by Ed Greenwood
He blinked, rocked back to face the window while singing the next line, then turned again to frown at the pantry—perhaps in hopes the three were some sort of momentary mind-dream or the result of recently emptying the bottle he now plucked up from the sink to glare at.
The three figures did not go away—even after he spat the gooey remnants of almond-buttered bread at them in sudden fear and mortification, following these offerings with a roared, “How by all the Seven feldurking Sisters did you get here?”
“Magic,” Elminster replied brightly with the broadest of impish grins.
Vangerdahast’s eyes blazed. He flung bread in one direction and knife in the other, letting the empty wine bottle crash back down into the sink. In the next motion he raised trembling arms and took a step toward the Old Mage as if he were going to try to strangle Elminster. At last he let his arms fall, looked from the tip of Myrmeen Lhal’s now-drawn sword, which came equipped with the face of the High Lady of Arabel glowering at him over it, to the frozen and disapproving face of Caladnei, the lass he’d picked to succeed him as Mage Royal … and shrank visibly, letting out his breath in a sigh.
Vangerdahast shook his head as if to clear it, crossed his arms across his chest to glare at all three of them as if they were common thieves he’d caught publicly in a personally embarrassing act, and growled, “This should not be possible. You arrived right atop my most powerful teleport trap and somehow bulled through it. You three should right now be standing bewildered in three separate and very distant spots on Toril. Far enough away to win me some time to myself, I had every reason to hope.”
Elminster smiled again. “Remember, old friend, ’tis by Mystra’s will such things work … and I myself continue to live and, ah, work by the same pleasure and divine power.”
Vangerdahast shook his head in clear displeasure, and turned away. “You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t be here now. I’ve retired from all the fawning and smiling and doing what’s expected. My time is now my own.”
“Very well spent, I see,” Myrmeen said tartly.
The former Royal Magician rounded on her. “You, miss, would do better to hold and keep Arabel for the Crown, for a change! If you weren’t so determined to out-swagger and out-sword swash every man in the realm, like a pale echo of proud little Alusair, perhaps you’d’ve settled down to being a very useful governor instead of governing one man at a time in your bedchamber! I—”
“My Lord Vangerdahast!” Caladnei snapped. “No one should speak so to any officer of the realm—nor to any lady! You—you disgust me! Your words lead me to wonder what were you really thinking about me when you praised me and named me your successor! ‘Oh, here’s some brown-skinned trollop who’ll bed more noblemen than I could bring myself to do’?”
“You be still, little miss!” Vangerdahast roared, eyes catching fire. “I’ve had about enough—”
“So have I,” Elminster announced pleasantly. “Ye used to be far more deft and sly in picking fights and making folk lose their tempers and forget their intentions, Vangey. Ye’re losing it, ye are. Wherefore I’m going to be just as unpleasant to ye as ye’ve been to thy fellow folk of Cormyr for—oh, some six decades now, hey?”
He took a step forward, not appearing to cast any spell or awaken any ring, rod, wand, or gewgaw—but Vangerdahast floated up off the floor and hung rigid, limbs unmoving. “Now, speak. Unfold what ye’re really up to here. Mystra wanted me to be a trifle more subtle about this, I’m sure, but I find myself not in the mood to be nearly so gentle with ye. Ye tried to enrage these two ladies so as to put their minds aside from prying some answers out of ye. Why?”
“I—I don’t want to talk about what I’m at work on to … either of these two ladies,” Vangerdahast replied gruffly, “whom I’m both sorry to have offended. I—no, I cannot. Caladnei and Myrmeen, forgive me, but your presence here ruins and reveals everything. I can’t be honest with you. I daren’t.”
“Nay, Vangerdahast,” Elminster said calmly, “Ye dare not fail to tell all and truly to these two: the Mage Royal of the realm, remember, and an officer of the Crown to bear witness.”
“You are no longer my teacher, El,” Vangerdahast said coldly. “I need no more of your lessons on obedience or moral authority. I would judge, as many in Faerûn do, that your own actions disqualify you from criticizing anyone else in this world on such matters.”
