Ed Greenwood - The Halls of Stormweather

Shamur wondered why he'd chosen to appear in such a bizarre costume. For tendays, the gossips had been whispering that the merchant mayor, who was also a magician of sorts, aspired to transform himself into a titan or some other sort of superhuman creature. Perhaps his garments hid the stigmata of a failed or ongoing metamorphosis. Knowing Andeth, it was just as likely he'd simply succumbed to a childish urge to play dress-up.

"Good evening, my lords and ladies!" the Hulorn cried in his breathless tenor voice. "I hope you're ready to be astonished and exalted, because I have a wonderful surprise for you. As many of you know, I employ agents to seek out the lost artistic treasures of antiquity, and over the years, they've made any number of glorious discoveries." He waved his arm at an example, a carved ebony centaur rearing in an alcove. "But recently, they uncovered the most important find of all. Visions of Chaos, a lost opera penned by Guerren Bloodquill!"

Andeth's guests exclaimed and murmured to one another in surprise and genuine interest. Those with a sincere passion for serious music-and over the years, Shamur had affected this passion so doggedly that in the end, it had, to a modest degree, become sincere-were naturally intrigued to learn of a new work by the genius who, three centuries after his disappearance, was still regarded as one of the greatest composers of all time. Those who merely feigned an interest in the arts to be fashionable recalled the sinister side of Guerren's reputation. According to legend, he'd also been a mystic much given to communing with the infernal powers. Some tales even held that he'd bartered his soul in exchange for his musical talent.

The Hulorn paused for a moment, basking in the sensation he'd created, then pressed on. "I have, of course, decided to stage Guerren's work for our delectation. The finest singers and musicians in Selgaunt have been rehearsing in secret for tendays-"

"No!" someone cried. "You mustn't do it!"

Like everyone else, Shamur turned in surprise, to see that a little man with a huge beak of a nose and a shaggy mane of graying hair had somehow slipped into the chamber. Bright scarlet puffing protruded from the slashes in his shabby fustian doublet, and gaudy paste jewelry adorned his chest. Shamur didn't know him, but she knew his type. He appeared to be a member of Selgaunt's sizable artistic community.

Two guards stationed in unobtrusive positions about the foyer sprang forward and grabbed the little man by the arms. "Sorry, Your Grace," one of the pair called to the Hulorn. "I don't know how he got in."

"Please," the small man said, squirming impotently in their grasp. "You have to listen-"

"Master Quyance," Andeth sighed, "we've already had this conversation." He waved to the soldiers. "Remove him." They did, and, when Quyance continued to rave, they silenced him with a blow to the head. Shamur winced in sympathy, and Tazi muttered an obscenity.

"Please excuse the interruption," Andeth said. "The wretch is unbalanced and has been following me about for days. I thought the guards had finally managed to discourage him, but evidently not. Well, enough about him. Come with me. Guerren's masterpiece awaits us."

The merchant mayor descended the stairs and led his guests deeper into the Palace of Beauty. As Shamur moved to follow, she realized she knew what was going to happen next. For the first time that night, her gaze would fall on Gundar, son of Dorin. Her old nemesis, for all that he didn't know it. The wealthy dwarf merchant would be wearing a russet taffeta doublet and a wide, opal-studded belt. He'd have golden chains dangling in his long, white beard.

She finished turning, and her premonition came true. Gundar was there, looking exactly as she'd imagined him. How could that be?

"I hate to admit it," said Tazi, "but this might be tolerable after all."

"What?" Shamur asked distractedly. She struggled to dismiss that disquieting sense of foreknowledge. No doubt it was simply her mind playing tricks on her.

"If a demon-worshiper wrote the opera, perhaps the story will have slaughter, torture, and monsters raping virgins."

"The important thing," Shamur said coldly, "will be to savor the beauty of the music, not to wallow in any moments of vulgar sensation the 'story' may happen to offer. There's Dolera. We'll go in and sit with her."

"Why?"

"Because she's my friend, of course."

"How can you say that? The way you snipe at each other…"

"What of it? It's simply the way gentlewomen of our circle behave. Someday you'll understand."

"I hope not."

To Shamur's surprise, Andeth led the company beyond the magnificent theater and into the backstage area with its cramped maze of corridors, rehearsal halls, storerooms, and dressing rooms. Ultimately they passed through a door into the cool night air.

Andeth had ordered that the Palace of Beauty be built into the wall surrounding the Hunting Garden, his private park. Glancing about, Shamur saw that she and her companions had emerged within the enclosure. Before them, ringed by oaks and elms in a natural bowl in the earth, was an ancient amphitheater that predated the city itself. Most people believed that elves had built it, though no one truly knew. Magical lights glowed inside hanging shells of colored paper, and an orchestra sat tuning up in front of the platform at the bottom.

"I wish I could have used Guerren's opus to inaugurate the new theater," the Hulorn remarked to one of the cronies walking beside him. "But the master left explicit instructions that the work was to be performed in a setting like this, and if we wish to appreciate it fully, we had best abide by his intent."

"Thanks be to the Frostmaiden that so far, we're having a mild winter," Tazi murmured. "You know how Mad Andy is when a scheme grabs hold of him. He would have dragged us out here to sit through this claptrap even in the middle of a blizzard."

"Do not refer to him as 'Mad Andy,' " Shamur gritted, "particularly when he's walking only a few feet ahead of us." Then she gasped as another premonition seized her.

This time, it had nothing vague or dubious about it. She was absolutely certain she'd lived through these minutes before and thus knew what would happen next. She started forward, intent on warning the Hulorn, and*****

Someone was shaking her by the shoulder. Startled, she pivoted, and saw that it was Tazi. "Mother?" the younger woman asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

"I'm all right," said Shamur, and that seemed to be essentially true despite her disorientation. She looked about and saw that she and Tazi were standing back in the foyer at the base of the Raven's statue. Dolera and her equally pretty but younger and more vapid sister Pelenza were present as well, though all the sentries and servants had wandered off. Both Foxmantles looked even more shaken and bewildered than Shamur felt.

"Good," Tazi said. "I was afraid you'd fallen into a trance, too. Do you remember, a second ago we were in the amphitheater. Something snatched us up and dumped us here."

"Yes," Shamur said. She suspected that the force had actually targeted her because she'd been about to shout, but since Tazi and the others had been sitting next to her, they'd gotten caught up in it too. "But… were we somewhere, or somewhen, else first? Didn't we relive a bit of the past hour?"

Tazi eyed her curiously. "I didn't."

"What are you babbling about?" Pelenza exploded. "What's going on?"

Forget it, Shamur told herself. Evidently her displacement in time had only been a sort of dream, and even if not, she had more pressing concerns-keeping the Foxmantle ladies from panicking, for a start. "I'm not altogether sure," she replied to Pelenza, "but good fortune has placed us in proximity to an exit, and our best option is to use it and send help back for the others."