"Lander saw them together at twilight. Do you know what they're up to?"

Veseene shook her head, a barely controlled motion that could almost have been just another twitch. There was fear in her eyes, though. Lander snorted. "She doesn't know, Brin. Look at her."

The halfling's eye narrowed. He squatted down on the stool and stared at Veseene. The old bard stared back, a bird hypnotized by a snake. They stayed like that for a long moment before Brin flicked the blanket back at her and stepped down from the stool. He strode across the room, pulled open the door and walked out without another word.

Lander spared a last look at Veseene. She had the blanket clutched to her. "We'll find them," he told her. "If we don't, we'll be back."

He put his back to her and strode confidently after Brin. He didn't bother to close the door after himself.

Veseene waited until she heard the door at the bottom of the stairs open and close before she scrambled up-as hastily as she could manage-and pushed the door of their rooms closed. Can't sing, can't play, can't cast a spell. "Ah," she sighed to herself, "but I can still give a performance, Brin."

It wasn't just the palsy that made her hand shake as she slid home the bolt on the door, though. She leaned against the door for a moment before making her way back to the couch with slow, careful steps. She sat down and watched the wood in the fireplace burn.

A tenday's carefully hoarded supply, she thought, gone in minutes. Damn Lander! Damn Brin!

Blessed Lliira, it is warm, though!

The traitorous thought brought a knot to her throat, and for a moment she thought she might cry. She rubbed her eyes. There was so much she could have done once and so little now. She could feel her hands tremble against her cheeks and lowered them to stare at her shaking fingers.

It had started with a twitch in her left wrist. She had thought little enough of it, but it had spread. Slowly. Over years. By the time she had sought to do anything, there was nothing that could be done-if there had ever been anything at all. She had sought out priests of three faiths known for their skills at healing. None had given her any hope beyond words of comfort. "It is the way of years. It is nature's course. Have faith that your suffering will be eased in the afterlife." She had carried on when the trembling had robbed her first of her grace then of the precise coordination that so much magic demanded. She was a bard-she learned to make magic with her voice alone.

Then the palsy touched her throat and lungs and stole her song as well.

If she hadn't had Tycho, she might have given up then. Veseene couldn't remember when he had stopped being her apprentice and become her friend. Tycho had brought her back to Spandeliyon when all else had failed. He earned enough for them to limp along. He had found Sephera and the tea that had brought some dignity back into her life.

Veseene clenched her fingers into gnarled fists. She didn't know what he or Li had done to rouse Brin's anger, but she wasn't about to let the mad halfling take him so easily!

The tea box burning in the fireplace popped and crackled suddenly. Veseene smiled grimly to herself. She didn't know if the burning had been a deliberate act or if the box had simply been a handy target, but she did know that there was little in dockside that didn't come to Brin's attention sooner or later. He most likely knew about Sephera and possibly about her special tea as well. Fortunately, he didn't know what box she kept it in. She shifted aside and dug between the blankets on the couch, past the knife Brin had rightly guessed was there, and pulled out a pouch. Still in the fine linen with which Sephera had wrapped it, her wasp venom tea made a comforting bulk within. The only thing Brin had burned was Tycho's very ordinary tea.

She set the pouch on the table and rose once more. This time she went to the shuttered windows. Rags and scraps had been stuffed into the cracks in the shutters in an attempt to keep out the winter wind. Veseene picked a bit of red wool out of a big knothole and put her eye to the hole. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the darkness outside, but she saw exactly what she had expected to see. There was a man, not one of the neighbors, lingering in a doorway across the street. If she tried to leave and warn Tycho before Brin found him, she would be seen.

There might be another way.

Veseene went to the cupboard, fetched herself a cup, and opened the linen package of tea. With shaking hands, she measured out one dose. Then another. And another. The blazing fire had the kettle already boiling. Veseene wrapped her hands in rags, swung the kettle off the fire, and heaved it off the hook. The effort left her gasping and she had to rest before she could pour the hot water into her cup. The acrid smell of the tea stung her eyes as it always did-and worse for being triple strength.

Sephera had given her careful instructions on the taking of the tea. A single spoonful of the crumbled mixture, steeped, in the morning, at midday, and in the evening. More than that was dangerous. A single dose would ease her palsy for a time; stronger doses might suppress it but at the cost of cutting the effectiveness of weaker brews later.

That seemed like a small enough price now.

Veseene waited only until the triple-strength tea had grown dark red-like water-thin blood-and bitter before snatching up the cup and sipping at it. The tea was hot. The touch of it scalded her tongue. She kept drinking as fast as she could, though, blowing across the surface of the liquid between sips. The scalded feeling spread across her tongue, but the warmth spread in her belly and throat as well. Before she had drained the cup to the granular mash at its bottom, the warmth had worked its way into her limbs and head, too. It settled there, like sharp fire. The cup didn't rattle against the tabletop when she set it down. Veseene held out a hand before her eyes.

It didn't move. Her ears were ringing. The light of the fire seemed especially bright, as if her pupils were wide after being too long in the dark. Veseene drew a deep breath and, for the first time in three years, sang. Truly sang.

The music was glorious, an explosion of joy from the core of her being-then magic swept over her as well, like an old lover come back. Veseene shivered at its touch and let the moment draw out. How long had it been? Too long. It couldn't last though.

The spell wasn't a powerful one. It needed guidance, a destination. She had told Brin she didn't know where Tycho was. That was the truth. She did, however, know her friend and one-time apprentice too well. If tonight was anything like most of Tycho's nights, she could guess where he would be. Eventually. The spell would wait for him. Veseene wove its magic into her song, shaping it and releasing it in a glorious burst. The shutters on the window knocked together as it passed through them like a gust of wind.

Her song faltered. Weakness surged over her and she grabbed at the table for support, swaying for a moment before easing herself around to her couch. The ringing in her ears was becoming a blinding headache. Sephera had never mentioned that the tea might do that! Veseene lay back, eyes squeezed tight against the glare of the fire and prayed to Mystra, goddess of magic, that her guess had been right and Tycho heard her warning.