Forgotten Realms - Realms of Magic Part 8

Ambreene scowled at herself in a mirror as she hurried past. It would be so easy to just give in. She could banish to memory her secret sessions of sweating concentration and fearfully hissed spells, and just idle her days away, drifting inevitably into the boredom of marriage to the favorite lout, dandy, or stonehead of some n.o.ble family favored by the Hawkwinters. So G.o.ds-be-d.a.m.nably easy. She tossed her head and glared at a startled servant as they turned into Teshla's Tower and began to climb the spiral stairs to the rooms Grandmama Hawkwinter never left.

That ease is why it must never happen, she vowed silently. I'll not become another wisp-headed cat's claw. I'll see Hawkwinter House hurled down into its own cesspools first!

The seneschal came to the door at the end of the worn red shimmerweave carpet and rang the graceful spiral of bra.s.s chimes that hung beside it. Unlatching the heavy door, he swung it wide, stepping smoothly back to usher Ambreene within.

The youngest daughter of the Hawkwinters strode past him with the absently confident air that made the servants privately call her the Little Lady Queen of All Waterdeep. She walked into the dim, quiet apartments that were all the kingdom the once-mighty dowager Lady Hawkwinter had left.

Priceless glowstone sculptures drifted in slow dances as she pa.s.sed. Enchanted, shimmering paintings of flying elven hunts and dancing lords and ladies flourished their endless animations. A fascinated Ambreene was a good twenty paces into the luxurious chamber when she realized she was alone. There was no trace of the three elderly chamberladies who always lounged by the central bedchamber stair, waiting to be summoned up into Teshla's presence. Ambreene glided to a graceful halt amid the empty lounges, uncertain what to do.An eye winked open in the smooth ivory sphere adorning one bottom stairpost, and a mouth appeared in the other, speaking in the familiar dry, waspish tones of Grandmama Teshla. "Come up, girl; I've not much time left."

A little chill arose inside Ambreene at that calm state- ment. Obediently she set foot on the curving stair. It was the summons she'd dreaded, come at last. She gathered her skirts and mounted the steps in haste.

She should have visited Grandmama more often, and stayed longer, despite the watchful, overscented old chamberladies with their vague, condescending comments and endless bright, cultured, empty phrases about the weather. She should have told Lady Teshla-who'd dabbled in dark and daring magic in her younger days, they said-about her own fumbling attempts to master magic. She should have ...

Ambreene reached the head of the stairs and came to a shocked halt. Grandmama was quite alone, lying propped up on her pillows in bed. She must have sent the servants away and unbound her hair herself.

A soft-hued driftglobe hovered above the bed, and Ambreene could see that Lady Teshla was wearing a black robe whose arms were writhing, leaping flames of red silk-robes better suited to an evil seductress than the matron of one of the oldest, proudest houses in all Waterdeep. She looked dangerous, and the glint in her old, knowing eyes made that impression even stronger.

Ambreene swallowed. "Grandmama, I came as qui-"

"Quickly enough, it seems," the dry voice said, with just a hint of weariness. "I breathe yet. Stand not there quivering like an unschooled courtesan, girl, but come and give me a kiss-or you may yet be too late."

Numbly, Ambreene did as she was bid. The old arms trembled as they went around her, but the lips were as firm and imperious as ever. Ambreene looked into the black, bottomless pools of Grandmama's eyes-a falcon's eyes, her father had once called them-and said, "Grandmama, there's something I must tell you. I've been trying to-"

"Weave a few spells," Lady Teshla finished the sentence almost impatiently. "Do you think I don't know this, girl? What way does my favorite window face, now?"

Toward Ambreene's own bedchamber windows, of course, but.. .

"I'm glad you used the word 'trying.' A right mess you made of the darkshadow cloak," Teshla said dryly. "But you have all the grand gestures right, girl. Some young blade'll quake in his boots if he ever tries too much at a dance and you hurl the pig-face curse his way!"

Ambreene flushed in embarra.s.sment-how had Grand-mama, shut in this dim tower, seen that? She was sure she'd managed to restore the old war hound's rightful looks before his frightened yelps had ...

The driftglobe swirled and drew her eyes-and suddenly its heart flashed into a view of distant Castle Waterdeep, from above, as if she were standing atop Mount Waterdeep looking down on it!

"That's how I see all," Teshla told her as the scene faded. Touch the sphere."