“Vangey,” Elminster replied gently, “I’m not asking ye. I’m telling ye.”
He took another step forward and added, “We both fell into the ‘might makes right, and I know this is right anyway, so just hold still whilst I do it to ye’ trap long, long ago … and I daresay we’ve both found it easiest to remain there. I’m still there now. Ye will answer me.”
“I will not,” Vangerdahast snarled. “I—I …”
“Am disgusted with how cruel and tyrannical I can be?” Elminster asked, his voice almost a whisper. “So am I, old friend. So am I. Yet I long ago cast my lot with Mystra, and do what she needs me to do. Yet I’ve not yet reached the point of being so disgusted that I refuse to do it and defy her.”
The Old Mage was aware of the two women backing instinctively away from him, awe warring with apprehension on their faces. “And like ye,” he went on, his eyes never leaving those of his onetime pupil, “I feel the talons of time clawing at me at last. Like ye, I know not how much time I have left—but I know enough to feel ’tis not much any longer. So like ye, this drives me to do all I want to do, as swiftly as I can—and be damned to all these younger fools who stand in my way. I know just how ye feel, Vangey. Believe me.”
He lifted one open hand, as if offering something invisible to the empty air. “So now, I’m going to ruthlessly compel ye—quite rudely, but ’tis necessary and this way ’twill at least be swift.”
Vangerdahast glared at him, shuddering and going red-faced as he fought the invisible bonds of Elminster’s magic. At last he barked out brief, wordless frustration and gave up, to slump and hang limply in midair. “Ask your questions,” he said bitterly.
“I’m sorry, Vangerdahast,” the Old Mage told him. “First then, precisely what creatures are you planning to bind, with these secret spells you’re crafting?”
“What secret spel—”
“Truth, Vangey. The truth, if ye can still remember what that is after so many years at Court,” Elminster ordered, his voice calm but implacable.
Vangerdahast glared at him then snapped, “Dragons. Neutral or benevolent dragonkind.”
Both Caladnei and Myrmeen drew in breath so sharply that they almost gasped—but said nothing, their eyes burning at Vangerdahast. So it was true!
Elminster spared them not a glance. “Willingly or unwillingly bound?”
The former Royal Magician seemed to shrink, dwindling in the air. “Willingly, if possible,” he murmured.
“To awaken at what triggers?”
“When called.”
Elminster acquired a sour look. “Vangey,” he murmured, “are we going to have to do this by dragging every last word out of ye like so many hooked sea-beasts being hauled ashore? No one in this room thinks ye’re anything less than Cormyr’s savior and staunch defender, the backbone of the realm. We admire thy intended legacy—so why not discuss it freely? None of us three wants to see Cormyr overrun by Red Wizards and Zhentarim—among many others—hunting for ye or for thy spells, so we’re hardly likely to pass on what we hear to anyone else. I’ll even mindshield these two ladies, if they desire it, so anyone who tries to read their thoughts or memories will get blasted by magic that should leave that anyone drooling-witless for a day or so. So why not just speak freely? Hey?”
Vangerdahast closed his eyes, sighed, and said, “Very well. I intend that the guardian wyrms will be awakened by any being who utters the right words of summoning. For the words to work, the speaker will have to find and stand in the active area of the right portal—there should be at least two ‘right portals’ per dragon—while hol
ding an item of the correct substance.”
“And that substance is?”
“I know not, yet. Most probably a particular sort of gem-stone. I haven’t yet decided on that part of it. I’m leaning toward establishing two allowable substances in all cases, either one of which will ‘work.’ Of course, ’tis best if such substances will last down the years.”
“Of course. Under what orders will these bound guardians operate when awakened?”
The former Royal Magician cast a quick glance at Caladnei—and just as quickly averted his eyes from her furious stare. “To defend and preserve the realm,” he replied, almost sighing the words, “its government, and those of its folk who stand loyal. To strike at foes of the realm the guardian identifies or that are pointed out to it by its summoner and other beings it comes to trust.”
“It comes to trust?”
“In the end, all things come down to trust,” Vangey muttered quietly, looking at the floor. “They always do.”
