Elminster's Daughter tes-5

by Ed Greenwood

  Perching like a carved gargoyle or an owl looking for prey, long legs doubled up, feeling truly alive, and laughing at the excitement. Castle Waterdeep soaring just over there and the great dark shoulder of the mountain beyond, with the tiny winking lights of lanterns where guards were at their lofty posts, looking down on … her.

  Rush of fear, heart hammer-beating, laughter, springing aloft, and turning a cartwheel on a flat bit of roof ere landing to strike a wide-armed, defiant pose. "Yes! Here I am! Come and get me!"

  Excitement like fire in her veins, leaping from roof to roof, and finally back home to her waiting sill and in-in to wash filthy feet so she'd not be caught come morning. Looking back at the window knowing a whole new world-her world-lay waiting now. every night she wanted it.

  [Ah. See then my moment of bold venture.]

  Dimmer moonlight and Thloram murmuring, "Easy, now. The rest of us have come this way before, and returned. 'Tis safe."

  Caladnei's hand trembling with fear as she holds it out to him then turns to face the cold, steady blue fire that bides so impossibly between the two ancient stone pillars. Cracked and vine-covered, nothing like the splendor she'd envisaged: no glowing runes on gleaming metal nor sinister guardians . . .

  The first portal she'd ever seen, and merely being this close to it left her wet and shaking in terror.

  "Where's our Caladnei of the Scrolls?" Thloram murmurs.

  From somewhere she finds just enough will to force out a laugh and stride forward into waiting blue fire, biting her own tongue in terror to keep from sobbing. . . .

  [Now, d'you recall your first theft? Show me.]

  The next summer, a night just as warm, Narnra better at tumbling, bolder now. Often perching gargoyle-like on gables and around corner-spires, watching folk of Waterdeep through their bedchamber windows-and learning much more than some young lasses do.

  Brawls and drunken fights and hurried little deals in dark streets and alleys, a knifing or two, many snatch-and-run thefts . . . and this night, one such that leaves a fat merchant on his backside grunting in pain and a fleet-footed, desperate loader-of-wagons pelting down an alley, heavy purse in hand . . . turning right beneath Narnra's perch and racing up a rickety, groaning outside stair, gasping raggedly for breath, snatching out a hand to a door-catch-and freezing to peer in the narrow lit sliver of window, stand uncertainly for a moment with a whispered curse at someone recognized within, and strain up on tiptoe to perch the stolen purse up on the edge of the roof overhead. Going inside, door banging closed, to raised voices and Narnra so excited she thinks she's going to be sick.

  Dare she? Watch-lanterns down below and armed men tramping, clouds blotting the moon . . . and like a night-viper, Narnra crawling chin-first down the steep roof, grazing the tiles with her body as she keeps low, Watch officers calling closer . . . down to where she can put her hand on the purse, heavy and excitingly solid. And draw it oh-so-slowly back and up to where she turns and steals away with it. Opening it on another rooftop a safe distance away, when a cloud rolls on to let the moon stab down and show her coins galore between her hands!

  [But things have gone darker for us both, haven't they?]

  Great batlike wings and loose brown scales bristling from a gigantic bulk, shoulders like shifting boulders as the wings spread in a banking glide down . . .

  Down toward her, great jaws gaping wide, stinging tail lashing the air.

  "Help! Help!" Bertro calling weakly, blinded by his own blood, Umbero sprawled senseless or dead over him.

  Caladnei cursing just for something despairing to say as she starts to run right at the swooping wyvern with no spells left and only a broken sword in her hand, running like a mad thing into the jaws of doom because her friends need aid. . . .

  [No, I'll spare you those deaths. Every bloodletting leaves a stain on those who see it. What of the death that overturned your world?]

  No! No, damn you, mage! I don't WANT to-don't-

  Her mother working late that last night, before the great blast that left her broken and burned amid the shattered shell of her front parlor. Magic killed her, of course, but whose? A wizard who hated her? No, someone hired to slay-but by the House of Arte-mel, or the Lathkules, or another?