Wonderingly, Ambreene did so. A tingling spread through her from her fingertips, and Teshla nodded approvingly.

"The globe will follow you, now. When you go, all can think I was just bestowing a little magic on my kin before I went to the arms of the G.o.ds-but this is why I summoned you."

A wrinkled hand moved with surprising speed, drawing up the fine chain that had gleamed down into Teshla's shrunken bodice for as long as Ambreene could remember-and bringing into view a delicate silvery metal dragon's head, in profile. Its single eye was a huge dark glossy gem of a sort Ambreene had never seen before in a lifetime of watching wealth drift languidly by at feasts and revels. She stared at it ... and it seemed to stare back at her.

"What is it?" she whispered as Teshla drew the chain off over her head with arms once more slow and weary, and held it out.

The Eye of the Dragon, child," Teshla said softly. "May it serve you better than it did me-and may you use it far more wisely than I did. Take it."

The youngest daughter of House Hawkwinter swallowed, and then lifted her head and calmly reached out for the gem. Teshla chuckled at the imperious manner, and then tilted her head to watch her descendant closely ... almost warily.

In Ambreene's awed fingers, the gem seemed warm and alive-and weightless, as if it could float on its own. It held power, strong magic that Ambreene could feel through her entire body. She stared at it in amazement, and then looked up almost reluctantly.

"I-I never dreamed so precious a thing was in this house," she said wonderingly. "And to be given it... Thank you, Grandmama! All my thanks! I don't know how to say it well enough, but-"

"Know what it does before being so free and eager with your joy," Teshla cautioned her. "It is your true inheritance, for only a sorceress can use it. Keep it secret. No one else in this house knows of it... and it is a thing of great power."

Her dark eyes stared somberly into Ambreene's own. "Be warned, girl-learn its ways thoroughly, and use it only with great care, for it steals and stores memories, and can leave a man a hollow husk ... as I learned, to my cost."

A frown playing about her brows, Ambreene stared at the old woman. Grandmama turning a man into a ... husk?

What man could she have been be so interested in-or who would even look at her? It must have been some reckless thief, come to the tallest tower of Hawk-winter House in hopes of stealing some baubles....

"Speculate all you want," Teshla told her, as if reading her thoughts, "but waste not the breaths left to me in foolish questions of who and why. That is my own business, and you can learn the truth from the Eye after I am gone.

But remember, and beware: it steals memory."

Ambreene had been about to put the chain over her own neck. She stopped abruptly, looked at the pendant as ifit might bite her, and hurriedly slid it into the outermost pocket of her robes.

"Wise," Teshla said, falling back into her pillows. "Now that that is done, and . . ." Her eyes closed, and her voice trailed away.

Ambreene stared at her in alarm. "Grandmama?" she cried. "Gra-"

And then she heard the rattle of a drawn breath, and- slowly and unsteadily-another. Grandmama still lived ... and yet, this would be her deathbed. Soon.

Ambreene stood silently by Lady Teshla's bed for a long time, thinking furiously-and then whirled and left the room, striding hard. The driftglobe sailed silently along in her wake.

She was almost running when she swept past the seneschal, ignoring his surprised look and murmured question.

She traversed the Hall of Clouds faster than the old warrior had ever seen her move before; he had to trot to keep up.

Instead of storming into her rooms or bursting into tears when her chambermaids rose to greet her, the young la.s.s turned abruptly aside to descend the back stair to the stables, and thence to the gates.

The seneschal clattered after her, clutching his scabbard to keep it from tangling in his legs and sending him into a headlong tumble. "Lady Ambreene!" he puffed, his voice imperious. "This is most irregular! Your father said nothing about your going out this day, and with the Great Lady Teshla so nea-"

Ambreene did not bother to turn her head. "Did he not? Well, go to him, and he shall tell you-but stand in my path at your peril!" The lie came to her in an easy rush, and she found herself quivering with excitement and anger. No one was going to stop her, not even Lord Piergeiron himself! Grandmama was her only real friend-and Ambreene had no intention of losing such a precious thing, whatever Teshla might think of the time left to her....

A few breaths ago, Ambreene Hawkwinter had been powerless to do anything about Grandmama's slow wasting.

But that was before the Eye of the Dragon had come into her hand.

