored. Q'arlynd wondered if the high priestess ever worshiped here. He nodded at Mystra's clerics as he passed, noted their raised eyebrows, and felt the tingle of detection spells washing over him. He lifted his hand slightly, drawing attention to the symbol.
Silverymoon was home to at least a dozen magical colleges: the World Above's equivalent of Sshamath. Schools devoted to the teaching of invocation, thaumaturgy, bardic song, and arcane crafting drew students from across Faerun. Q'arlynd might have made his home here, were it not for the harsh sunlight, and the narrow-eyed stares of Silverymoon's citizens.
He shook his head, surprised at the path his thoughts were treading.
The surface was our home, the ancestors in his kiira whispered. The voice deepened to a male timbre: Eilistraee willing, it will be, again.
Sshamath is my home, Q'arlynd told them firmly.
His ancestors made no comment.
A bridge of frozen moonlight spanned the river. As Q'arlynd made his way across it, he glanced down at the boats passing below. The people of Silverymoon streamed across the bridge in either direction, walking on the near-invisible bridge as confidently as the drow of Ched Nasad had done across the calcified webs of their city.
Q'arlynd made his way to the market: a bustling hubbub of stalls, braying caravan beasts, and food vendors. Smells assaulted his nostrils: cooking meat, ground spice, ripe fruit, wafting incense, tanned leather, and cloth dye. Oddly, the smell of dung was missing and the cobblestones were clean. Though several shabbily dressed people of various races scurried here and there, it was hard to tell whom they belonged to; no one seemed to be directing them with lashes or clubs. Nor were there any obvious cripples, or shackled slaves-a stark contrast from the city where Q'arlynd had been raised.
His enquiries had confirmed that Flinderspeld was indeed working as a gem merchant, here in Silverymoon. Officially, Q'arlynd was in Silverymoon to purchase chardalyn, a rare black gemstone capable of absorbing spells. Silverymoon's wizards had perfected the use of it, casting a spell into a gem, and releasing the latent magic later by the simple expedient of shattering the stone. Flinderspeld was certain to stock it.
Q'arlynd hadn't told the svirfneblin he was coming. He wanted to see the expression on Flinderspeld's face when he first set eyes upon his former master. It would be an important clue to how Q'arlynd should word his request.
A hoodlike arch of brick marked the spot he was looking for: the stairs leading down to the cave where the svirfneblin trading caravans encamped. Q'arlynd hadn't seen any deep gnomes on his walk through the city. They kept below, it seemed.
He strode down the staircase into cool, damp darkness. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, his darkvision had reasserted itself.
The startled silence that fell upon the main cavern as he entered proved even more profound than the reaction his appearance had prompted in the streets above. The svirfneblin caravanners who'd been unpacking their lizards' saddlebags glared at Q'arlynd with open hostility. Many, Q'arlynd knew, were deep gnomes from Blingdenstone, the city Menzoberranzan had conquered and plundered. Q'arlynd trod warily, alert for the twang of a wristbow or the whispered hiss of a spell.
A gray-skinned svirfneblin, his bald scalp hidden by a leather cap, stepped in front of Q'arlynd, blocking his way. Bracers on his arms held a pair of matched daggers with pale yellow gems set in their pommels. "You're not welcome here, drow," he growled.
Q'arlynd observed the faint shimmer clinging to the deep gnome's body: an illusion. The real deep gnome would be standing nearby, probably blurred, with daggers in hand. Several other svirfneblin had blurred themselves. Those still visible drew swords or daggers and moved to encircle Q'arlynd. One or two thrust their hands into their pockets, and he hoped they weren't reaching for death-magic gems. He heard angry whispers. "Spider-kisser," they called him, and worse.
"I'm looking for someone," Q'arlynd told the illusionary svirfneblin in front of him-speaking in a loud, steady voice so the others could hear. "A friend of mine. His name's Flinderspeld. He's a gem merchant, originally from Blingdenstone."
The svirfneblin's eyes narrowed. "The drow are no friends of ours. Especially after Blingdenstone."
