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 hima"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 togethera" 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, Lora"" 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."

Ambreene blinked. Her father a Harper? G.o.ds above!

"I know that's not the case," her father replied, "but I must confess I had my own selfish reason for this gathering. . . ."

"And would this reason be your youngest daughter's growing mastery of magic?" Laeral asked smoothly.

"It would," Eremoes Hawkwinter said. "I know Black-staff Tower always has more would-be apprentices than either you or Khelben have time for, but if you'd be willing to explore her powers .. . and, I confess, her thoughts and feelings; she's been more affected by my mother's death than her siblings or most folk her age would be ... I'd be most grateful. I cannot hire the right tutor until I know her strengths and interests, and to query her directly would upset her, diminish me in her eyes, and yet fail to yield the truth."

"I can do that in the morning, if you'd like," Laeral said in kindly tonesa"and Ambreene shrieked in fear! Her prying spell collapsed.

She must act now! Once Laeral poked into her mind, she'd have no secrets left, and Khelben'd turn her into a frog or bookend or his slave while she was still whimpering under the Lady Mage's mindprobe... .

Trembling in haste, Ambreene shifted her form again. A young woman who was alluring indeed raced down the closest stair to the gardens, startling couples out of their embraces as she rushed past, and found the moonlight as quickly as she could.

The succession of Harper agents seemed to have finished their business with the Lord Mage of Waterdeep, and for one chilling moment Ambreene thought Khelben was gone from Hawkwinter House, and she'd missed her chance.

Then she caught sight of him in a far corner of the gardens, sitting alone on a bench in the bright moonlight. Pulling the Eye's chain off over her head, Ambreene held the pendant ready inside her sleeve, panted until she regained control of her breath, and then set off slowly toward her quarry.

This would be her only chance. To keep her oath, she must not fail now. Ambreene moved as quietly as she could without seeming to creep; if Khelben turned his head and saw her, she wanted to look alluring, not like a thief darting guiltily about.

He was stroking his chin as she drew near, and studying the bright belt of stars overhead as if they were telling him something.

"Well met, Lord Wizard," she said enticingly, when she was only a few paces away. She kept her voice low and rich and laced with laughter, like a seductive courtesan she'd once overheard at the palace entertaining a Cal-is.h.i.te merchant. "Moonlight becomes thee."

"I believe that last line should be mine, lady," Khelben replied calmly, studying her with eyes that seemed to bore right through her magical disguise.

"I'm young yet," she returned lightly, "and still working on my scroll of blandishments and flirtations. All Water-deep knows of your dedication to justice and your fidelity to the Lady Laeral, my lord, but I was wondering if you'd mind if a la.s.s who prefers wits and maturity to the empty swaggering of young men practiced a line or two on you ... and perhaps grew so bold .. ."

She leaned near, giving the Lord Mage of Waterdeep a spectacular view of the fine leaping-dragons lace that edged her bodice, and continued slowly and huskily, "... as to share a kiss with me? Something I'd remember fondly and privately, mind, not shout from the rooftops...."

The Lord Mage regarded her. Something that was almost a smile seemed to play about his lips. "What precisely did you have in mind, O enthusiastic young lady?"

Ambreene let the fullness of her sleeve hold the Eye, and stretched forth that hand for Khelben to see. His gaze flicked from one of her empty, ringless hands to the other as she knelt, so that their eyes were level.

"I'm no disguised monster, only a lonely maid," she purred, staring invitingly and challengingly into his eyes, "and I'd very much like a kiss." She licked her lips and whispered, "I'll submit to whatever magic you want to use, to be sure I'm . .. safe."

The mage they called the Blackstaff raised an eyebrow. "And why go to all this troublea"possible humiliation and dangera"just for one kiss from an old man?"

"I've heard what they say about wizards," she whispered, eyes bright.

Khelben looked swiftly around, as if to be sure that no one was watching, and then extended his arms. "Come, then, la.s.s, and try whatever you're trying to do ..."

