The Simbul’s Gift

Thoughts passed between the Simbul and the archer, who at last lowered his bow. He called Ebroin by name and held out his hand. The youth looked at his queen; Lauzoril couldn't see the silent expressions that passed between them. He looked at Lauzoril; the expression was respect, the best that could be shared by enemies, followed by the arched brows of inquiry.

"Go home, Ebroin," the zulkir suggested, having no better or safer advice to give a stranger. "Go to the place where your heart is at rest and begin your life anew from there." It was the advice he always gave himself and would give to Mimuay when the time came.

The youth lifted his shoulders, standing straighter and with a faint smile on his lips. Then he turned toward the archer. They walked away together, leaving Lauzoril alone with Thay's greatest enemy. She walked toward him.

"Yours is not a face I ever expected to see in the Yuirwood. Why, Lauzoril? Why did you come? To destroy another zulkir? Why have you stayed. You are not Szass Tam, Lauzoril; you don't have a hope against me."

"Oh, I have hope, my lady." He did not have a personal name to fling at her the way she flung his, but no one knew the Simbul's name, not even her own people. "I hope Lady Illusion is quite thoroughly dead, but it is only hope. She isn't foolish enough to leave herself with no way out."

"If she was conscious when Lailomun reached her."

"Ah, Lailomun. You knew him then?"

She appeared a

"You came for Mythrell'aa?"

"No, I came for my daughter and for that hot-headed young man who has no idea how lucky he is to be alive."

"Explain yourself."

Lauzoril shook his head. "I don't take orders from foreign queens, my lady. My daughter means everything to me. If you have children ..." He watched her face grow hard in a heartbeat. "Well, never mind. I did it for her, to be a hero in her eyes before she grows up."

"And learns her poppa is a zulkir?"

It was an insult, but it was also the truth. "Just so. Do you think we eat our young?"

"It had occurred to me more than once."

The zulkir shook his head. He had learned the true name of the Cha'Tel'Quessir, but it wasn't anywhere near enough, not for Aglarond or Thay. "Then it will never change."

"The Red Wizards will give up their dreams of conquest and domination? No, I don't think it will ever change, Lauzoril."

"I believe that Thay is born to dominate Faerun, but not a Faerun drenched in blood. I don't have any liking for war, my lady, and I've seen too much death."

"You're not yet fifty!"

She'd been fighting his kind for generations. Perhaps that gave her the right to belittle his observations. "I've seen enough for me." He turned and started walking toward the bushes where he'd hidden the stone horse, making his back an easy target.

"Lauzoril!"

He paused, looked over his shoulder.

"Thank you. Thank you for saving Ebroin's life. He has definitely seen too much death."

"My daughter said his heart was sad because we had slain his mother. She thought he was frightened with no one to stand for him. She wanted to save him from the Red Wizards."

"And you did."

"She is my child." Lauzoril saw Mimuay's face in his mind's eye and wondered if she would believe him when he returned to Thazalhar. He started walking again.

"Lauzoril!"

Again, he paused and looked back.

"Lauzoril, I owe you, and I pay my debts. What do you want?"

The witch-queen of Aglarond owing a zulkir! The map of Faerun had changed overnight. He thought of a thousand requests and rejected them all in the space of a heartbeat. "A name. The name you give to your friends."

She hesitated; he thought she'd refuse, which wasn't a complete surprise. A name, if it could be kept hidden, was a powerful word for any wizard to possess.

"Nethreene."

"Nethreene," Lauzoril repeated. That hot-silver presence he'd felt the night he'd spied upon her while she held the knife pressed against his mind. It is her true name, Shazzelurt insisted. The presence faded. He held out his hand—even in Thay, a handshake was a gesture of trust.

She strode forward and took it. They studied each other, eye to eye. Nethreene's grip was as firm as any man's, but the hand she raised unselfconsciously to touch his cheek was woman-gentle. He didn't risk the same familiarity with her. She seemed disappointed when they stepped apart.

"Consider my name a gift, Lauzoril. Remember it when you look at your daughter. Say it aloud when you need to collect a debt."

"Perhaps I will," he replied with a smile. "Perhaps someday I will."

The zulkir started walking again.

This time the Simbul did not call him back. About the Author

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