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  "Well met, Shan!" The merry voice on the other side of the door was accompanied by a slim, curving sword that deflected her own blade deftly aside, Then its owner tumbled out, swept her close, and kissed her heartily.

  Shandril found herself in the arms of Torm, Knight of Myth Drannor and Engaging Rogue, Behind him loomed the large, bearlike form of Rathan Thentraver, priest of Tymora. She blinked at them, dumbfounded.

  "Hey! Save some o' her kisses for me, ye sly dog," Rathan rumbled, lurching into the room to tap Torm's shoulder.

  Torm broke free of Shandril to draw breath, then grinned back at his fellow knight. "Why?" he asked innocently. "You've a good reason?"

  Without waiting for an answer, lie turned back to Shandril, who still stood dazed, If Torm hadn't kissed her, she'd have thought him some phantom conjured by this place, Perhaps he was some sort of magically disguised monster. The young thief swept her back into an embrace. "What brings you here?" he asked cheerfully, - and where's Narm?"

  Shandril's answer was lost in the sound of the door behind her opening, They all turned in time to see the Zhentarim raise his hands, The wizard wore a wolfish grin.

  "By the luck of the Laughing Lady," Rathan said in delight, "he's got golden eyes!" An amulet at the priest's throat winked with sudden light.

  In response to the priest's words, the wizard's smile fell away in an instant. Shandril watched in horror as the face beneath twisted and bulged, shifting into something fanged and horrid, The man - if it was a man - charged them, waving hands that, as he came, stretched impossibly into long, raking claws.

  "Nice nails, too," Rathan observed, drawing a mace from his belt and hefting it as he met the rushing monster.

  Torm whirled away from Shandril and waved grandly at the open door he'd come in by. "Your way lies clear before you, Lady," he said. "I look forward to a chance to taste your sweet lips again when next we meet - hopefully at an occasion of rather more leisure--"

  Are ye going to fight, Torm?" Rathan demanded, smashing his mace into something that reeled back and promptly grew tentacles, "Or are ye just going to talk us all to death?"

  Torm turned back to the fray, plucking something that looked like a gilded rose from his belt, Shandril watched him bound toward the monster, calling briskly, "Next dance, please!"

  Rathan struggled amid clinging, tightening tentacles, and bellowed to her, "Run, lass! Through that door - look for banners, and yell be safe!"

  Shandril shook her head, still astonished by the speedy appearance of the knights. Then Torm swung the fragile looking rose at the monster-and the room exploded in golden light.

  Pulses of radiance spun ever faster and brighter around the three struggling forms, Shandril shaded her eyes against the brilliance, and thought she saw Torm's blade thrust right through the still-changing monster before the knights and the thing faded amid a cloud of rushing golden light ... and she was alone again.

  The room was suddenly empty-and very quiet, All that remained to mark the passage of the knights were a few golden rose petals. Shandril stared down at them and swallowed, Then, holding her sword ready, she went to the open door Rathan had bid her use,

  It led into another many-sided room of doors. There were six this time, Shandril sighed again and opened one at random, The scene beyond was one of cold, blowing snow, somewhere wintry with mountains in the distance-and the sprawled, gnawed bones of a recently slain orc lying right in front of her, It still clutched a cruel black scimitar, Shandril heard something growling in the distance, and she hastily closed the door.

  Banners, Rathan had said, Shandril gently opened the next door to the right. The room it opened into was choked with banners, They hung everywhere, almost touching, and the air was thick with their dust and old smells, Shandril recognized none of them, but she did think one-a black wyvern on purple silk faded almost to pink-was very striking. Another displayed three golden crowns on a royal blue field. It caught her eye because some old enchantment made the crowns move, each one winking in and out by itself to reappear in different spots. Shandril watched it warily as she stepped into the room.

  It was small and square; behind the banners she found another door. Opening it, she found a short, featureless hall with another door at the other end, Shandril shrugged and entered. She'd gone three paces into the room when a sudden thought struck her; she turned back and opened the door again, hoping to find Deeping-ale's colors among the banners, But the room was empty now, a place of dark, polished floors and cobwebs in the corners. She shuddered and closed the door again very carefully.

  "Tessaril," she said aloud, almost crying in fear and frustration, "what have you done to me?"

