〃If so； does it matter？〃 A yellow arachnid crawled out of Quenthel's snowy hair and onto her shoulder。 She paid it no mind。 〃Lolth teaches that the cunning and strong must master the foolish and weak。 However you look at it； this oute is in accordance with her will。 Now； let's talk about your future。〃
Drisinil swallowed。 〃You promised to spare me。〃
〃I did； didn't I？〃 a smiling Quenthel replied。 〃Unlike some； we Baenre generally keep our word。 A reputation for fair dealing facilitates certain transactions。 However； I never promised not to punish you。〃
〃I understand。 Of course I'll take a flogging or whatever you think appropriate。〃
〃That's quite agreeable of you。 How about this； then？ We'll nip off the other eight fingers and cut out your tongue as well。〃
For a moment； Drisinil thought she hadn't heard correctly。
〃Now you're joking。〃
〃Oh； no。 I firmly believe you engineered the plot against me； and I intend to make sure you don't get up to any more mischief。 Ever。 If you can't municate； work magic； or grip a weapon； that should take care of it。 Obviously； it won't be possible for you to continue at Arach…Tinilith； and I wouldn't count on the warmest of weles when you return home。 I doubt Mez'Barris Armgo will have much interest in a grotesquely crippled and thoroughly useless daughter。 She may even consider you an embarrassment to be killed or locked away。〃
Enraged； panicked； Drisinil lunged； but never landed a blow。 Powerful hands grabbed her from behind； hauled her back； and something hard and heavy bashed her over the head。 Her legs folded beneath her。 She would have fallen if not for her captors holding her up。
Quave's voice sounded over Drisinil's shoulder。 〃We've got her； Mistress。〃
〃Thank you；〃 Quenthel said。 〃Take her to the penance chamber and secure her。〃
〃Yes； Mistress；〃 said Quave。 〃1 assume you'll do the cutting yourself。〃
〃I'd like to；〃 said the Baenre； 〃but there's another matter demanding my attention。 You can do it。 Enjoy yourself。 Just mind she doesn't die of it。 They can drown in their own blood when you take the tongue。〃
Pharaun relaxed in the chair； enjoying the feel of the barber's fingers kneading tonic into his scalp。 It wasn't as relaxing as a full…body massage； but soothing nonetheless。
The barber chattered away； and the wizard periodically responded with a nonmittal； 〃Indeed；〃 or a grunt。 Like； he suspected； tonsorial cusnottomers of all races in all ages of the world； he wasn't actually listening。
The barber's stall； a little box redolent of unguents and pomades； was open at the front； and it was more interesting to gaze out at the sights of the Bazaar。 A moner strode by carrying a clucking chicken； imported from the Lands of Light； in a box。 A merchant had probably promised the fellow the fowl would lay for years to e； though in reality； such birds rarely thrived in the Underdark。 A portrait painter rendered his subject； the enchantments in the brush enabling him to fill the canvas with astonnotishing speed。 An armorer drove a rapier through a bound； gagged kobold to demonstrate the sharpness of the point。
Cowl up； mantle drawn close around him； and Splitter hidden by the charm of concealment Pharaun had cast on it； Ryld loitered across the way in a tent with the sides folded up。 There； games of all sorts were on disnotplay。 The hulking swordsman stood pondering a sava board； where he'd set up a problem with the onyx and carnelian pieces。
A change came over the scene beyond the doorway； and people looked to the north。 Some started to squeeze up against the stalls； clearing the center of the lane。 A ragged； furtive…looking moner hurried away in the opposite direction。
Ryld sauntered to the near edge of the tent； glanced where everyone else was peering； then gave Pharaun a subtle nod； confirming what the wizard had already guessed。 A patrol was headed their way。
Pharaun wished the guards could have waited just five more minutes； but alas； he would have to go to work before the barber finished with him。 A tragedy； but it couldn't be helped。
A moment later the patrol marched by； casting stern glances hither and yon； their tread silent thanks to their enchanted boots。 In at least nominal mand was a priestess of Arach…Tinilith armed with a polished wooden wand。 Assisting her were a teacher from Melee…Magthere and Gelroos Zaphresz； one of Pharaun's junior colleagues in Sorcere。 It was unfortunate。 Possessed of a store of jokes and ical ditties； Gelroos was congenial pany。 At least if Pharaun murdered the other mage today； he wouldn't have to worry about Gelroos trying to assassinate him tomorrow。
In addition to its officers； the patrol consisted of a number of warriors…in…training； boys whom Ryld had almost certainly instructed at one time or another。 Pharaun wasn't particularly worried about them。 His fellow teachers were the real threat。
The Master of Sorcere waited until the guards had marched past then； surprising the barber； he tossed aside the hair…sprinkled cloth covering his chest； stood up； and handed the craftsman a gold coin； a princely overnotpayment for his services。 He touched a finger to his lips in wordless exnotplanation of what he actually wanted to buy。 He picked up his piwafwi； whose elegance he'd obscured with a minor illusion； swirled it around his shoulders； walked to the doorway of the stall； and peeked out。
The patrol had tramped about twenty yards down the lane。 Any farther and they'd turn a corner； so Pharaun had attained as much separation from the enemy as he was going to get。 He draped a fold of silk across the lower half of his face； then stepped out into the open； brandished a glass marble and a pinch