by Ed Greenwood
"The Lord Piergeiron will see you both. Reluctantly. Lay down your blades and follow."
Mirt shrugged and dropped his blade. He had others, to spare, about him. Asper handed hers hilt-first to the nearest guard.
"Cheery greeting, indeed," Mirt said, matching the guard captain's cold stare with the steel of his own anger.
Were he not a lord of Waterdeep, he'd have little way of even reaching the First Lord. These guards did not known his true standing.
Were they not lords, his friends would not now be dead-nor would warning Piergeiron be necessary.
Mirt's face was as dark as his mood as he stalked into the gloom of the Inner Audience Chamber. Ahead, Piergeiron sat in full armor under a single lamp.
''Dismissed," Mirt snapped at the guard captain.
The guard ignored him. Who did this fat moneylender think himself to be, anyway? Lord of all lords in Waterdeep?
Piergeiron's silent gesture reinforced Mirt's order.
Mirt waved to Asper with one finger to keep her eye on Piergeiron. No sooner had the guard closed the door than die Old Wolf spun about, a dagger appearing from somewhere about his person to flash through the air» and transfix the bell-rope not four inches from the First Lord's hand.
Asper gasped.
Mirt stomped forward, leaped on Piergeiron, jammed iron fingers into the visor-swivel, and jerked it upward as they crashed together to the floor.
"I thought not," he snarled, staring into shocked brown eyes within. "Who are you, and what have you done with Piergeiron?" Without waiting for a reply or shifting his gaze, he snapped, "Take that wrist, lass, and hold it up over his head! 'Ware daggers!"
The struggles beneath him were feeble. In another instant he had the helm unbuckled. He tore it off with more haste than gentleness-to reveal the frightened face of a lass younger than Asper!
"Now just who might-Aleena?" Mirt growled, hand bringing yet another dagger up to the bare throat of the girl in armor.
"Y-yes." Aleena swallowed, face marble-white, jaw I trembling. She lifted her chin and looked angrily at him.
“Is-did you try to slay my father?" When she spoke, her voice had the full, deep boom of a large man of middle years; Piengeiron, defender of Waterdeep. It sounded odd indeed, coming from such delicate lips.
Mirt frowned and rolled off her, waving Asper back. -Nay, of course not," he growled. "What befell? Come girl, quickly! Tell! Lords of Waterdeep have died this night! What happened to your father, and why are you wearing his armor? Piergeiron would never agree to using you as bait to trap a blade that missed him once!"
Aleena nodded, sadly. "Father's in no condition to agree to, or forbid, anything. He lies in Blackstaff Tower, deep asleep. Someone almost slew him, three nights ago."
Mirt bristled. "And we were not told? How is he?"
Aleena shrugged. Her eyes were moist. "He lives. Laeral poured a good seven healing potions down him. He'd-been run through, more than once. He-oh, gods weep, Mirt!" She clung to him and burst into tears. Mirt patted her awkwardly, turning to Asper with an appeal in his eyes.
Asper fetched the nearest decanter and poured out a glass of whatever it was.
Mirt thanked her with a glance and held it to Aleena's lips. She shook her head violently through her tears. "Too much already," she said. Mirt shnigged and drained the glass himself.
"I've been so scared.1" Aleena sobbed. "Sitting here, waiting for the killers to come again… I can't even touch this sword! It's father's holy blade, even if I knew how to fence as the warriors do!"
Asper gently shouldered Mirt aside and knelt to put her arms around Aleena. The grand plate armor was cold and hard as she embraced it.
Aleena blinked at her with a watery smile. "M-my pardon, Lady, she said desolately, "I-it is not right to weep before strangers. I am Aleena, daughter to Piergeiron. Might I know your name?"
Asper smiled. "I am Asper. Mirt is my man. We came here to warn your father, I fear: two lords of Watercleep, at least, have been slain tonight. The Lady Tamaeril Bladesemmer is dead; she managed a sending to my lord, and we know that one man, masked and able to get somehow within her wards, slew her. Earlier, the wizard Resengar was killed in his own parlor. Do you know of others?"
Aleena shook her head. "I do not even know the full count of who is a lord and who is not. Laeral did tell me that Mirt was, ere she sent me here."