  As she spoke, the door at the other end of the hall swung open. Beyond lay the grand hall with the Zhentarim she'd slain lying dead on the floor and Tessaril standing beside him, The Lord of Eveningstar's sootedged face broke into a smile at the sight of her. Shandril ran to her-and then came to an abrupt halt. "Tessaril?" she asked suspiciously, her sword up. "Is that really you?"

  The Lord of Eveningstar smiled. "Yes, Shandril." Then her smile turned a little sad, and she added, "I can tell wandering in my House has unsettled you."

  Shandril rolled her eyes. "Just a touch ... what is this place?"

  Tessaril slipped past her blade and hugged her reassuringly. "This is the Hidden House," she said softly. "It's been here a very long time-since the towers of Myth Drannor stood tall and proud and new, at least."

  Shandril glanced at the room around them, That old? "Who made it?"

  Tessaril shrugged, "An archmage of very great power ... some tales say Azuth himself,"

  "Some tales? I've never heard of it,"

  "Few folk know that it is anything more than a tale and very few know how to get to it, These days, it serves as my refuge. Sometimes I hide important things here for Azoun. Sometimes those who are hurt-or hunted spend time here,"

  Shandril looked down at the bloody corpse of the man she'd slain. "If he died when I thought I killed him," she said slowly, "who was chasing me?"

  Tessaril stroked her cheek reassuringly, "A shapeshifting being that Torm and Rathan are after. Did Elminster ever tell you about the Malaugrym?"

  Shandril frowned at her, "I-I think so, in Shadowdale. Very briefly, He said I must beware 'Those Who Watch,' but we were interrupted then, and he never told me more."

  Tessaril nodded, "They're very dangerous. Certainly too powerful for Torm and Rathan." Shandril's face grew pale, and the Lord of Eveningstar patted it, "Don't worry -did they fight it with what looked like a golden rose?" Shandril nodded.

  Tessaril smiled. "That's a mazetrap I gave them," she said, "It'll whirl them all away into separate mists, tearing them apart even if they're clawing at each other. It'll be awhile before the Malaugrym can find you again,"

  Shandril looked at her, "Find me?"

  "It's after your spellfire, like everyone else on Toril," Tessaril said lightly, then added more seriously, "There's not much you can do about the Masters of Shadow except use your spellfire on anything that has golden eyes ... really gold, like shining metal, I mean."

  Shandril sighed and looked down at the dead Zhentarim again, Then she lifted her head, wearing a determined look. "All right,"

  Tessaril chuckled, "That's the spirit, Shan." She gently took the sword from Shandril's hands and laid it on a nearby chest. "How did you like my House?"

  Shandril looked at her, "When you're alone, it's ... frightening."

  Tessaril nodded, "It can be, Those who don't know the words to say can get lost and wander endlessly, or step through a gate into a far more dangerous place than this-or than Zhentil keep, for that matter,"

  "How did you find it?"

  "I didn't; I was given custody of it when I took the lordship of Eveningstar. The only easy entrance to find is the one you came by, and it opens only from the room you came from, The Hidden House is part of the wardship of the Lord of Eveningstar. Those who don't know that including most noble fam
ilies of Cormyr-have always been puzzled by the high rank given to this post, They usually put it down to Azoun and my being very old friends,"

  Tessaril smiled and waved a hand. In response, a bearskin rug rippled in through a doorway that had not been there before, glided to a smooth stop by Shandril's feet, and settled to the floor, An instant later, two large and soft chairs glided in through the door after it, and arranged themselves on the rug, facing each other.

  The Lord of Eveningstar sank into one of them, drew her feet up under her, and waved at Shandril to sit in the other, "This place once belonged to the legendary sorceress Phaeryl, in the days of Netheril."

  Shandril nodded. "I've heard of her-she bred dragons."

  "That's the one. No one knew where Phaeryl's lost abode lay; most thought it was somewhere in the Stonelands, and more than one band of greedy adventurers clambered all over the Haunted Halls looking for it. By chance, a warrior of the Harpers stumbled on the entrance you used, too many years ago to want to keep count of, She's a friend of mine. and we explored this place together. It was a lot of fun."