"This drow is," Q'arlynd said firmly. "After Blingdenstone fell, Flinderspeld became a slave. I purchased him-and set him free."
A female svirfneblin set down the pack she'd been unloading and moved closer. "What's your name?"
Q'arlynd bowed-just enough to acknowledge the waist-high female. "Q'arlynd Melarn, formerly of Ched Nasad."
"I thought I recognized you! You're the one who teleported Flinderspeld here, four years ago. Flinderspeld often speaks of you."
Whispers spread like ripples on a pond. Q'arlynd waited until they ebbed, then looked at the niches that honeycombed the cavern-each of them, a merchant's stall. "Does Flinderspeld have a stall here? I'd like to speak to him."
The female chuckled and jerked her head at the ceiling. "He's upside."
Q'arlynd lifted an eyebrow.
"Upside," she repeated. "In the main marketplace. His customers are surface folk, mostly. They're less at ease down here."
"I see," Q'arlynd said. "Will you show me the way?"
The female nodded. "Follow me."
She led him back up the stairs, shielding her eyes from the sun with a hand as they wound through the maze of stalls. Flinderspeld's place of business turned out to be one of the shops that fringed the marketplace. Its elaborately carved door held a massive quartz-crystal knocker. A smaller door was set into the wall next to it: a gnome-sized entrance, fitted with its own handle and knocker. Next to that was a large clearstone window, scribed with a glyph of warding. Just inside the window stood a display counter. Precious stones of various colors glittered against black velvet cushions.
"Flinderspeld's done well for himself," Q'arlynd commented.
The svirfneblin nodded. She seemed to be waiting for something. Q'arlynd began to dismiss her before realizing what it was she wanted. He pulled a slim gold coin out of his pouch and handed it to her. She lifted it to her mouth as if to bite it, then stopped, as if thinking better of it.
Q'arlynd hid his smile. Poisoning a gold coin was such a time-worn trick that few drow bothered with it anymore.
She tucked the coin in her belt pouch and hurried away. Or rather, she pretended to. Out of the corner of his eye, Q'arlynd saw her blur, then duck behind a nearby stall.
He lifted the knocker on the larger door and let it fall. A moment later, he sensed he was being watched. Not by the people who thronged the marketplace; theirs was a steady stare of wary curiosity and harsh judgment. This scrutiny felt closer, more intense. Was it Seldszar, checking in on Q'arlynd's progress? The Master of Divination had given Q'arlynd a brooch to block scryings, but Q'arlynd suspected it contained a "window" that allowed Seldszar to scry Q'arlynd, in much the same fashion that Q'arlynd's master ring allowed him to peek in on his apprentices, and vice versa. Or perhaps the explanation was simpler. Perhaps the sensation of being watched was just Flinderspeld, peeking through some magical device to see who knocked on his door.
Q'arlynd ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it. He flicked dust from the hem of his silk piwafwi. He waited.
The door opened. A ma
le svirfneblin wearing a leather apron smudged with polishing rouge stepped out into the sunlight and stared up at Q'arlynd. A gemcutter's loupe hung from a leather band around his forehead, the lens grossly magnifying his right eye. Gem dust glittered on his hands. He held a wooden stick with a half-polished gemstone affixed to its cup-shaped end by a blob of red wax.
A moonstone, Q'arlynd saw. Sacred to Eilistraee. He took it as a good omen. "Is your master in the shop?"
The svirfneblin had trouble speaking. "Q'arlynd?" he said at last.
Q'arlynd's eyebrows rose, despite himself. "Flinderspeld? You look… different."
That he did. Flinderspeld had gained weight since Q'arlynd had seen him last. The tight little lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth had smoothed out. He looked relaxed and solid, a far cry from the slave who had always been tensely poised to duck a swat or a kick.
Not that Q'arlynd had been that kind of master-and not that he'd let anyone else meddle with his property. Yet in Ched Nasad, a slave had never known when the lash would fall.