  Bresnoss Artemel himself had brought the tiara to her shop, ringed by eight bodyguards openly wearing Artemel livery. Its glory-rubies had been the size of Narnra's fist, even the smallest ones were as large as her thumb. They were to be recut and set in matched pairs into a navel-length pectoral.

  Maerjanthra had pinned the fine chain of the pectoral up on a cloth-covered dummy to begin the task, even as word had raced through the streets that a tiara worth millions in gold had been stolen from the bechamber of House Lathkule, the finest jewelers among the nobility of Waterdeep. Then-

  No! {furious turmoil, claw thrust shake} NO! I won't see this! I WON'T!

  – Later, wandering alone and despairing across the pitiless rooftops, weeping and raging. The rubies gone from the shop before Narnra, flung out her windowsill by the heaving shuddering of the explosion, could even climb back inside to … to …

  Get out of my head, Caladnei! Get back go away leave me!

  On the rooftops months later, as that winter came stealing in with ever-colder breezes, still heartsick, still wondering: Had it been the Artemels, wanting to silence Lady Maerjanthra of the Gems so she could never reveal that the rubies had come to her in a tiara? Or the Lathkules, wanting to obliberate a long-time rival at gemcutting, perhaps thinking her the tiara-thief? Had an apprentice betrayed her mother, whispering to the Lathkules, or . . . ?

  Caladnei! (sobbing anguish, blind clawing and fighting}

  [My apologies, Narnra. I've known sorrow too.]

  Hurrying home to Turmish on a borrowed horse after hearing the dark news, along winding upland lanes to the tiny Turmish village of Tharnadar Edge. Her mother had been born there and now was gone, lost at sea, not even any bones to bury.

  Her father Thabrant, still tall but now dark-eyed, grim, uncaring. A hollow shell of a man with no vigor left in him, not even any tears. She'd cried for the both of them, arms fierce around him. He'd stood like a statue, quietly telling her he'd never trust gods again.

  He told her he was going to go home to Cormyr to die. "On the smallest ship I can find, Gala, with the worst crew. I hope Talos and Umberlee take me when we're on the waves, as they did her. I'll go to their altars and curse them both before I go aboard."

  No chance for either of them to say goodbye to the swift-tempered, passionate bird of a woman who'd been the hearthstone for both their lives: Maela Rynduvyn, slender, deft, and quiet-footed. Her hair russet, the same strange eyes she'd given Caladnei, dusky-skinned, most comfortable barefoot in old clothes. Drowned in a storm off Starmantle on her way to Westgate to see a long-lost sister.

  Her father had held his gnarled woodcarver's hands awkwardly that day, the first time Caladnei had ever seen him do so. He'd cradled empty air as if he were carrying something precious or hoped to catch it by never looking at it but keeping always ready. He hadn't looked at the meal Caladnei had made for them both or at anything but her. She'd shivered often that night as she lay unsleeping in the dark watching him sitting by the window staring back at her-because she knew he wasn't seeing her but her mother. Only her mother.

  Mage, I don't CARE about your dead mother or anything of your life! I just want this to be over and you to be out of my mind, my-my-

  [Easy, Narnra. Easy. Show me the first thing that comes into your mind.]

  Alone and hungry, that first winter, being passed a flagon by a man with an easy smile, slouched outside the open door of his hut in Dock Ward. It was more than wine, a fire in her belly that soothed and drove off the chill and helped her laugh. They told jokes and tales and snorted at each other's mimicry of the street merchants, and after a time Urrusk had taken her inside to swipe the flies from a half-gnawed roast goat-leg and hand it to her.

  Her empty stomach had made her poun
ce on it and gnaw like a panther, and he'd laughed all the more, refilling her flagon often and just laughing when he fumbled with her lacings and couldn't find her belt and fell on his face against her shins.

  Another man had lurched in the door and backhanded Urrusk away. "Dolt!" he'd snapped. "I hire you to lure the slaves, not ruin them!"

