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her. She felt herself on the verge of a revelation, but always it remained just out of reach. Only increasingly frequent use of minddust allowed her to endure the uncertainty.
    “Malkur Forrin is returned to Ordulin,” Mirabeta said. “The Hulorn escaped him. I received the news yesterday.”
    “That is regrettable,” Elyril said. “How did the Uskevren manage to escape? Perhaps word of events reached him on the road?”
    “I have no details yet,” Mirabeta said, and sipped her wine. “My envoys to Cormyr and Cormanthyr report a favorable response to our overtures. Both the Regent and the new Coronal appear to accept the premise that our … current troubles are and should remain an internal Sembian affair.”
    “That is welcome news, aunt.”
    In truth, neither Cormyr nor the elves of Cormanthyr were in positions to take sides in the Sembian conflict. Both had recently fought wars of their own. Sighs of relief in Arabel and the elven halls had probably greeted Mirabeta’s gentle demand that they remain neutral in Sembia’s conflict.
    Footfalls approached from within the tallhouse. Mirabeta’s chamberlain, Turest Gillan, appeared in the doorway. A defect of birth—common among the Selkirks’ inbred servants—caused his heavy-lidded eyes to look in two different directions. Tufts of gray hair jutted this way and that from his overlarge skull.
    He stood in silence, waiting to be recognized. Elyril watched his form blur and shimmer, moving rapidly through time. He changed from adolescent to elderly and back to his fifty or so winters in the span of a heartbeat. Only Elyril seemed to notice the changes.
    “Turest?” Mirabeta said at last.
    The chamberlain bowed, avoiding eye contact, not an easy matter for a man who looked in two directions at once. Mirabeta
    would flog even her chamberlain for presuming to look her in the face. Elyril had once heard the chamberlain scream while being punished. He had a pleasant, high-pitched screech that amused her.
    “A credentialed messenger has arrived, Overmistress. He bears a missive under seal from Yhaunn.”
    Mirabeta swallowed a currant and dabbed her mouth with a hand cloth. “Verify that the message is genuine. If so, bring it to me and extend such courtesies to the messenger as are appropriate. If not, bring it to me and have the messenger fed to the dogs.”
    “Yes, Overmistress.”
    Elyril and Mirabeta shared a curious glance as Turest exited the balcony. The mute serving girl, as quiet as a ghost, moved to the table and refilled their wine goblets, then returned to her station.
    Elyril said, “Perhaps Endren Corrinthal has died in the Hole.”
    “Tymora has never favored me with such good fortune,” Mirabeta said, but smiled nevertheless.
    Turest returned shortly thereafter, bearing an ivory scroll tube traced in gold, its cap sealed in wax. He presented it to Mirabeta.
    “Rynon has examined it and assures me that it bears no baleful magic or poison, Overmistress. The seal appears genuine.” “Well done, Turest,” said Mirabeta.
    Turest bowed, nodded at Elyril, and withdrew from the balcony.
    Mirabeta examined the seal for herself, hummed her satisfaction, and cut the wax with her thumbnail. She popped the lid and withdrew several sheets of rolled vellum, also officially sealed. She broke the seal, unrolled the vellum, and read. Her expression changed from curious, to alarmed, to angry.
    Elyril set down her wine glass. “Aunt?”
    Mirabeta stared past Elyril. “Yhaunn has been attacked.
    The Nessarch reports that much of the lower city is in ruins. A kraken of enormous size rose from the sea and destroyed the lower districts.”
    Elyril could not keep the shock from her voice. “A kraken? Such a creature has not been seen in decades!”
    Mirabeta continued. “He estimates over a thousand are dead and several times that are displaced. The docks are destroyed. The city’s forces beat the creature off but a simultaneous raid on the Hole freed Endren