Ambreene's eyes narrowed at his choice of words, but the opportunity was too good to pa.s.s up. Opening her mouth hungrily, she glided into his embracea"and then twisted in his arms, whipping the pendant out and around his neck like a striking snake. The Eye of the Dragon flashed as she snarled, "Take his memories! Take them all! And give them to me!"

The chain tightened cruelly around the mage's throat, but he only pulled her closer and growled, "You wanted a kiss, remember?"

His lips were warm, but Ambreene shook her head violently and tried to bite him. When her mouth was free, she spat in his face and hissed, "Plead! Plead for your magic, archmage!"

She jerked the chain tight across Khelben's windpipe. He did not turn the purple hue she expected, but only smiled faintly.

"Don't you know what this is?" she snarled, tugging on the chain again.

The wizard nodded. "The Eye of the Dragon," he said calmly. "It's been years, la.s.s, since I've seen it. Well, well..."

"Years?" Ambreene could barely get the word out through lips that were suddenly twisting and slipping. . . . Her face and body were sliding back into their true shape!

The craggy, bearded face so close to hers was melting and shifting too. When Ambreene saw what it became, the color fled from her face and her teeth began to chatter in terror.

She'd seen the Old Mage of Shadowdale only once, but the wizard they called Elminster was unmistakable. He grinned at her. "If ye'd live a little longer, la.s.s," he said gently, "never try to bosom thy way up to the real Khel-ben. He's not that trusting, know ye ... after all, he's had several centuries of comely wenches trying that sort of thing on him, and most of them were his apprentices."

"But. .. how . . . ?"

"Khelben had to hurry back to Blackstaff Tower on some Harper business begun here tonight," the Old Mage explained. "Both he and Laeral felt your probing spellsa" really, la.s.s, take a little more care with such things, eh?a"so he called me in to do a little impersonation in case other Harpers came to report... or ye decided to do something spectacularly stupid."

"And was what I did so stupid?" Ambreene asked with menacing softness, her hands twisting the chain until it cut deep into his throat.

Elminster smiled unconcernedly, and chucked her under the chin as if she was a small girl. "Well, 'twas certainly spectacular ..." he murmured. "7 wouldn't wear a gown like that."

He bent his head to her bodice and peered. "Ah, leaping dragons ... Thayan work; very nice ..."

Ambreene thrust herself against him, hooking her legs around his and pressing as much of herself to Elminster's body as she possibly could. She put her head over his shoulder and dug her chin down with bruising force, holding him with all the strength in her quivering body.

"Now," she said into his ear, "any harmful spell you work on me will hurt you as well. Khelben wronged my Grandmama and my family; my revenge was for him. But your magic will serve me just as well, giving me spells enough to destroy him another way . . . can you feel the memories leaving you?"

"No," Elminster said lightly. "I know how to make the Eye work as its creator intended it to. I'm giving ye only the memories I want ye to have ... and keeping them, not letting them drain away."

Ambreene favored him with a disbelieving sneer. "And just how can you do that? Lady Teshla could not, and the Eye hasn't shown me any way to wield it thus! What makes you such an expert?"

Mirth glinted in Elminster's eyes as he said mildly, "Why, la.s.s, I created the thing in the first place. In Myth Drannor, 'twas ... in my spare time."

Ambreene shook her head derisively, but said nothing. He was so calm . . . what if it were true?

And then she gasped and stiffened as the world around her vanished in a flood of memories that were not her own. Images as vivid as if they were befalling here and now and she were living them. . . . She was dimly aware that her nails were raking someone's back, that he was growling in protest, and that there was a sudden strong smell of pipesmoke, but. . .

She was standing on the deck of a storm-tossed ship, watching as a grandly robed man turned his back on his sona"who laughed and hurled a bolt of lightning with both hands. The blast cut his father's body in two from top to bottom and sent the front of the ship boiling up into flames.. . .

Then she was in a bedchamber where a sword pinned a man to a door, his lifeblood spreading on the floor. He gasped, "Why, Maruel? Why have you done this?"