Mirt stared, the decanter already half-empty in his hand. "Laeral sent you? What foolisliness is this?"
Aleena lifted her chin again. "Lord," she said softly," 'tis I my duty to Waterdeep, as your service is yours. The palace throne could not be seen to be empty, else this man or men, and their backers, would know they'd succeeded-and what might befall the City of Splendors then? An army, attacking? Fleets? All slaughter that we might prevent!"
"Men, you say," Mirt said, frowning, ignoring her other words. "How many attacked your sire?"
Aleena shrugged. "None here know. He used a teleport ring Khelben gave him long ago, to come to us in Blackstaff Tower. The Blackstaff is gone walking the planes these nineteen days now, on some work or other he spoke nothing of, to me. Laeral and I nursed him. When we had done what we could, she told me I must wear father's armor and sit the throne here, being of height to do so. I agreed. We washed it up, and she laid a spell upon me, so that"-a smile touched her lips, and slid away again-"I sound like father when I speak. A comical effect, I'm told."
Mirt grinned. "I'd think twice about embracing you, with your visor down, aye. So what now?"
Aleena spread her gauntleted hands. "I–I don't know. I can't sleep for worrying over father, I'm sick at heart over deciding who should hang or who owes who what damages or-all of it! I know not how father or anyone does it, day upon day! I–I can't go like this much longer." She wrinkled her nose. "As well, I stink to the very heavens in this armor, and soon enough those who know father will know that the smell is not right for him."
Mirt and Asper chuckled. "Yes, it grows strong, with your helm off," Asper said. "Let's go to Blackstaff Tower and talk with Laeral, then, or we've reached a trail's end."
Mirt nodded. "Aye, indeed. Put on that helm again, and we'll get you a bath if nothing else."
Aleena smiled. "How did you know, so quickly?"
Mirt shrugged. "The way you sat. The way you waved to the guard. The way you didn't look offended beforehand at the dirty joke you would've known I'd be making as I greeted you-all that on top of what Torgent said."
"Torgent?"
"One of the palace guards. He's on Shyrrhr's tunnel gate, tonight. If you need a friend or protector in the palace, Lady, you could find no better than he. Look for an old man with a white mustache. He said you'd said little and kept to your armor these past days; he knew something was amiss and as good as told me that it wasn't Piergeiron inside the armor. Folk can tell, lass. Folk can always tell." He shrugged. "Besides, if I'd been wrong, your sire owes me a turn or two. 'Tis not my habit to leap upon every lady I meet, you know."
"Lately?" Asper asked him, eyebrow raised. "Is there not a tunnel from here to Blackstaff Tower that we might use?"
“Aye," said Mirt and Aleena together and chuckled. "Come," said the fat moneylender, striding toward a pillar. "This way."
Aleena frowned. "Here? But it's down-"
Mirt grinned at her. "Trust me, Lady." He said. "There're ways and ways, in this place. You'd want to miss a chance at giving that surly grim-chin outside the door a fright, no? When he finds you gone, it'll give him a short breath or two!"
Shaking her head, Aleena joined them. "Father warned me about you, once. But I had no idea-"
"They never do," Mirt purred, as stones parted to open a narrow, secret way. "Mind your heads, ladies…."
A hungry mouse in a corner of the room had time to draw only three breaths after the secret door closed and before a midair flickering filled the chamber.
Cold flames raced outward and around. Out of them leaped a masked figure, blade ready in hand. Th
e room was dark and empty. After a quick and silent look around, it shrugged and stepped within the flames once more. The fire and light dwindled to nothing, and darkness returned.
The mouse scurried out in case the strange visitor had left something edible, but there was nothing. Not like the old days. Tilings were never like the old days, the mouse reflected, slowly and dimly. Perhaps that was the way of the world.
Lord of the pit, wizard, where is the devil-damned magic?
[silence, mindworm burrowing grimly on through vaulted darkness]
"Through here," Mirt wheezed, trotting bent over low. "The way opens out-"
"So it does! All the more danger for someone who's a lord of Waterdeep, but Faerun is a dangerous place!"
