Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [34]
His lady cast her eyes skyward. "He agreed he would not meet the drow at the harbor. Khelben dearest, you really must learn to speak Rogue. Consider this: Where is your powdered essence of sky, sea, and stone? Where are Liriel's gems? Where is the missive the merfolk brought from Caladorn's ship? Where are all the things that will enable one wizard to find Liriel's ship-and ensure that another wizard cannot?"
Khelben's gaze darted from the writing table to the scrying platform. The delicate vial was gone, as were the bag of gemstones and the sealskin parchment.
He uttered a single word-a barnyard epithet delivered with great force and little regard for the dignity of his high rank.
"The boy's gone straight to the ship! Damn and blast it! Why did I entrust Mystra's Art to such a hopeless fool!"
Laerel fingered the unadorned curve of her ear. "Now that you mention it, I probably shouldn't have taught him those pickpocket tricks, either."
"It would seem that your overschooled protege has a few lessons yet coming," Thorn announced. She plucked her bowstring, which sang like a battle harp.
Khelben's irritation disappeared, chased from his face by a flash of paternal panic. Power rose like mist around him, creating an illusion of an imperious, elf-blooded wizard, ancient and mighty beyond words-an illusion that held more truth than his familiar form.
"Whatever comes of this, the boy is to be spared," he demanded in a voice ringing with power.
The elf champion shrugged, unimpressed. "If possible," she said. As she strode from the room, she repeated, "If possible-and provided he doesn't annoy me overmuch!"
Khelben's enhanced image dissipated like a sigh, leaving his mortal facade looking old and careworn. He sent a troubled glance toward his lady. "Do you suppose she meant those terms quite literally?"
"Well, she does seem give her threats a bit more emphasis, but how many elves have you met who don't mean precisely what they say?"
The archmage nodded as if he'd expected this response. "In that case," he muttered, "the boy's as good as dead."
Laerel shook her head as another thought occurred to her. "Sharlarra has been getting restless of late."
Khelben stared at her as if she had gone moonmad. "And you mention this because…"
"I go to Skullport from time to time. I need to, and not just for the information I can find there."
He nodded, acknowledging the side of his lady that he did not share and could not quite understand.
"Did I ever tell you where I met Sharlarra?"
"Lady Sharlarra of the Vindrith clan? I had assumed Evermeet, but something tells me that would not be the correct answer."
She laughed shortly. "Hardly. We met in Skullport."
"No! A gold elf, in that cesspool of a city? What the Nine bloody Hells was she doing there?"
"Surviving," Laerel retorted, "and doing a damn good job of it. She lifted my purse. The thing was magically warded, and she still almost got away with it."
The archmage huffed indignantly. "That convinced you to bring her to my tower as an apprentice?"
"Why not? Talent is talent. For that matter, Sharlarra isn't a gold elf. But we're getting sidetracked. Sharlarra stood right over there while your light-fingered nephew robbed us blind. If she hasn't gone to reclaim the goodies, I'll shave my head."
Khelben lifted one brow. "It has not escaped my attention that you spoke of Sharlarra's boredom. Will you place the same wager that your Skullport protegee will return these stolen items at first opportunity?"
Laerel took a thick handful of silver mane in each hand and draped it over the archmage's shoulders. She entwined her arms around his neck and gave him a lascivious wink. "You should probably bear in mind that it would take me two hundred years to grow it back to this length."
A reluctant smile tugged at one corner of Khelben's lips. "In other words, no deal."
The wizard sighed and lowered her bright head to his chest.
"Afraid not."
CHAPTER FOUR
darkness visible
Stalker Lemming lurched down the narrow Skullport street, his peg leg clicking briskly against