"Because I want to," the breathtakingly beautiful woman on the bed said with a sneer that matched Ambreene's best. "And because at last I have the power to. I am the Shadowsil, and from now on I will take what I want. . . not beg for it!" She waved a casual hand, and by itself the long blade obediently slid out of the man, all black with his blood. He crumpled to the floor, gasping, "But I loved .. . you."

"And what is that to me, fool?" she laughed. . . .

The scene whirled away, and Ambreene was somewhere else again. . . .

A tower, where a woman wept, smoke curling away from her empty hands and ashes all around her. Nearby, a man who sat on empty air said, "And so your trick has turned to visit itself on thee. Well done, Alathaa"oh, well done indeed!"

The woman's raw howl of grief whirled Ambreene away into a scene of a sorceress betraying her tutor, then another, of an ambitious magistress turning to evil and mistakenly slaying the man she loved. . ..

"All of these happened, la.s.s, and I was there to see them," Elminster told her gently. "Have ye such a hunger to join them?"

Ambreene wept and tried to pull away from him, shaking her head and straining to think of things she chose . . . but her thoughts were dragged ruthlessly back into the whirlwind of revenge and grief and evil. ...

"G.o.ds! Oh, G.o.ds, stop! Have mercy!" she sobbed.

"Better mercy than ye intended to show Khelben, I hope," the Old Mage said grimly, and abruptly she was seeing a young la.s.s clad only in long, luxurious hair, who knelt amid glowing, floating symbols, in a chamber whose dark walls winked with stars.

"Who . . . ?"

"A lady in Myth Drannor, Grafting the first foresight spell," Elminster replied.

Abruptly, the spell poured into Ambreene's own mind, writing itself in runes and whirling concepts of fire. She gasped and moaned as her mind stretched dizzily. A bright light seemed to be rushing through her, and . . .

"Note that this magic allows thee only to see what lies ahead for others. If thy mind can encompa.s.s it and ye stay sane, 'twill become thy most useful toola"and thy greatest burden," Elminster said as she blinked and saw his face again in the moonlight, inches from her own.

Gentle hands put the Eye of the Dragon into her hands. "Now . . . about that kiss . .."

Ambreene seemed to be weeping again as warm lips brushed hers tenderly, and that old, wise voice said, 'Thanks for the memories."

Then the old wizard turned away in the moonlight. She stared after him with eyes that streamed the tears of a thousand years. Elminster strode across the garden, and as he went, his battered boots left the dewy gra.s.s and trod on air. Up on emptiness he walked, as if the starry sky was his own private staircase. Up over the garden wall he went, and on, over the rooftops of the city.

When she could see him no more, Ambreene looked down at the pendant in her hands. Suddenly it spoke with Elminster's voice, and she nearly flung it down in startle-ment.

"Ah, la.s.s," it said, "be not downcast, for ye heard aright what they say about wizards. Put this on whenever ye need to talk to me ... or to Khelben. He's waiting for ye to come and see him."

Ambreene stared up at the starlight for a very long time, too dazed to shed more tears, as still and silent as one of the nearby statues.

So it was that the young, softly chuckling couple strolled right past without noticing her. Ambreene knew the la.s.sa"Berentha Manthar, a shy n.o.ble maid of her own age, whom she'd smiled with at several feasts, heiress of House Manthar since the hunting death of her brother Carna"and almost stirred to speak a greeting. But as the thought struck her, Berentha's young and devastatingly handsome man, Ferentar from Amn, asked huskily, "So, Berentha, as Selune is our witness here this night . . . will you wed me, and cleave to me all your days?"

Ambreene swallowed as she looked expectantly at Berentha's half-hidden face. She felt a tingling within her, and the need to know the truth that lurked behind honeyed words overcame everything. She seized on the foresight tingling within her.

It was a strange thing to wield, but she conquered it in time to know that Berentha meant it with all her heart when she replied softly, "I will. . . oh, Ferentar, I will! Do you promise, too, before Selune and all the watching G.o.ds, to be true to me?"