  "Fun?" Shandril's tone was disbelieving, "We learned a lot, talking to the ghosts-'

  Shandril's expression told the lord what she thought of that experience,

  Tessaril shook her head in mock reproof and went on: "-and we got to see a lot of faraway places, and put on the most amazing gowns; you've no idea what crazy things folk used to wear, Oh, and we used to play hide and seek here, We were young, then, Later, we played it with our suitors,"

  Shandril rolled her eyes and in response heard the deep warm sound of Tessaril chuckling.

  "I didn't like it, much, wandering around here alone." the Lord of Eveningstar added softly, "It would have been much worse, though, if a Malaugrym had been chasing me,"

  Then Tessaril made a clucking sound and waved a hand. Almost immediately, two dark figres in armor-Shandril stiffened involuntarily-clanked into the room, picked up the Zhent's body, and walked out. Empty helms gaped, the visors raised; these suits of armor, too, were empty,

  "My guards," Tessaril explained, "They would offer you harm only if I willed them to." Her face changed, "I'm

  sorry your first taste of the House was fleeing a Zhent and a Malaugrym. The Zhentarim was not supposed to be able to follow you, but I was overconfident. His spells were stronger than Storm or I could resist; I'm glad you slew him when you did, or we'd be standing there like statues still,"

  She stretched in her chair, looked around at the hall of oval mirrors, and said, "Though if you have to hide from anyone, this is the best place I know of to do it in."

  "How so?" Shandril asked, "I'd always be afraid I'd open a door and find myself face-to-face with someone I thought I'd slipped away from, six rooms back,"

  Tessaril smiled at her, "Yes, the doors do not always open into the same rooms you have found behind them before," Her smile changed, touched by sympathy. "You've already found that out, I see."

  She made a peculiar wriggling gesture with her fingers, and a cabinet nearby swung open, A bottle and two glass flagons floated out of it, heading for her hands.

  "There's a much greater benefit to this place," the Lord of Eveningstar said as she poured a glass of frosty-cold green wine and handed it to Shandril. "I can feel the presence of any intruder and where they're lurking."

  "Me, for instance?"

  Tessaril grinned. "We're going to get along fine, Shan. I hope you'll have patience enough to stay here for a bit in hiding while you and Narm and Mirt all get fully healed, There's even a place where you can safely hurl spellfire and make sure you've built it to its height before you venture out again to face the Zhentarim."

  Shandril sipped the wine and found it warm and very good, She drank deeply and said, "Thanks, Lord Tessaril. l accept."

  Tessaril chuckled again, "Call me 'Tess,' please-and think about one other thing," Her face grew serious again, "A wielder of spellfire may find fewer hiding places in all vast Faerun than she expected. This is one of them. Think of it when you're looking for a home; neither Azoun or I will try to command you if you choose to stay here, We consider it one of Cormyr's treasures-but not part of Cormyr."

  Shandril looked at her in disbelief. "Here?"

  "I'm not expecting you to prefer it to freely roaming Faerun," Tessaril replied, "I'm suggesting it as the best refuge I know,"

  "Umm," Shandril said, resting her chin on her glass and staring at the opposite wall, The painting on it obligingly flickered and changed shape,

  Tessaril held out the bottle to refill Shandril's glass. "Narm and Mirt both seem all right," she said, "The priests of Lathander are in awe of you, by the way, over what you did to Narm. Storm's gone back to Shadowdale, we've not seen the Old Mage again, and we've not seen or heard anything more from the Zhentarim. I've spoken with Vangerdahast-without revealing that any of you were still here-and he's of the opinion that you fought something called a lich lord, more powerful at sorcery than most archmages living today, He's mightily impressed with you, too."

  Shandril smiled wearily. "So's everyone else I meet but then they usually try to kill me."She was suddenly very tired, and felt something moving through her fingers. She looked down-in time to see the glass fall from her hand,

  Shandril watched it shatter nn the floor, stared at the bouncing fragments dully, and then raised slow and angry eyes to look at Tessaril. Flames leapt in them as she said bitterly, "You put something in the wine. I trusted you, too,"

  "I hope you'll go on trusting me, Shan," Tessaril said sadly as she got up and put her arms around Shandril. "Now you need to sleep-or you'll soon kill yourself, You've been hurling spellfire without rest or food or water. Each time you call on it, it's eating you inside to get its energy, Rest now-, you're safe here."