The voice was cheerful and unexpected, very close to Mirt's ear. The Old Wolf was faster than he looked. He had his sword raised and ready, in just the right spot, and he ducked back with a snarl.
His would-be slayer hissed out a curse. Slender steel sang out in a vicious thrust that skewered only air.
Mirt's stouter blade lashed in over it, biting hard into leather and flesh beneath. The man sobbed at the sudden pain. Mirt brought his sword back trailing a dark ribbon of blood and batted his attacker's sword down.
They strained, steel against steel. Mirt used his free hand, candle and all, to deliver a punch to where the wound must be. His foe groaned and shuddered, reeling back. For the first time, Mirt dared to scuttle out of the passage into the room.
Asper snapped his name, tense and low, from behind Aleena.
Mirt growled, "Still alive-and dancing with a masked man, for a change."
"My turn," Asper replied. "You killed the last ruthless slayer who attacked us, remember?"
"Huh," Mirt grunted in reply. He swung steel with all his strength to parry another deadly thrust. The blow struck the slender sword. It clanged from stone to stone and must have numbed his foe.
The gloved and masked man waved his sword as if he was fanning flames, staggered backward along the side passage he'd attacked from, spun around, and raced away.
Mirt scrambled after him, thankful that this new passage was full-height.
"Who is it?" Asper called, pelting after him.
Aleena clanked and stumbled along in their wake, clumsy in her armor.
"I know not," Mirt snarled, bounding down a short flight of steps with his wounded attacker stumbling along just out of reach. "Someone who knows what I am and how to find me, obviously-ho! Your name, Sword-for-Brains! A lady demands it!"
Gasping, the slender masked figure scrambled across a chamber and plunged into the stinking darkness of a sewer-arch. Mirt bounded after him with grunting enthusiasm.
Ahead, a flickering light flared. Mirt glimpsed his leather-clad foe lunging through a wheel of cold white flames. The flames blazed in a slowly turning ring, perhaps a handspan from a stone wall. A gate, gods be thanked again.
He came to a lurching halt, ignoring a rat that scurried out to see if his boots might be supper, and peered around the chamber. Reeking pipes let into it. Channels carried sewage along one side of the room. The vaulted ceiling was webbed with old, tiny cracks. There was no way onward that didn't involve cold flames.
Mirt eyed the rat that fearlessly nibbled his boot, and peered at the gate again-ere his blade stabbed down.
Its curving length rose an instant later when Asper burst into the room. She spun away from his steel even as he snatched it back, and skidded to a halt within easy reach of the flames.
"You didn't have to wait," she grinned, nodding at it. "We could hardly have gotten lost with no other way on, hey?"
The Old Wolfs blade barred her way. He held up a warning finger, clipped his sword to transfix the rat, and tossed it lightly into the ring of fire.
There was a flash, a loud sizzle, and a smell that made the armored warrior entering the chamber gag and sag back. Aleena raised a disgusted hand. She winced in the sudden blazing light of the whirling wheel of flames. It flared bright, shrank, flared again… and was gone, leaving nothing but a little smoke behind, and the stink of cooked sewer rat.
"That might have been you," Aleena gasped hollowly, between gulps of nausea.
Asper tossed her head. If she was frightened, she gave no sign of it. Only anger was on her face as she glared around the room. "He could be in the lowest of the Hells by now," she said bitterly, "or in the next sewer over- and we'll never know."
Amusing, elminster. I laugh. Now snow me magic!
Somewhere in Waterdeep, a vial clattered onto a table-top. There came a sigh of satisfaction. A moment later, a gloved hand reached down to the table and took up a silver harp pin. Chuckling, the figure waved, bringing cold flames to pinwheel out of nothingness. The leather-clad form leaned through this fresh flickering and was gone.
Magic, yes, and another memory given you by mystra, but again i find not what i seek! This is ridiculous! wizard, get on with it!
The tale unfolds, Lord Devil.[bright images flying]
The time before dawn grew more difficult as he got older. Durnan stood in the cold, getting dressed for another long, long day. The Yawning Portal was his home and his life, and he loved it dearly, but sometimes- these dark fore-dawns, usually-he wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere that did not allow innkeepers to rise before highsun, when their old aching feet and shanks were thoroughly warmed by the sun, and someone else had the cooking fires lit long ago, and a hot meal ready, and-
The high, ragged scream made Durnan jump half out of his hose. Tamsil, from the taproom downstairs! He hopped awkwardly, kicked his garments away with a curse, snatched up his sword belt by the hilts, and launched himself bruisingly through the door frame into the dimness.
