Lisa Smedman - Ascendancy of the Last

"Flinderspeld's done well for himself," Q'arlynd commented.

The svirfneblin nodded. She seemed to be waiting for something. Q'arlynd began to dismiss her before realizing what it was she wanted. He pulled a slim gold coin out of his pouch and handed it to her. She lifted it to her mouth as if to bite it, then stopped, as if thinking better of it.

Q'arlynd hid his smile. Poisoning a gold coin was such a time-worn trick that few drow bothered with it anymore.

She tucked the coin in her belt pouch and hurried away. Or rather, she pretended to. Out of the corner of his eye, Q'arlynd saw her blur, then duck behind a nearby stall.

He lifted the knocker on the larger door and let it fall. A moment later, he sensed he was being watched. Not by the people who thronged the marketplace; theirs was a steady stare of wary curiosity and harsh judgment. This scrutiny felt closer, more intense. Was it Seldszar, checking in on Q'arlynd's progress? The Master of Divination had given Q'arlynd a brooch to block scryings, but Q'arlynd suspected it contained a "window" that allowed Seldszar to scry Q'arlynd, in much the same fashion that Q'arlynd's master ring allowed him to peek in on his apprentices, and vice versa. Or perhaps the explanation was simpler. Perhaps the sensation of being watched was just Flinderspeld, peeking through some magical device to see who knocked on his door.

Q'arlynd ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it. He flicked dust from the hem of his silk piwafwi. He waited.

The door opened. A male svirfneblin wearing a leather apron smudged with polishing rouge stepped out into the sunlight and stared up at Q'arlynd. A gemcutter's loupe hung from a leather band around his forehead, the lens grossly magnifying his right eye. Gem dust glittered on his hands. He held a wooden stick with a half-polished gemstone affixed to its cup-shaped end by a blob of red wax.

A moonstone, Q'arlynd saw. Sacred to Eilistraee. He took it as a good omen. "Is your master in the shop?"

The svirfneblin had trouble speaking. "Q'arlynd?" he said at last.

Q'arlynd's eyebrows rose, despite himself. "Flinderspeld? You look… different."

That he did. Flinderspeld had gained weight since Q'arlynd had seen him last. The tight little lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth had smoothed out. He looked relaxed and solid, a far cry from the slave who had always been tensely poised to duck a swat or a kick.

Not that Q'arlynd had been that kind of master-and not that he'd let anyone else meddle with his property. Yet in Ched Nasad, a slave had never known when the lash would fall.

In days gone by, Q'arlynd would have crossed his arms and stared imperiously down his nose at the svirfneblin. But that had been another place, another time. Furthermore, it was important that things get off to a good start. He dropped down into a squat that brought his eyes level with Flinderspeld's, and smiled. He started to extend his hands in the arm-clasping gesture the surface elves so loved, but couldn't quite bring himself to complete it. He was of a noble House, after all. He rested his hands on his knees instead. "Good to see you again, Flinderspeld."

Flinderspeld blinked behind the gemcutter's loupe. "What are you doing here, M-" He checked his tongue, and drew his shoulders a little straighter. He glanced at Q'arlynd's hands, which were bare. Q'arlynd had been careful to tuck into a pocket the master ring that connected him with his apprentices; he didn't want to remind Flinderspeld of his former servitude. Not yet. "What brings you to Silverymoon, Q'arlynd?"

"I'd hoped to purchase a chardalyn. Do you sell them?"

Disappointment flickered briefly across Flinderspeld's face. His attention slid to the crowd that was gathering, and his expression changed to one of understanding. "Of course." He stepped back and opened the larger door. "I stock them. Come in."

Flinderspeld closed the door, set down his stick, and folded his arms across his chest. "Now that Blinnet can't overhear us, tell me why you're really here."

Blinnet: that must be the name of the female who'd led Q'arlynd here. He waggled a finger at Flinderspeld. "You're entirely too smart, for a s-"

"For a what?" Flinderspeld interrupted, his nostrils flaring. "A slave? A svirfneblin?"

"For a shopkeeper," Q'arlynd said, affecting a hurt look.

"Oh."

"But then, I always knew you were an intelligent fellow." Q'arlynd nodded at the display of expensive gems. "Just look what you've built for yourself, in such a short time. This is quite the shop."

Flinderspeld glanced through the window at the knot of people gathered outside his shop. "What is it you want, Q'arlynd?"

"If I told you I came to see how you were faring, what would you say?"

"I wouldn't believe you. It's been four years."

There it was again: that flicker of disappointment.

Q'arlynd gestured at the frowning faces outside the window. "Visiting you might have caused you problems. I enquired after you instead, from time to time. That's how I knew where to find you. I thank you for welcoming me into your shop, even though it will be bad for business."

Flinderspeld shrugged. "I was curious to see what you wanted." His eye settled on the tiny silver sword Q'arlynd had hung around his neck. "You wear Eilistraee's symbol, I see."

Q'arlynd hid his smile. "That I do." He plunged into his carefully rehearsed request. "It's temple business that brings me to Silverymoon. Together with some other wizards, I'm trying to learn the location of a surface elf temple that predates Eilistraee's banishment from Arvandor-a quest Eilistraee's high priestess has given her blessing to. The divinations we've tried so far haven't worked; you may have heard of the difficulties the augmented Faerzress is causing among the drow."

Flinderspeld nodded.

"We-I-need your help."

Flinderspeld turned to the counter. "What do you want? A scrying gem?"

"We've tried that already, and it didn't help. Nor, it turns out, did the gorgondy wine we purchased. I hoped to locate a more potent vintage."

Flinderspeld frowned. "Why come to me? I cut gems; I don't vint wine."

Q'arlynd spread his hands. "You're the only svirfneblin I know. And, more to the point, the only one who knows me. Years ago, you mentioned the Fountains of Memory. I need to look into their waters and use them to find the temple."

Flinderspeld gave Q'arlynd a guarded look. "What makes you think I know where they are?"

"I don't. But you must know someone who does-whoever told you about them. If not him, then a gorgondy wine vintner, or his supplier. Your business here in Silverymoon brings you into contact with scores of svirfneblin. Surely one of them will know where the Fountains of Memory can be found."

"They won't take you there."

"That's right. You will."

Flinderspeld's arms folded. "Or what?" He shook his head. "Are you going to threaten me?"

Q'arlynd spoke softly. "No."

"What then? Remind me that you set me free? I was your slave for years before you did that."

"I thought about trying that," Q'arlynd said. "Then I decided that it wouldn't work. You bear me too big a grudge; I can see that now. And offering to pay you for the information would only insult you. I'm forced, therefore, to resort to something a little more drastic."

He reached inside a pocket and pulled out two black rings.

Flinderspeld tensed and glanced around his shop, as if searching for a weapon.

Q'arlynd held out one of the rings. Flinderspeld's eyes widened as he saw which one Q'arlynd was offering him.

"If you can describe the Fountains of Memory, I can teleport us there," Q'arlynd explained. "You can ensure I bring you along by using the master ring to control my actions. Once I've glimpsed the temple in the pools, and we've used them to reach it, you can erase my memories of the Fountains of Memory, with a spell that's contained within this." He gestured at his forehead, and rendered the lorestone visible.