In days gone by, Q'arlynd would have crossed his arms and stared imperiously down his nose at the svirfneblin. But that had been another place, another time. Furthermore, it was important that things get off to a good start. He dropped down into a squat that brought his eyes level with Flinderspeld's, and smiled. He started to extend his hands in the arm-clasping gesture the surface elves so loved, but couldn't quite bring himself to complete it. He was of a noble House, after all. He rested his hands on his knees instead. "Good to see you again, Flinderspeld."
Flinderspeld blinked behind the gemcutter's loupe. "What are you doing here, M-" He checked his tongue, and drew his shoulders a little straighter. He glanced at Q'arlynd's hands, which were bare. Q'arlynd had been careful to tuck into a pocket the master ring that connected him with his apprentices; he didn't want to remind Flinderspeld of his former servitude. Not yet. "What brings you to Silverymoon, Q'arlynd?"
"I'd hoped to purchase a chardalyn. Do you sell them?"
Disappointment flickered briefly across Flinderspeld's face. His attention slid to the crowd that was gathering, and his expression changed to one of understanding. "Of course." He stepped back and opened the larger door. "I stock them. Come in."
Flinderspeld closed the door, set down his stick, and folded his arms across his chest. "Now that Blinnet can't overhear us, tell me why you're really here."
Blinnet: that must be the name of the female who'd led Q'arlynd here. He waggled a finger at Flinderspeld. "You're entirely too smart, for a s-"
"For a what?" Flinderspeld interrupted, his nostrils flaring. "A slave? A svirfneblin?"
"For a shopkeeper," Q'arlynd said, affecting a hurt look.
"Oh."
"But then, I always knew you were an intelligent fellow." Q'arlynd nodded at the display of expensive gems. "Just look what you've built for yourself, in such a short time. This is quite the shop."
Flinderspeld glanced through the window at the knot of people gathered outside his shop. "What is it you want, Q'arlynd?"
"If I told you I came to see how you were faring, what would you say?"
"I wouldn't believe you. It's been four years."
There it was again: that flicker of disappointment.
Q'arlynd gestured at the frowning faces outside the window. "Visiting you might have caused you problems. I enquired after you instead, from time to time. That's how I knew where to find you. I thank you for welcoming me into your shop, even though it will be bad for business."
Flinderspeld shrugged. "I was curious to see what you wanted." His eye settled on the tiny silver sword Q'arlynd had hung around his neck. "You wear Eilistraee's symbol, I see."
Q'arlynd hid his smile. "That I do." He plunged into his carefully rehearsed request. "It's temple business that brings me to Silverymoon. Together with some other wizards, I'm trying to learn the location of a surface elf temple that predates Eilistraee's banishment from Arvandor-a quest Eilistraee's high priestess has given her blessing to. The divinations we've tried so far haven't worked; you may have heard of the difficulties the augmented Faerzress is causing among the drow."
Flinderspeld nodded.
"We-I-need your help."
Flinderspeld turned to the counter. "What do you want? A scrying gem?"
"We've tried that already, and it didn't help. Nor, it turns out, did the gorgondy wine we purchased. I hoped to locate a more potent vintage."
Flinderspeld frowned. "Why come to me? I cut gems; I don't vint wine."
Q'arlynd spread his hands. "You're the only svirfneblin I know. And, more to the point, the only one who knows me. Years ago, you mentioned the Fountains of Memory. I need to look into their waters and use them to find the temple."
Flinderspeld gave Q'arlynd a guarded look. "What makes you think I know where they are?"
"I don't. But you must know someone who does-whoever told you about them. If not him, then a gorgondy wine vintner, or his supplier. Your business here in Silverymoon brings you into contact with scores of svirfneblin. Surely one of them will know where the Fountains of Memory can be found."
"They won't take you there."
"That's right. You will."
Flinderspeld's arms folded. "Or what?" He shook his head. "Are you going to threaten me?"
Q'arlynd spoke softly. "No."
"What then? Remind me that you set me free? I was your slave for years before you did that."
"I thought about trying that," Q'arlynd said. "Then I decided that it wouldn't work. You bear me too big a grudge; I can see that now. And offering to pay you for the information would only insult you. I'm forced, therefore, to resort to something a little more drastic."