  With a growl he'd reached up into the crowded tangle of oddments in the rafter and brought down some jangling manacles, advancing on Narnra with a glint in his eye that suggested he might continue where Urrusk had been hauled off, after he-

  She fought weakly as he snatched at her wrists. His fingers were as cold and hard as stone when he caught her, and he'd lifted her like a doll toward a ring set into one wall, chuckling. Then up from behind him Urrusk had lurched, face twisted in rage, and thrust the chain of the second manacle around the larger man's throat, ere hauling hard.

  The big man's eyes had bulged as he roared and tugged. Narnra had put her shoulders to the wall and kicked him between the legs, as high and as hard as she could, ending up bruisingly on her behind on the littered floor as he staggered, found a wall with his face . . . and she was out into the night like a rushing wind, running blindly with a Watch-patrol soon after her. . . .

  {Fear disgust rage helpless rage revulsion}

  [Narnra, be easy. You're not the only one who knew trouble in Waterdeep.]

  Sweating and panting in that upper room in the house off Soothsayer's Way, where old Nathdarr ran his school of the sword better with one eye than many men can fight with two. Caladnei the only lass in the room, her desperate leaps and nimble blade-work slowly turning his contempt into grudging admiration, until the night when Marcon and Thloram burst in breathless to shout at her to flee with them-now!

  While she worked to become better with steel, her companions of the Sash had run riot spending their coins in the City of Splendors. Rimardo and Vonda had foolishly tried to rob a noble, and his men had captured them and tortured them to death, forcing from them the names of all in the Brightstar Sash … as the noble's guards had jeeringly told Marcon whilst trying to impale him in a tavern, less than an hour ago.

  He and Thloram had fought their way clear, with a mob on their heels and four guardsmen in livery dead, and now the Watch had joined the hounding. If she still had most of her gold, they knew where they could buy room together inside a crate being loaded onto a wagon for transport out of the city this night.

  Nathdarr's look of admiration had melted back into sour disgust. He was shaking his head as they ran out the back way into the night-but when the mob came howling up to the front door of his training-room, he'd calmly put his sword through one, two, and three of them before drawing breath.

  Such fun. So did you outlive all the others then come running to Cormyr to hide?

  [Cruel, Narnra. I'll show you why I parted ways with the Sash. You deserve that much.]

  With Thloram dead and buried in the Rift, Marcon was the only one left of the jovial band who'd plucked her up from her table at the Cracked Flagon. Oh, he'd found replacements-more blades and wizards than ever, younger and even more apt to swagger than Bertro had been-but the fun was gone. Too many sad memories, too many absent smiling faces.

  Wherefore she hadn't bothered to tell Marcon when Meleghost Telchaedrin had sent word that she should come to him in private. If some decadent Halruaan wanted to make an end of her, so be it. We all greet the gods sometime, and Caladnei was past caring when her time would come.

  The Sash was here in the Telchaedrin family towers to accept a commission. Sarde Telchaedrin wanted them to hunt down a renegade heir before the bloodtaint spell he'd crafted spread death to every corner of Halruaa. It was a task Caladnei mistrusted, but the coin being offered was staggering-another mark of suspicion that her younger comrades in the Sash didn't seem to see . . . and Marcon obviously didn't want to notice.

  Lord Meleghost was an older uncle of Lord Sarde, considered "an odd one" by the few Halruaans Caladnei had been able to mention his name to. In his younger days he'd gone adventuring outside the Walls, bringing back strange tales of colorful Faerun beyond the mountains. He was alone when she arrived in the high-vaulted, empty marble hall, standing on a high dais by a great oval window as tall as six tall men. Even beside it, Lord Meleghost was a very tall man.

  "Welcome," he murmured without the usual elaborate courtesies, extending a hand to her. "Thank you very much for coming, and please accept my assurances that I mean you no harm and intend no deceit."

  Caladnei blinked in surprise then gave him a smile and her hand together. "You seem in haste, Lord-a pace and a plain manner I must admit I find pleasing. Please unfold your will to me without delay."

  Meleghost nodded, peering at her over his long nose like an old and weary bird of prey, and said, "As you wish. This commission is a ruse that will lead you into disaster. Sarde is steering you into unwittingly attacking a rival family of our realm. You should depart Halruaa-alone-now."