It was beautiful, yes-so beautiful!-and a thing of power, besides. But what were those things, set against the warmth and wisdom of Grandmama, there to laugh with Ambreene, chide her, and teach her the ways of spells and men and Waterdeep itself?

In all the city, men said, there was no mage as mighty as Khelben Blackstaff. If he could make the dead live and G.o.ds whole, he could surely restore one old woman! He would want this Eye of the Dragon, and doubtless do such a small and kind service in return for it.

Briefly Ambreene thought of how powerful the Eye might make her, and how slow her mastery of magic was sure to be without it... but no. Without Grandmama's direction and teaching, she might never learn to wield even the pendant, let alone spells of her own!

She strode down the street as folk stared at the speeding driftglobe and the red-faced old seneschal puffing along after her. A dozen smirking, hastily a.s.sembled Hawkwinter armsmen completed the train. Ambreene didn't care. She needed only her eyes to head for the dark and distant needle of Blackstaff Tower.

Every child in Waterdeep knew it; the home of a man whose spells were mighty enough to hurl back liches, mind flayers, and beholders all at once, and whose stern justice frightened even proud heads of the richest n.o.ble houses.

Ambreene quailed inwardly as she marched along. But she was a Hawkwinter, on a truly n.o.ble mission-and Ambreene's name might well some day ring down the streets of Waterdeep as grandly as that of Khel-ben Arunsun.

She lifted her chin and strode on without slowing . .. and behind her, the seneschal rolled his eyes and wheezed along.

Fear was on his face as she pa.s.sed into the shadow of Blackstaff Tower.

A single taper flickered in Ambreene's bedchamber as she shot the door bolt into place with steady hands. She hurried to the dusty s.p.a.ce behind her wardrobe, where her few sc.r.a.ps of magic were hidden.

She almost made it. Two paces shy of her secret place, hot tears of rage and grief burst forth, blinding her. She blundered forward, sobbing, until she ran into the wardrobe's polished side and raised trembling fists to strike it, again and again, heedless of the pain.

Khelben had granted immediate audience, and hope had soared like a flame within her until the moment Ambreene had given him her name. He looked at her gravely and uttered words that would burn in her brain forever: "Teshla Hawkwinter? No, child. Not that one. She knows why, and has accepted her death . . . and so must you."

That was all he would say, despite tearful pleadings. At last Ambreene rose from her knees, lifted her chin, turned in silence, and left, unheralded. Khelben didn't even look up from his papers as she went out!

She stumbled away, the seneschal and guards treading close around her but not daring to speak. At home, the folk were as white faced as she was, and silence reigned over Hawkwinter House, save for m.u.f.fled weeping behind closed doors. The dowager Lady Teshla Hawkwinter was dead.

The priests of half a dozen temples murmured and chanted around the high-canopied bed. Ambreene wasn't even allowed in to see what was left of her Grandmama- sleeping forever now, a small and shrunken thing in the great spill of silken pillows-until the haughty strangers were done.

Her father was there. He said her name once, gently, and reached for her-but Ambreene stepped around him and looked upon the Lady Teshla alone and in silence. When she had turned to go, her father had signed to the servants not to follow, and for that gentle mercy she must remember to thank him when she could. But not now. Oh, not now.

She drew herself up in the darkness, her throat boiling with an anger that made her want to scream and rake herself and break things. She hissed in a voice that fought hoa.r.s.ely through tears, "I will make you pay for her death, oh great grand Lord Mage Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun. Ambreene Hawkwinter will make you plead for aid as I pleaded . . . and I will show you the same mercy you showed me. This I swear."Her last words seemed to echo around her, and Ambreene shivered suddenly and clung to the wardrobe for support. So this was what it felt like to swear a death oath. And against the most powerful archmage in all Waterdeep, too. She sighed once, and then hurried to the door. She must get Grandmama's spellbooks and magic things before some maid spirited them away to make fair coin, and they were lost. The Lady Ambreene Hawkwinter had much work to do....

A month later, Ambreene stood beside the wardrobe and looked at herself in her gla.s.s. A gaunt, hollow-eyed maid with white skin and dark, burning eyes gazed back at her. She knew the servants whispered that her wits had been touched by the Lady Teshla's death, but she cared not a whit.

Ambreene was almost ready. Mastery of all the spells in Teshla's books-her books, now-might take years, but the Eye of the Dragon shone openly on her breast, and at night quivered warmly against her skin, whispering to her in her dreams.