  The last thing Shandril felt was a gentle kiss on her cheek, She fell asleep wearing a curious expression, To Tessaril, it looked as if she was trying to frown, but smiling in relief.

  "Well?" Fzoul slowly turned from the papers he'd been studying and raised cold eyes to fit Sarhthor with a challenging gaze.

  The sorcerer looked back at him expressionlessly. "He failed, Through our spell-link, I felt him die."

  Fzoul studied the wizard's stony face. "You're no more surprised than I am."

  Sarhthor shrugged, "He was an overconfident, arrogant fool, One more we're better off without."

  "You don't approve of cruelty or pride?" Fzoul asked flatly.

  The sorcerer seemed almost to smile, "I see no reason to laud villainy just because the Brotherhood uses might and pays no heed to the moral judgments of others. If I have a flaw, it should be something I work against to make me better in the service of the Brotherhood-not something I take pride in and show to all as a weakness of the Brotherhood, ready to be taken advantage of,"

  Fzoul nodded. "Wisely said." He paused, toying with the tiny skull carved from Iliph Thraun's thighbone. The high priest leaned forward, "Tell me, Sarhthor-what are your own thoughts on this matter of spellfire?"

  Sarhthor shrugged. "A formidable weapon, something of almost irresistible power-but not something to tear apart the Brotherhood over,"

  Fzoul leaned back. "Oh? Tell me, then, what-in your view-are the more important matters facing the Brotherhood now."

  Sarhthor nodded, He went to the row of chairs along one side of the room and picked one up, Though it was large and heavy, the slightly built wizard lifted it as if h were made of paper.

  Fzoul's eyes narrowed, Sarhthor met the high priest's gaze mildly, carried the chair to the table, and without invitation, sat down opposite Fzoul.

  "First," the wizard said calmly, "we must foil Thay's growing influence in Calaunt and Westgate."

  "First?" Fzoul's voice was silky,

  Sarhthor looked at him expressionlessly and said, "You told me to state my view, If you'd prefer to fence, Fzoul, I can oblige,"

  Fzoul held his gaze for a long, chilly time, then silently waved him to continue.

  Sar
hthor inclined his head and went on, "Then there's the matter of Maalthiir of Hillsfar. If he were dead, we could take advantage of instability there to place a large number of agents-and slay those Mulmaster has established there."

  The wizard shrugged, "I'd also like to see more of the soft word and hidden agreement in the way we work in days ahead-and fewer marching armies and indiscriminate spell-hurling. We're making enemies at far too fast a rate, and making too many rulers uncomfortable, I don't want to see armies from several realms besieging our walls in a year or two."

  Fzoul nodded slowly. "This is more sense than I've heard from the mouth of a wizard of the Brotherhood in several winters,"

  Sarhthor nodded, the ghost of a smile on his face, "They're all too eager to topple towers and twist the world overnight, aren't they?"

  Fzoul lifted his lip in a cruel parody of a smile. "Exactly. I'm hoping we can see eye to eye on more things, Sarhthor, than your predecessor and I ever did. It would be a pleasure to work together to make the Brotherhood great for once rather than spending our best energies in fighting each other, wizards against priests, and cabal against cabal."

  Sarhthor smiled thinly, "I'm sure it's afforded the Great Lord Bane-and foes such as Elminster-much entertainment over the years,"

  Fzoul's smile vanished at those words, but he said only, "Say on,"

  Sarhthor shrugged, "I'd like to build Zhentil Keep into something greater than a fortress of fear, Fzoul-an empire ruling all Dragon Reach and the Moonsea. Whatever our individual dreams, there'll be more room for ambitious Brothers who wear the robes of Bane or who walk as wizards to find their own desires fulfilled if we grow larger and more powerful. I know Great Lord Bane wants to see such an empire loyal to him, because I've heard your underpriests chanting the Words of Bane often enough. The sorcerers under me provide you with wilder magic than other priesthoods can match-we need each other."

  Fzoul's face was grim, but there was a light in his eyes as he asked, "What, then, do you think we should do "

  Sarhthor slid not quite smile, "Well," he said...