  Caladnei nodded slowly. "I've been uneasy about this from the first." She took a step forward and asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

  Meleghost also stepped forward until their faces were almost touching-his breath smelt pleasantly of old spices-and murmured, "I once adventured with your father, and I mindscry him from season to season so we can chat together. Child, Thabrant is dying. He dwells in a hut in the hills north of Immersea in upland Cormyr and fails slowly-but he's grown desperate to see you. He said to tell you that his pride is all gone now and he needs you."

  Caladnei stood trembling on the edge of tears, swallowing hard. The old Halruaan folded comforting arms around her and bent his forehead to hers.

  A moment later, grieving and confused, she felt a fire flooding into her mind, bright white and irresistible. . . .

  She gasped, or thought she did, and suddenly the thrill of a new spell was in her mind, laid out clear as crystal for her to see: a translocation spell that could snatch her from place to place. Teleport! This was the magic wizards called teleport.

  This should help you to flee Halruaa, so long as you never try to use it inside one of our buildings-including this one.

  His voice was like soft thunder in her mind. Impulsively she said back to him, I cannot thank you enough, but I insist that this not be a gift, but a trade. This is the best magic I know. Please take it.

  The spell of flight? I have it, but gladly I'll accept yours. A true daughter of Thabrant Swordsilver to deal thus in honor. Fare you well, Caladnei, and have a good life.

  Weeping, she kissed his cheek, whirled away, and fled. It took a good few teleports to reach upland Cormyr.

  [Do we understand each other enough, yet?]

  Yes. Damn you, yes.

  [That's good. I like you, Narnra Shalace. I hope you can come to like me. But all is going dim around us because this is … tiring. Very tiring. You've been thrashing like a hooked fish.

  Caladnei, I FEEL like a hooked fish!

  Up from the rushing darkness, like a fish swimming up to sunlight, up to the brightness and noise and-

  Flash of silver, crash of cascading swirling water, bells and horns and bright burning . . .

  Narnra found herself staring into the eyes of Caladnei-which were a deep brown-red, and royal blue at the center, she saw suddenly-and the Mage Royal was looking back at her.

  They were both weeping silently, faces wet with tears, as they lay together on their sides, locked in a fierce embrace.

  Over Caladnei's curves Narnra could see Laspeera and Rhau-ligan standing watchfully near, she holding a wand ready, he a drawn sword.

  Trapped. Trapped and bound and cheated.

  In sudden red rage Narnra tore herself free of Caladnei in a welter of shoves, slaps, and thrusting knees and hurled herself back into the air and away.

  The Mage Royal's shielding spells flared into life like white flames, enshrouding Caladnei from view.

  Narnra landed, rolled, and came up running. Laspeera and Rhauligan were moving-keeping
between her and the doors!

  She swerved away from them both, sobbing bitterly, and ran to the farthest empty corner of the chamber-where she slammed her fists against the unyielding wall until they hurt too much to go on pounding.

  She sagged, forehead against a smooth and uncaring wall, and sobbed until she was empty. Empty and . . . alone.

  "Well?" the Mage Royal asked softly, from behind her. "Not the usual training I give agents, but are you a mite more . . . content?"

  Narnra whirled around to glare back at her. "Where's my freedom?" she snarled. "Mind-chains, you give me! What you choose to show of your past and what you want to take of mine! Content-hah!"

  Caladnei's face looked as unhappy as her own. As Narna watched, a fresh tear welled out of her eye and ran down her pale cheek.

  "And your choice?" the Mage Royal whispered, holding out her hand like a beseeching beggar.

  Narnra looked at it and whirled to look away, breathing heavily.

  What choice have I? Where in all Faerun can I run to?

  What will she do to me if I refuse?

  Her mind whirled an image back to her once more: that glimpse of Caladnei trembling with fear before the first portal she'd ever seen-then forcing a laugh and striding forward into its blue fire biting her own tongue in terror . . .

  Caladnei, running toward a swooping wyvern with no spells left and only a broken sword in her hand, because her friends needed her . . .