In the brief whirl of his naked charge down the stairs, he shook the hilts in his hands for all he was worth until the belt fell away, roaring wildly all the while to distract whoever might be attacking his daughter. Tam was more than old and curvaceous enough to catch the eye of a" thief who might think that innkeepers are actually allowed to sleep, and-
Skidding through a doorway with sword and dagger glittering in his hands, Durnan found himself with no foe to fight.
Tamsil and her mother Mhaere both looked up at-" him with eyes large and dark with fear. His wife was;.] holding a double crossbow in her hands, its strings still thrumming enough to tell him that both quarrels had been fired. No foe lay dead or groaning on the floor before them-but it did offer the discerning naked innkeeper's eye a lavish display of broken crockery and fresh blood.
"Are you all right?" Durnan snapped. "And where is-" He gestured at the wreckage on die floor. "-he?"
Mhaere smiled thinly. "Yes, and gone. A masked man, armed with a blade. He-"
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath that told him she wasn't half as calm as she appeared to be, threw back her head to gasp for air, then resumed speaking as gently as if she'd been discussing the weather. ''In leathers, alone, not familiar to me. An oval-an upright oval, like a lady's gazing-glass-of flames that were cold white, not hot, was suddenly right there, and he stepped out of it and charged at Tamsil. Thank Tymora, she was carrying water-yon ewer you see in pieces on the floor-and flung it in his face."
Durnan turned slowly to peer around the field of battle, nodding. "Whereupon you," he replied, "took up the ready-bow from behind the bar and gave him both bolts."
— Chest and shoulder," Mhaere added, and he could hear the satisfaction in her voice. "He fled back through the hole in the flames, and they were gone, just like that, and him with them."
Durnan stalked across the room like a hairy panther and pounced on something small on the floor. "Dropping something as he left you," he growled in bafflement, as he picked it up. He was holding a silver harp pin.
"Papa," Tamsil said in her high, clear voice, "I don't ever want to see that man again. How can we stop him ever coming back'"
"The only way you can ever really stop any foe," Durnan muttered, staring at the pin in his hand. "I m
ust find him-and he must die."
My, my, mystra's memories certainly make your toril seem an interesting place. I'm not seeing the magic i seek yet, though, am i?
Chapter Ten
HARPERS HUNT BY MOONLIGHT
The Lady Mage of Waterdeep bent over the silver harp pin on the table, lying amid the eerie, softly raging glows of her spells, and murmured, "There. In a moment, we'll see-"
Obligingly, the pin exploded, bolts of lightning snarling hungrily across the room as the world went white and Laeral's body was hurled helplessly away.
A certain Old Wolf scrambled up out of his chair as the lightning that should have slain Aleena melted and toppled a brazier instead. It was still falling across Mirt's seat when Laeral smashed into him and drove him back into the tangle. They crashed to the floor together, bouncing with tooth-jarring force. Flames flickered briefly here and there around the room and then went out.
Pinned under a brazier, splintered furniture, and a wizard sobbing in pain, Mirt glared briefly up at a blinding-bright sphere that floated near the ceiling: Laeral's safeguard.
Having absorbed most of the unleashed magic, it was slowly fading back into invisibility. The ceiling above was decorated with a collection of scorch marks that told him little disasters like this one had occurred a time or two before. He wasn't sure if that was reassuring-after all, Blackstaff Tower still stood.
"Lass?" he asked roughly, struggling to get out from under. "Are you well?"
He was answered by three sets of moans and curses, one of them from atop his breast. He took gentle but firm hold of the Lady Mage and thrust her up into the air so he could slide to freedom. "What befell?"
"There was a trap on that pin," Laeral said, panting. She rolled off his hand and found her own wincing way to her knees, "left behind deliberately to harm anyone using spells on it. No Harper would do such a thing. Someone is trying to mislead us all into thinking a Harper killed Resengar."