All too often the night visions it sent drifted away in smoky tatters, but when her will was strong enough to hold steady to them, they showed her how to command the pendant to take memories . . . and to yield its memories up, like the scenes acted out at revels.

As Grandmama had warned, the Eye could drink thoughts-and when she got the right chance, she'd use it on Khelben, to steal his magic. Then she would be a great sorceress, and he'd be left a shambling, slack-jawed idiot. A fitting fate, she thought. . . until that dark day when the pendant showed her why he'd refused to keep Grand-mama alive.

Ambreene saw how it all had happened, saw it through the Eye.

Teshla had been a lush, dark beauty in her youth, all flashing eyes, flowing raven hair, full cruel lips . . . and a proud and amoral spirit. Many men longed for her, but she saw them as pa.s.sing fancies to be duped into making her richer and more powerful. She professed undying love for one wizard-but in her bed, the Eye pressed between them by their bodies and her mouth entrapping his-she drained all Endairn's magic away, becoming a mage of power in one night.

With her newfound arts, she chained the emptied mage in a dark cellar, bound in spell-silence, and set forth to lure the most cunning merchant of the city to wed her.

Horthran Hawkwinter was rich indeed. She did not refuse his shower of coins, but it was his wits she truly wanted, his judgment of folk and knowledge of their pasts, schemes, alliances, and abilities. It was his wits she took on another night like the first, in the very bed he had given to her, the bed in which she was to die. The confused Horthran had been confined to his chambers from then on, visited by Teshla only when she wanted an heir, and then another child in case misfortune befell the first.

Ambreene shivered as the Eye showed her infant elders set aside in a nursery. Meanwhile, Teshla clawed and carved her subtle way to dominance, making the Hawkwinters a grand and respected house in Waterdeep.

She wept when the Eye showed a bored Teshla bringing together her husband and the mindless wizard and goading them into fighting each other for her amus.e.m.e.nt. They both died-sharing a look of heartfelt grat.i.tude as they stared into each other's eyes and throttled each other.

That look troubled Teshla, even after she had the bodies burned and the ashes scattered at sea by a Hawkwinter ship. Eventually her nightmares about it frightened her servants so much that they called in the Lord Mage of Waterdeep. Khelben stripped away all her spellbooks and things of power except the Eye and left her alone in her turret room. The look he gave her as he departed haunted Teshla almost as much as the dying looks of Endairn and Horthran.

Over the long years, Teshla built up her magic again, scroll by scroll, her coins reaching where she could not, to win for her-often with bloodied blades-magic she dared not seek openly. Her son and heir, Eremoes, grew into a man of wisdom and justice under the best tutors the Hawkwinter coffers could buy. There came the day when he returned to Hawkwinter House with a new and beautiful wife, the sorceress Merilylee Caranthor of Athkatla.

Seeing her mother clearly in the memory-visions, Ambreene watched numbly as the Amnian woman sought Khelben's protection against the Eye. Cloaked in his spell, she tried to seize Teshla's magic for her own.

The sorcerous attack on Hawkwinter House left no trace of his beloved Merilylee, slew half his servants, and razed the upper floors of the family mansion. Eremoes always thought this destruction the work of a rival house, not the result of a sorcerous duel between his mother and his wife. A duel Teshla did not loose.

Ambreene wept as she saw herself shielded in her nursery by Teshla's spells. From the first, her Grand-mama had chosen Ambreene to be her friend and sorcerous heir, and shaped her into the role coldly and caleulatingly.

When she came to the end of the long, long years of memories the Eye had seen, Ambreene spent a tearful night on her knees. At last she rose, dry-eyed, Khelben's hated face still burning in her mind.

Why hadn't he stopped Grandmama? He was Lord Mage of Waterdeep, and had a duty. Why had he let Ambreene's mother be blasted to nothing, and the Hawk-winters groomed to Teshla's wishes? He knew her deeds and ambitions, and did nothing. What made him any better than Lady Teshla Hawkwinter?

Nothing. She was gone, leaving behind only spells, the Eye, and . . . shame. But he lived still, and had dismissed Ambreene without even a look, and let the house of Hawkwinter become what Teshla had twisted it into. And her father did not even know. ...

That very morning Eremoes Hawkwinter had broken his mourning silence. To the palace and every grand house in the city, he had sent forth invitations to a grand feast. And they would come; Hawkwinter hospitality waslegendary.