One of the two women drew in her breath sharply again, swallowing a tremulous sob that sounded the width of a sharp sword blade away from bursting forth as furious words.
Elminster smiled a mirthless smile, glanced at the two ladies—Myrmeen standing watchfully, sword out, ready to menace either of the two wizards, and Caladnei seething, her face white and her hands clenched around a chairback so tightly that it almost seemed her grip would crush the wood—and asked, “Whom would the guardians obey? Whom would they ally or cooperate with?”
“Their summoner would be their commander,” Vangerdahast replied, “but they’d be freed of obedience to that being, instantly and forever, if ordered to harm any member of the Obarskyr ruling family, any castle or fortification of Cormyr, and … other conditions not yet specified.”
“Left free for you to amend at any time?” Caladnei snapped.
The floating wizard kept silent for a moment, but before Elminster could order him to answer, he said heavily, “No. I … I’d not yet decided how long and precise a list of commands, and qualifications to those orders, to place upon the guardians.”
“And if an Obarskyr threatens the realm?” the Mage Royal asked sharply. “What then?”
Vangerdahast turned his head to look at Caladnei. “I’ve been wrestling with that very concern for some months now, on and off, but still see no clear, correct conclusion.”
Caladnei seemed about to say more—if her trembling was any indication, something intemperate—but instead waved a furiously dismissive hand and turned her face away.
“While in stasis,” Elminster continued, as quietly and calmly as if Caladnei had never spoken, “these bound guardians will be kept where?”
“In an extra-dimensional space anchored to at least seven portals around Cormyr, only two of which will be made known to anyone but me,” Vangerdahast replied promptly.
“Who’ll know the location of their abiding?”
“No one, if I can keep it so.”
Elminster nodded, took a step back, and let his former pupil descend a little. “How are the wyrms protected when in stasis?”
What might have been a smile touched Vangerdahast’s lips for a moment. “Not at all, given how far my spells have progressed, thus far. Protections are something I must craft, however, if this scheme is to work at all.”
Elminster nodded again. “Once loosed to serve, do the guardians return to their bindings?”
“No,” Vangey replied reluctantly. “They’d be free, though someone who knew just which spells to cast could bind them again. The process will be lengthy and require the immediate presence of the guardian to be bound, so the dragon would have to be either subdued in some way … or willing to re-enter stasis.”
“Mystra! Murderous mothering Mystra!” Caladnei shouted, boiling over at last. “Mage, I am appalled! Revolted! Disgusted at this treasonous betrayal of the kingdom we both love! How could you? After serving and stitching together this realm through years of strife and dire doom, you set forth to shatter it out of pure pride? O’erweening folly?”
“Oho,” Elminster murmured. “Nice phrase.”
The Mage Royal stalked past him to plant herself right under Vangerdahast’s lined and unhappy face and shake a furious fist up at it. “I’m aghast that a Royal Magician of the realm—for you’re still that, whether you wear the title or not—could play such a dangerous fool by contemplating forging this blade to strike at the very heart of Cormyr! And to plot this without telling anyone—using me as your dupe!”
“Lass,” the floating wizard told her sadly, “the very strength of this blade is its secrecy and always has been.” He lifted his head, his voice growing stronger, and added, “You are the realm’s hope and the realm’s future, and I believe I chose rightly. Yet you’re but young at this. In what is needful for Cormyr I know best, better than any man, maid, or beast living—like it or not.”
Caladnei’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, her jaw working in rage as she struggled through blazing fury to find the right words to hurl at him, and Vangerdahast gave her a wintry smile and said, “I’ll admit this much, Cala: I’ve often hated what I’ve had to do in service to the kingdom … and what those doings have in turn done to me, down the years.”
The Mage Royal stood with fists clenched at her sides, spitting and almost weeping in rage. “You—you! You! There—no—how …”
A long finger stroked gently down her cheek—and she spun around in surprise, eyes blazing and hands racing to shape a spell … only to freeze in mid-gesture as she found herself looking into the face of Elminster of Shadowdale. It was wearing a kindly expression.
