The Simbul's gift - Lynn Abbey [14]
He was Tarthilmor then; Alassra was nearly certain she'd been talking to Tarthilmor when she mentioned her appetite for razor-toothed bluefish. They schooled off the Fang this time of year, which might tell her something about why he'd come calling-certainly not to wish his storm-tempered aunt a happy birthday. Alustriel must have told him to bring gifts.
Alustriel was five years older than Alassra; she remembered family traditions and kept them alive. After Lailomun and Mystra, it was Alustriel who told her the family history, including the exact date of her birth.
And had the ever-efficient Alustriel also told her tall son to come calling because the private commemoration that Aglarond's queen had planned-a candlelit supper with Elminster-wasn't going to happen? Alassra suspected Tarthilmor knew, but proving her suspicions might start a family war.
"I'd be delighted. At sundown? This storm will have cleared by then. I'll have a supper laid on the balcony overlooking the harbor. It will be very private."
For the briefest moment his eyes narrowed and a satisfied smile tugged his lips: Privacy was important and birthdays had nothing to do with this visit. Then he was Alustriel's son again, with impeccable manners and all the charm of-well, not Elminster or the Zulkir of Enchantment, but very charming all the same. "It will be a supper to remember,"
"I'm sure it will," Alassra replied, ending with an awkward pause where she should have spoken his name. Blue-fish notwithstanding, that fleeting smile reminded her more of Boesild than Tarthilmor.
"May I retire to a chamber until then? Between the storm and the fish, I could use a bath before dining with a queen-unless we want to attract flies as we eat."
Flies. For all her serenity, Alustriel had a keen sense of the absurd and she'd passed it along to the Aerasume.
"Of course."
Alassra clapped her hands and a retainer approached. "Show my nephew to the guest quarters and see to his needs."
The pair departed and Alassra departed as well, using her staff as before to transport her back to her privy chamber where the mirror answered her most desperate inquiry: Tarthilmor was riding in the forest north of Silverymoon; Boesild was the man flirting courteously with the Velprintalar servants. That mystery solved, the Simbul directed her attention to other matters. She studied the inky signatures of Zhentarim lords and the smoky plotting of barbarians far to the east of Rashemen, none of which had grown more dangerous since she last used the mirror. Closer to home, Alassra watched a handful of perennially discontent Fangers talk vague treason amongst themselves, each of them a recognized portrait on the quicksilver: Within Aglarond, the mirror's vision was as sharp as her own, at least along the human-dominated coast. If there'd been a Red Wizard with them, the Thayan's presence would have glowed like a beacon.
When Alassra directed her attention to the Yuirwood the quicksilver surface seethed with fast-changing colors.
The ancient trees cast their own protection and, though it galled the Simbul's pride, her magic couldn't penetrate the forest canopy. Hot spots flickered then vanished. The Fang wasn't the only part of Aglarond where discontent flourished, but the most intractable of the Cha'Tel'Quessir tribes were, thankfully, those least likely to look beyond the forest for allies.
She let the forest fade and framed her final inquiry-
Zandilar's Dancer?
It was an oft-repeated and, therefore, quickly answered question. The mirror showed her a sturdy, blue-dun colt, still growing into his black-stockinged legs. There was a human man standing at his head and a half-elf perched upon his back. All three were sweat-soaked and wearied.
"Success at last!"
It had taken father and stepson the whole summer to break the two-year-old colt. She'd grown impatient with them. Another week and she'd have sent one of her Rashemaar horsemen to the village: They could break a horse in a morning. She'd send