Laskar Hushed, even redder than before. He struggled at his belt for a moment and handed over his once-hidden blade.

The guard finished tying the youth's dagger into its sheath and did the same for the father's. "Anything else?" Before Laskar could answer, a shadowy figure standing in the gateway said, "No. Nor do they bear any harmful magics."

Startled. the Neshers turned. They had not noticed the black-robed and grey-bearded mage. The wizard gave a nod of approval to young Kastonoph.

The lad returned the nod, blood draining from his face. “Good evening. Lord Mage Arunsun," he managed to say.

"Good evening to you," replied the mage. "For your honesty, you, young Kastonoph, can call me Khelben, or. perhaps, Biackstaff."

The lad stood a moment longer, gaping in disbelief. His father quickly gathered him in and herded the youth past the hawkeyed wizard and through the open gates.

Beyond lay a hall, high and bright. Slender pillars ran in colonnades along its sides. An elegant fan vault arched overhead. Across the polished floor of marble, silken gowns slid beside worsted robes of state. In one corner of the room, citterns and gitterns and fifes serenaded the guests, who added their happy babble to the music. The place overflowed with the sounds of the best people conversing with their betters.

"Another dull noble wedding." groaned Kastonoph-or Noph as he was known to all but his father. His amazement was gone, replaced by a practiced mask of cynicism. "Common lads my age are out smiting dragons. making tragic deals with fiends, and rescuing their ladyloves from warlocks."

Laskar rarely listened to his discontented offspring. For decades, the man had heeded nothing but the jingle of coins. "Please don't make your presence at this affair more scandalous than your absence would have been." Laskar had coined this turn of phrase some five years back. He liked it so well, he used it every chance he got.