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"Well, my Winged Lion," Thandro replied, his voice fading as he moved toward the door, "just you be there under the Lightless Lamp before five-toll, and you'll get your chance to leave the Steel Regent gasping. If you don't have to slice her up like sausage-meat in the fray, that is."
"She'll be no match for me in swordplay, so keep your men well back. . . ."
Sauvrurn's voice faded entirely, and the two men in the loft heard the door-bar crash back into place.
"B'gads, Surth!" Bezrar hissed, sweat streaming down his face like a waterfall. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"
"Nothing" Marsember's wealthiest dealer in scents, wines, cordials, and drugs snarled, "if you shut your loose jaws for once and help me get the roof-trap open. We have to stay quiet, and move quick—and get as far away as the walls of Marsember let us from all the bloodshed that's going to erupt ere dusk! Whatever happens in Thundaerlyn Hall, this city is going to be scoured out and turned upside down by every War Wizard the realm can muster by highsun tomorrow!"
* * * * *
Florin Falconhand stood with his fish dripping forgotten in one hand and his blade ready in the other, warily watching the sprawled Red Wizard. Helpless at his feet, Starangh stared back. If glares alone could slay, the ranger would have been done for—but as it was, the real battle was taking place a pace or two beyond them both.
Narnra Shalace stood facing her father, her anger boiling over. "You're no better than this grasping, evil Thayan!" she snapped. "You do just as you please and have done for years! Years of meddling in the lives of many, more for your own satisfaction and amusement than anything else!"
Elminster shook his head. "I've done most of my deeds and misdeeds in the service of Mystra, the most powerful goddess of all," he replied quietly. "For good or ill, I've been a finger or two of her hand and acted as she commanded me."
Narnra waved away his words with a sneer of disgust. "You could've refused! You could've renounced it all—if you hadn't wanted all that power!"
El shrugged. "Want it or not, I have it—why should I not use it? Who better than myself can I trust to use it well?"
"It's not about power and control," Narnra snarled furiously, "it's about doing the right thing."
"Ah, and what is that 'right thing'?"
Narnra drew herself up scornfully. "If you can't tell—"
Elminster said a single cold word that echoed across the meadow like a thunderclap, freezing everyone. Narnra's face went bone-white and terror flamed in her eyes as she found herself unable to move or speak.
Her father took a step forward and suddenly seemed a shade less old and ridiculous. Contempt flared in his blue-gray eyes as he met her gaze and said softly, "My daughter—just one more young hothead with all the answers. The 'right thing' is whatever ye think it is ... but unfortunately ye've seen so little of the world and are capable of understanding so little beyond what's right at the end of thy nose for thine eyes to fall upon easily that ye only see one 'right thing.' "
He walked right up to that nose and began to circle her, keeping close, hands clasped behind his back, voice soft but fierce. "Listen to me, lass: I'm guilty of whimsy and vengefulness and standing in judgment and bad temper, willful meddling, and even loss of my wits, often—but before I try to shape the world around me I also try to do something ye've not yet learned to do: I try to look at things from all sides, to understand disagreements and rivalries through the eyes of all involved . . . more than that, to look ahead to the probable consequences of what I might do."
He stopped in front of her and said more gently, "Sometimes I may appear heartless to ye, young Shining Eyes with thy heart ruling ye—but I think about what I do, before, during, and after, and turn right around to try to right my mistakes instead of striding on and dismissing yesterday's misdeeds as gone and past, beyond recalling. If ye don't grow enough to do that, ye are no better than this grasp-all, evil Thayan."
He waved his hand, and Narnra found herself free to walk and speak. She trembled, wondering if she dared say anything but found herself whispering, "And you expect me to see all your manipulating as right? And wise? Benevolent, following some master plan I'm too stupid or impatient to see? You think manipulating folk isn't the greatest evil there is?"
"Lass, lass," Elminster replied wearily, "manipulating folk is what humans do. If ye knew of my youth, ye'd know just how much I hate mages who rule, and being manipulated . . . but I learned down the centuries that 'tis best to do some steering of folk before the steering is done to ye. Because, rest assured, 'twill be. I can at least be sure of my own motives, and that I've thought about them, though whether they be 'good' or 'evil' is for others to judge. The motives of others, I can never be so sure about—until I see the glee in their eyes reflecting off the bright blade aimed at my heart... as they swing it down."
"You . . . you're maddening," Narnra snarled, fists clenched. "You—you heartless monster!"
"That's right, hurl back views that force ye to think by name-calling—'tis the grand old tradition, let it not down! Anything to keep from having to think, or—Mystra forfend—change thy own views!"
Narnra glowered at her father. "Just how am I to learn how to think? By being taught by you?"
"Some folk in the Realms would give their lives for the chance to learn at my feet," Elminster said mildly. "Several already have."
He turned away. "However, I think ye're not ready for that, yet. I'm too useful to ye as the villain who sired then spurned ye, Old Lord Walking Blame For All Things Dark. No, I think ye must find thy own teachers in thy own way, taking no hint from me. See how well ye've received the few words of advice I've offered here and now?"
Narnra took a deep breath and wrestled down her rage. "So what advice would you give me, Old Lord, about where to go now and what to do? Not how to govern my own wits and what views to hold—but what to do next?"
Elminster met her gaze again and said, "Come into my Tower and have a cup of tea. Let thy anger fade, and we'll talk. I'll give ye some baubles of magic and mutter a lot of stale old advice then whisk ye with my Art to wherever ye desire to be—and hand thy choice right back to ye. As I see it, ye can travel and adventure and broaden thyself right away ... or reward Caladnei's trust by serving her as a loyal agent—then, when ye grow restless, steer her into giving ye tasks that let ye travel Faerun and see as much of it as possible. Ye'll always be welcome here, and one of the trifles I'll hand ye will enable ye to call on me from afar should ye need aid ... or even, make the gods gasp, advice."
Narnra stared at him and snapped, "The tea, I'll accept." She looked down at the Red Wizard. "And him?"
"He lies in pain, awaiting thy judgment. Were ye very cruel, ye could just leave him, or tell me to carry him off across the field to yonder anthill, to itch and burn whilst we sip. Or I could restore him to full vigor and give him a wand to smite us all with. The choice is thine."
"And if I said healing and the wand?" Narnra asked, her whisper a challenge.
"I'll do it... but have ye given thought to the consequences?"
"Yes," she snapped fiercely, setting her jaw. "Yes, I have. Do that for him. Do it for me."
Elminster muttered something, made a shape in the air, then stared at a spot above the Thayan. A smooth, tapering stick of wood promptly appeared there and floated serenely above the twisted Red Wizard as the Old Mage cast a more elaborate spell.
Harnrim Starangh gasped once, writhed and arched briefly, shuddered all over—and sprang up, pale and sweating. He faced Elminster with wild eyes, but the Old Mage stood like a statue.