He reached inside a pocket and pulled out two black rings.
Flinderspeld tensed and glanced around his shop, as if searching for a weapon.
Q'arlynd held out one of the rings. Flinderspeld's eyes widened as he saw which one Q'arlynd was offering him.
"If you can describe the Fountains of Memory, I can teleport us there," Q'arlynd explained. "You can ensure I bring you along by using the master ring to control my actions. Once I've glimpsed the temple in the pools, and we've used them to reach it, you can erase my memories of the Fountains of Memory, with a spell that's contained within this." He gestured at his forehead, and rendered the lorestone visible.
Flinderspeld's eyes widened. "A selu'kiira! And a powerful one, judging by the color. How-?"
"It's a long story," Q'arlynd said. "But the awarenesses inside it can do as I've described-something you can verify for yourself once you're wearing that ring. You'll be able to touch not only my thoughts, but theirs, as well."
Flinderspeld stared at the proffered ring. "Why would you let me do this?"
"Because I trust you."
Flinderspeld fell silent for several moments. Q'arlynd waited, trying not to betray the tension he felt. Svirfneblin were naturally mistrustful. Flinderspeld might reject the proposal out of hand, ring or no.
Flinderspeld thrust out a hand. "Give me the ring. And your trueseeing crystal."
Q'arlynd lifted the chain from his neck and handed over both gemstone and ring. He watched with a bemused smile as Flinderspeld studied the ring carefully through the gemstone, assuring himself that it was, indeed, the master ring-and not the slave ring, concealed by an illusion. His time among the drow had taught him to never be too trusting. He handed the gemstone back to Q'arlynd, and put on the master ring. "Your turn."
Reluctantly, Q'arlynd slipped the slave ring onto his own finger. He closed his eyes and braced himself as Flinderspeld thrust into his mind and rifled through his private thoughts. His jaw clenched. Then Flinderspeld delved deeper. Q'arlynd heard the svirfneblin's voice in conversation with the awarenesses inside the kiira. He couldn't make out the words.
One of his arms jerked up; Flinderspeld had taken control of it. Q'arlynd found himself walking jerkily forward. He spun when he reached the far wall, nearly toppled, and fel
t his arms jerk out to steady himself. He walked forward again and squatted, then jumped. He tried to glance at Flinderspeld as the svirfneblin walked him back across the room again, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Flinderspeld chuckled, and spun Q'arlynd around a second time.
Q'arlynd started to worry. Had he misjudged Flinderspeld? If so, he'd just condemned himself to a life of slavery. To a svirfneblin.
The insult had slipped into his mind before he could prevent it; Flinderspeld would certainly have heard it. Q'arlynd mentally shouted to the svirfneblin that he hadn't meant it, that he didn't think of the deep gnomes as a lesser race. But he knew this was a lie.
Thanks to the slave ring, so did Flinderspeld.
Q'arlynd's hand came up. His finger pointed-at his own forehead. He felt Flinderspeld yank an evocation from his mind. Sweat trickled down Q'arlynd's temples as he fought to form a word, but Flinderspeld held him stiffly in place. Strain as he might, all that came out was, "Nnnn-"
"Keep silent!" Flinderspeld shouted-a passable imitation of a drow master's command, an order Q'arlynd had used many times. A bolt of magical energy streaked out of Q'arlynd's fingertip and bored into his forehead, hot and painful. Q'arlynd's eyes watered. He groaned.
Suddenly, his body was his own again.
"We're even, now." Flinderspeld said. He tugged the master ring off and held it out to Q'arlynd. "And I don't want your ring. Controlling someone else's body was… interesting, but I didn't like the place it led me to. It felt…" He paused, searching for the word. "Wrong."
Q'arlynd yanked off the slave ring. "You won't help me, then."
Flinderspeld lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't say that."
Q'arlynd squatted down to Flinderspeld's level, not quite believing what he had heard. "You'll lead me to the Fountains of Memory?" he asked eagerly.