"Of course I do, beloved Berentha," the young man said softly.

The chill that almost choked Ambreene left her trembling helplessly. Her foresight told her that Ferentar wanted to be Lord Manthar, with a dashing fur cloak and coins to spare on wine and dancers. He cared little for this stupid wide-eyed Waterdhavian cow gazing so ardently up at hima"oh, she was pretty enough, but. ..

Ambreene wanted to scream out a warning and thrust them apart forevera"but the cursed foresight rolled on. She saw herself doing that, and Berentha's face freezing into that of a bitter foe . . . and the wedding day coming anyway, and then Lord Ferentar Manthar whispering at parties in all the high houses that Ambreene Hawkwinter was a wanton sorceress who'd tried to seduce him to gain House Manthar's riches for her own. Then she saw him laughing in satisfaction as he pushed Berentha over a benighted balcony to her death, and turning in anger to the masked lords to demand Ambreene Hawkwinter's arrest for the spell-slaying of the Lady Berentha Manthar . . . and then Ferentar's face seemed to melt into that of Grandmama Teshla, and she heard herself screaming, "Khelben! Lord Khelben! Help me!"

Strong arms were suddenly around her, and the gruff voice of Khelben Blackstaff said into her ear, "I'm here, la.s.sa"stand back, young Ferentar, or I'll turn out the cesspit of your mind for all Waterdeep to see!a"I'm here." Ambreene turned her face toward the comfort of that voice, and as she heard a gasp of outrage that could only be Berentha, Faerun spun crazily around hera"and plunged into darkness... .

She awoke in Blackstaff Tower, with Laeral's gentle hands holding out a mug of steaming rose tea. And from that day until the morning the G.o.ds willed that Ambreene Hawkwinter die, long years later, the Eye of the Dragon never left her breast.

EVERY DOG HIS DAY.

Dave Gross

King ran far ahead of me, pelting down the busy street in Raven's Bluff with the uncanny canine knack for navigating through a forest of human legs. I chased after him as well as I could, hindered by sharp elbows and stern reprimands from adults willing to forgive a running dog, but not a running boy.

"Rub!" called King. Voices from the crowd answered him as I tried to push toward him.

"King! There's a good boy."

"What a good dog!"

Everyone knew and liked King, one of the masterless street dogs of the city. Everyone had stories of the remarkable feats the old terrier had performed: saving drowning children, foiling pickpockets, tracking down criminals. . . . This time I was the one who needed his help. My sister, Dauna, was in the hands of kidnappers, and King was the only one besides me who had seen them.

"King! Where are you?" I shouted. Scanning the street, I spotted King's wake, a wave of turned heads and quick sidesteps.

"Ruh, ruh!" His rough voice came through the open door of a little cottage. The building looked out of place next to the straight lines of the shops and taverns on Wicker Street. A carved board next to the door read, "The Barley Bowl."

"Huh, rub.!" he called again.

Then I heard a piteous sound: King's whining. I'd heard the old, gray terrier growl at bullies, woof amiably to his friends, and even yap like a puppy when chasing the other street dogs. But I'd never heard him whine in pain. It made my heart shrink, and I almost began to cry again. Instead, I wiped my blurry eyes and entered the inn.

Inside, a dozen people sat at simple tables, their dinners in wooden bowls before them. At the feet of one man, the oldest man I'd ever seen, sat King.

The old man held King's head with long, thin hands. Bright eyes peered into the dog's face. "Oh, you got a snootful, all right. What scoundrel played dirty with you?" The old man's voice was sweet and tremulous as a minstrel's hautboy.

"The oldest man I'd ever seen" had a beard as white and fine as a swan's wing. Upon his narrow frame he wore a faded blue robe cut in the fashion of the court of thirty years ago. The badge upon his breast looked impressive and official.

"Here, lad. Hold his head." I stared a moment before realizing he was talking to me. "Come along. If you were standing in cement, you'd be a lamp post now!"

"Good boy," I said to King, kneeling by him.