Khelben Arunsun's name was on one of those invitations . . . and he would be there. After Ambreene told the Lady Laeral that she was thinking of studying magic and very much wanted to see the Lord Mage of Waterdeep at Hawkwinter House, Laeral would see that he attended.

Ambreene smiled slowly as she opened a spellbook. The feast was a tenday hence; she had little time to prepare herself to greet Khelben properly. She suspected it might not be all that easy to make an archmage kill himself.

The gate greetings were done, and the many-colored driftglobes she'd conjured (to her father's smiling approval) were becoming useful as dusk drew down. From a distance, across the dance floor, Ambreene smiled and waved at Laeral as the arriving Lord and Lady Mage of Waterdeep were welcomed by her father-and then allowed herself to be swept away into a chalantra by one more would-be suitor.

She'd scarcely recognized herself in the gla.s.s when the chamberladies had finished with her, but she could have resembled a sack of unwashed potatoes and still been nearly trampled by every younger n.o.ble son of the city. As the night wore on, Ambreene kept a smile firmly on her face and used magic to keep her hair up and her feet just a breath above the tiles. She wasn't nearly as weary and footsore as she should have been after moonrise, when she slipped away from a sweating Talag Ilvastarr and sought somewhere private.

Many couples had stolen away from the laughter, minstrelsy, and chatter to enjoy the beauty of the extensive gardens of Hawkwinter House. A part of Ambreene ached to be giggling and caressing the night away in the arms of a handsome young blade, but she had sworn an oath. It was perhaps the first time she had resolved to do something important with her life. Ambreene Hawkwinter would now keep her oaths. All her oaths.

She was alone in a room that was dark enough. A few gestures and a hissed word, and Ambreene's muscles shifted in the loose gown she'd chosen. It felt peculiar, this sliding and puffing, as she became fatter, her cheeks and chin chubby, her hair russet red. Now no suitor would recognize her as the highly desirable Hawkwinter heiress.

She smiled grimly into the darkness, and went in search of the Lord Mage of Waterdeep.

He was not on the dance floor, nor in any of the noisy, crowded antechambers that gave off it, where older n.o.bles were busy loudly insulting each other, gossiping, gorging, and drinking themselves silly. Nor was he where Ambreene had expected to find him-the dim, smoky rooms on the floor above, where men who thought themselves wise and powerful muttered darkly about plots and trade treaties and the black days ahead for Waterdeep, and added new layers of refinements and pacts to the already labyrinthine entanglements of the city's intrigues.

Ambreene sent a seeking spell on a tour of the bedchambers and servants' rooms. The magical probe left her blushing and her eyebrows raised . . . perhaps permanently. In one, she found Laeral and her father together- but they were only talking. Relieved at not having to add the Lady Mage of Waterdeep to the ranks of those she must destroy, Ambreene continued her search, but found no trace of Lord Khelben.

Finally, she sighted him far away across the moonlit gardens, speaking to a succession of young party guests idly strolling the grounds. Hmmph. Dispensing wizardly wisdom, no doubt. Ambreene's eyes narrowed, and she cast another spell. There was a sound like the faint jangle of harp strings, and then: "Grand night, to be sure," someone who was not there said loudly in her ear, "but my gut's rolling like a ship being beached through breakers!"

"It's that wine," another, thinner voice replied. "If you must try to drink the Hawkwinter cellars dry all by yourself..."

Her spell was working, but where was Khelben's voice? Ambreene frowned and bent her will in the wizard's direction.

A third, cheerful voice said, "Fair even, Lor-" and then stopped as if cut off by a knife.

Ambreene juggled the fading wisps of her first spell into life once more, and saw the man who must have spoken ... a man in a half-cloak, purple hose, and a doublet of slashed golden silk . . . standing conversing with Khel-ben.

G.o.ds-be-d.a.m.ned . . . the wizard must have a spell-shield up to prevent eavesdroppers from hearing what was said!

Her eyes narrowed. What words, at a party, could be so important that they must be hidden from all?

Then she had a sudden thought, and sent her clairaudi-ence spell whirling back across Hawkwinter House to the private chamber where Eremoes and Laeral sat.

"Your service to the Harp is timely and enjoyable, as always," the Lady Mage was saying, "and I want you to know that it is not unappreciated or taken for granted, Lord."