The Master of the Shadows stared at her for a moment, his face losing all expression, then said briskly, "Well met, then, and the gods smile upon this agreement between us. Know you in turn that Orthil's caravan left this city north along the Trade Way early today, bound for Waterdeep, and should-barring mischance, no word of which has come south to Scornubel from travelers arriving here along the same route-have reached a defensible camping-spot known as Face Crag by now. They should be spending this night there under a torchguard, for the Blackrocks countryside they traverse is wild and known to be a-lurk with brigands, prowling bears, monsters, and the like."

He got up from the desk, shuffled ponderously around it with a large vellum scroll in his hands, and let it fall and unroll, weighted by a stick its end was stitched around. It revealed a map. The thief-lord strode onto it, and pointed with one slippered foot. "If all goes well, their next camp should be here, where this old mining trail meets the wagon-road, at a place called Orcskull Rise."

He looked up at her. "You may wish to wait until first light before riding out. You can move much more swiftly than laden wagons and so overtake them in two or three days' hard riding. By day the road is safer for a lone rider. I've no doubt of your courage or battle-skills-but Lady Sharantyr, few women dare to travel these lands alone, and there are good reasons for that. A trip-line, a dozen brigands with crossbows, or as many ores… your beauty and swiftness would not save you."

Sharantyr smiled. "I must leave as soon as possible, night or day, monsters or none. My thanks for your warning and your gallantry, Master of the Shadows. I'll forget neither when I tell Tessaril what generous aid you've rendered."

Bradraskor seemed to wince, but whatever he might have been going to say was interrupted by a voice from behind Sharantyr.

"Master?"

The Master of the Shadows made a swift gesture that Sharantyr correctly interpreted as a signal to put away whatever weapon the newcomer was holding ready. She did not bother to turn, but asked lightly, "Tornar the Eye?"

There was a silence, ended by another sharp gesture from Bradraskor, and the voice spoke again, its tones not entirely free of surprise. "Tornar I am, Lady, and give you greeting. You are-?"

"Sharantyr of Shadowdale," she replied, turning until she could see both Tornar and his master. She exchanged nods with the Eye as the Master of the Shadows said, "Tornar, I'm giving Flamewind to Sharantyr, the best saddle and all. I need her ready for a long ride in the north courtyard, as swiftly as possible. Let there be two skins of water, a saddlebag of wine, and a meal-untainted and the very best. I'll escort the lady thither directly and expect Flamewind to be waiting for us when we reach the well."

Tornar bowed to them both and strode swiftly out. His master went to one of the other doors, opened it, gestured within, and asked, "Lady?"

Sharantyr took his arm as she passed and murmured, "Walk with me, Belgon. As you say, 'tis safer if a lady goes not alone."

The thief-lord winced, then stiffened as two things enveloped him: a faint, cinammonlike scent that was either his visitor or the leathers she wore and a crawling, tingling sensation that he was sure must be magic. He drew in a deep breath as her hip brushed his huge thigh and carefully matched his pace to hers like a court gallant. They entered the shadowed passage together.

"How're you, lad?" Arauntar murmured, cradling Narm as gently as a mother holds her child. "Head splitting, aye, but otherwise?"

"Otherwise," Narm mumbled, wincing, "I'm… all right, I suppose. How's Shan?"

"Frightened for you, demanding you be brought to her right now, an'-ahem-a mite annoyed," the guard rumbled. "If you can walk without falling, I'd like to be getting you to her straight away."

"I'll manage," Narm grunted, snatching hold of the nearest lashing-ring on the wagon wall and hauling himself up the row of rings with trembling fingers. He clung groggily to the uppermost ring for a moment and stared down at his tingling hands. They were swollen and seemed numb and weak…

"Narbuth bound you a little tight," the Harper explained. "I just cut you free. Catch thy breath a bit, lad-an' do something for me, if you will."

Narm looked at Arauntar, squinting against the pain, and asked faintly, "What?"

"Forget for now Orthil ordering you bound an' Jathun hitting you, all right? 'Twill be easier for us all if yer lady doesn't go frying all our heads off just yet."

The mage gave the Harper a sidelong look, smiled wryly, and replied, "I'll grant it will, at that. Right, you'll have my silence on this-for now. Now, take me to Shan, before she comes looking for me herself."

"That," Arauntar told him with a wry and gap-toothed grin, "is precisely why I want you to hurry."

Sharantyr of Shadowdale gave them a merry wave and cantered into the night. The Master of the Shadows let the arm that had saluted her in return fall back to the moonlit rim of the well and said softly to the man beside him, "Follow her. Let her work death among all the spellfire-seekers Bluthlock has sent after Voldovan's wagons-but when you judge the time right, make sure she dies."

Tornar nodded. "Of course, Master. She knows your looks, where you lair, and how to reach you. She must not live."

Belgon Bradraskor nodded. "A pity. No woman has ever called me gallant before."

"Hesperdan was right," Hlael mused thoughtfully.

Korthauvar sighed. "Hesperdan is always right. Why else would one feeble old man with such expensive vices yet be suffered by the Brotherhood to live?"

"Too useful to slay, too unambitious to be a danger."

"So he appears. I wonder if he isn't plotting some dark magic to someday drain us all of life and magic."

"What, to make himself master over all the Brotherhood and rise to challenge Shaaan and Larloch, Szass Tarn, and Maraunth Torr?"

"Nay, that's the gods-smile-down worst of it all. Anyone else would do such a thing to become an Archmage Most Mighty and conquer Faerun at will. Hesperdan, Bane take him, would do it as an interesting experiment!"

The gem she'd broken on the lip of the stone well had done its work. It would not last long, and its awakening had banished the ironguard that had made metal pass harmlessly through her, but Sharantyr could see and hear the two grim men as clearly as if she still stood in the courtyard, shoulder to shoulder with the Master of the Shadows and Tornar. She grinned savagely at the moon as she overheard Bradraskor's orders.

"Ah, we must all die sometime, Belgon," she told the wind. "Let you be gallant to the last, and I'll be well pleased. Of course Tornar must try to slay me. I only hope Besmer has sense enough to flee the city as fast as he can. No one must know that a lone woman marched straight in on the Master of the Shadows in his lair, defeating guards and traps at will, forced a deal on the lord of Scornubel's thieves, and went on her way with his gifts. No sinister reputation could quite recover from such news-and no thief-lord without such a reputation can hope to last long."

As Tornar hurried away across the courtyard to where he'd no doubt left another mount waiting, her tiny magic faded away. The last Sharantyr saw of the Master of the Shadows was his brooding face, as he leaned on crossed arms on the well rim and stared into the night after her.

"Too late, Belgon," the ranger told the wind of her galloping, as her hair streamed out behind her like a dark cloud and the moon painted the Blackrocks bright before her, "and too slow. Not even Tornar can ride fast enough to save you, for rumor runs ever before him, clear across Scornubel. I learned as much myself a long time ago, when first I swung a sword and ran unclad with boys-and the little lady my parents thought I'd become was swept away by gossip, forever. Whispers fly as fast as arrows."