The Simbul’s Gift

The Mighty Tharchion, Mightier Zulkir maintained the best of all possible relationships with his own chairkeeper, a diviner by training.

"Have you accepted my terms?" Thrul asked, thinking of his supper going to waste in front of him. The Chairmaster was known to practice the diplomacy of unlimited patience.

"They are faultless, Lord Invocation, as you knew. The 'keepers will select a suitable chamber—"

"I'd prefer an open location. The slave market will suffice. I'll declare a holiday; the market will be closed."

The Chairmaster nodded. "Weather permitting; I cannot control the weather in a priest-ridden city like this one. If you would choose another place .. . ?"

"I've chosen. I have my own charges to bring. It is not I who trespass against Illusion, but Illusion that trespasses against me, and in trespassing against me, trespasses against my city, which is a trespass against Thay, which is a trespass against all Red Wizards. I have proof."

"Most irregular, Lord Invocation. If you have proof, you should have called the Convocation yourself. Illusion will not be prepared."

"Exactly." The Chairmaster stood; his chair vanished. "I will tell the others what has been said here," he warned.

"I'm counting on it."

The Chairmaster seemed about to speak: his chin lifted, his brow furrowed, but he said nothing and with a flash of golden light followed his chair into thin air. Thrul finished his eggs. They were warm now but they hadn't lost their flavor. Ignoring the pickled rice, he turned his attention to his main course: peppered gnolls' tongues in aspic. No wonder the slaves had been so anxious. He poured a black sauce over the quivering mound and savored the fragrant steam it produced.

"O Mighty Tharchion—"

"Go away."

"Mightier Zulkir. It is that woman again. The one with the carnelian; the one without a name."

Thrul stared at the dissolving mound on his plate. If he didn't eat it quickly, it wouldn't be worth eating at all. With an angry sigh, he pushed away from the table.

"Dispose of it," he told the chamberlain, "and I will see the woman in my bedchamber. Clothed or unclothed, however she wishes."

She wished for clothing, but was quite willing to remove her garments—another little disappointment in an altogether frustrating day. She was, however, a challenging partner, which Thrul would never have expected. It raised a host of questions and possibilities, best left until after tomorrow's Convocation.

"The Chairmaster has been here," he said afterward, when they were both dressed.

"I saw him depart."

An overstatement. The Chairmaster wouldn't have reappeared within Bezantur's walls. He let the comment slide, for now. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Even now our spies in the southern cities have moved into the Aglarondan forest. Communication with them will be difficult—impossible—but they are our finest. They understand what must be done, even if we cannot tell them what to do."

He thought he saw a glimmer of falsehood in her eyes as she spoke of serving his interests and probed her mind subtly. Her thoughts betrayed no secrets, no anxiety, until she sensed his spellcast probe.

"Ask any question, my lord. I have no secrets."

"Have you learned anything closer to home?"

"My net is not cast close to home," she replied, guileless words and thoughts clear as mountain water. "Yet I think your noose around Illusion is not yet tight."

Thrul thought of the minions he'd let out this morning, and thought he'd caught the woman at last. "How would you know that?" he asked.

"The House of Illusion in Tilbrand has sent some of its own out into the world. They follow an interesting path, a northeast path, my lord, to the Aglarondan forest."

First, the Chairmaster arrived early, now this. Mythrell'aa, then, had other means to work her will outside her tower, and had been using them. "What does this mean, woman?"

"That we are not the only ones looking for something in the Yuirwood. That we will not be alone when we find it." 17

Everlund, near the High Forest After sundown, the eighteenth day of Eleasias, The Year of the Banner (1368DR)

When folk gathered for discussion, the Simbul was most often to be found—or not found— eavesdropping from the chandelier, disguised as a candle. She defended her deceit, saying that her presence inhibited those voices she most needed to hear, but the truth was that Alassra Shentrantra didn't like formal gatherings, and a gathering arranged by Alustriel with three elven sages was as formal as a gathering could get. She would have stayed home, if she hadn't been certain that Alustriel would show up, concerned about her well-being, and demand that she hie herself up to Everlund.