Face it, he was a slave already, and slaves enjoyed better lives when their masters were content.

Sraunter undid his special knot and drew back the nearest half of the hide cover. The five occupants of the cage flew in smooth unison to its revealed front, the better to hover there and peer out through the bars.

Five little spheres, each the size of a blacksmith’s fist. Beholderkin, their tiny eyestalks like so many writhing worms, eager to gaze upon something and do it harm, hissing in malevolence.

And falling silent as the smiling man just beyond the doorway thrust his mind into all of theirs at once, overwhelming them as easily as he’d humbled Sraunter.

That terrible smile grew.

“Acceptable, Sraunter, most acceptable. Five little flying steeds, whenever I need them. Release them.”

“R-release them?”

“At once. Give them the freedom of your strongroom. What with all the locks and chains, you use it seldom, do you not?”

“Well, yes, but-”

Sraunter found that the objection he’d been going to raise had vanished from his mind, and his astonished anger with it. A malicious glee rose in him, twisting his dour face into a grin that sought to mirror the smile on his guest’s face.

Oh, Watching Gods Above, what will become of me? he thought.

“The time for all ‘buts’ is long past, Sraunter,” Manshoon purred. “You’ll see the coming sunrise in as much health as you enjoy now, believe me-and you can believe me. I am no courtier of Cormyr nor yet one of its noblemen. My word means something.”

He pointed past the cage with a languid hand. “Yon window opens readily? No? Ah, but I see its panes can be broken should I ever have need of haste. Good. My steeds can get out that way if need be.”

“Need of haste?”

“Such a need is, I’ll grant, doubtful, now that Elminster’s dead; but, one never knows, good saer alchemist, one never knows. During my overlong lives these realms have taught me that much, at least.”