“Easy, lass,” he murmured. “Easy, now. Ye’re right to be royally angered at being kept uninformed, but imagine now that the future of Cormyr depends upon thy wits and judgment being icily cool and calm, in the moments ahead … for—behold!—it does. Stop raging and show the same iron control that Alusair can manage for almost two breaths in a row when she has to … and hear me.”
Caladnei was panting hard, eyes blazing at him, but she flung up her hands in an ‘all right’ flourish. Behind her, Myrmeen—who’d acquired a grim smile at El’s mention of Alusair’s self control—gave the Old Mage a nod and grounded her sword.
Elminster took hold of Caladnei’s shoulders, facing her squarely, and said, “There is some merit in the words Vangey’s just spoken to ye, Mage Royal. No matter how much ye may personally dislike hearing so.”
“Well, you’d think so!” Caladnei spat. “You’ve done just what he has—for centuries! High-handed, secretive, manipulative, deceitful—in every wise precisely the same way as this sly old dog here!”
Elminster smiled and clapped her shoulders cheerfully. “Of course I have! Ye strike right to the truth, exactly! If ye survive to serve Mystra for as long as I’ve done, ye’ll probably behave in much the same way, too!”
“This is not,” the Mage Royal hissed through clenched teeth, “any sort of laughing matter! And don’t throw me glib words about Mystra’s service driving you past sanity, either! If you can hurl ‘right’ and ‘merit’ and little judgments all over the place, you must admit to retaining the capacity to judge!”
Elminster smiled and embraced her, holding on like an imperviously smiling wraith through the storm of kicks and thrown elbows and raking fingernails and upthrust knees that followed. Through it all he crooned, like a favorite uncle to a small girl, “There, there. Let thy rage flow … let it out, there’s a good lass. But ye can be so much more than that. Ye can be a good Mage Royal, too! For a good Mage Royal, now fully informed of Vangerdahast’s secret scheme and thus warned, shouldn’t waste more time tarrying here to rant and shout—when the daily crises of the kingdom face her uncaring back.”
He let go of her and stepped back—a trifle hastily. Caladnei glared at him, bosom heaving, then set her jaw and said stonily, “Yes, you are right, Old Mage. So long as you make sure I’m not blocked or barred from reaching this place by spells, I should now take my lea
ve, to consider and find calm, and look ahead.”
She turned and shot a meaningful look at Myrmeen Lhal. Only Elminster had seen the grin that played along the mouth of the Lady Lord of Arabel moments before. There was no trace of it now as Myrmeen nodded as if in reply to an order, stepped forward to give both Elminster and Vangerdahast level looks, and announced firmly, “I shall be staying, for the good of the realm, to keep watch over Vangerdahast, here. Elminster, please set him down on his feet again—and I must insist that you do one thing more for me: Lay spell protections on me to keep me from being magically mind-meddled with by semi-retired Mages Royal.”
Elminster smiled. “Of course.”
In the background, Vangerdahast’s sputtered protests were firmly ignored. The Old Mage spread his hands and took a long step toward Myrmeen—and an opaque shield faded into existence out of nowhere to enclose them both.
Vangerdahast slammed to the ground as if he’d been dropped off the end of a cart. Wincing and limping, he approached the shield—only to come to a dead halt as Caladnei strode around its curve to stand in his path, two wands raised in her hands and a cold, hard look in her eyes.
“Go ahead,” she murmured grimly. “Take that next step—and we’ll both regret the battle that follows. If I must die to defend Cormyr from the man who made her great, I’ll do so. If you wanted a spineless lap-slave, Vangerdahast, you shouldn’t have chosen me.”
“I wanted nothing of the kind and still do not,” the former Royal Magician growled. “But—but what’s he up to, in there?”
“Enspelling Myrmeen and her weapons, if he’s thinking anything like I am,” Caladnei replied tartly. “You’ll have to do a lot to win back our trust, old man.”
“Lass, lass,” Elminster chided from behind her. “I’m going to have to take ye away forthwith before ye can find anything else cold and hurtful to say to the man who did ye such honor by choosing ye.”
Caladnei whirled around, but a grinning Elminster laid a hand on her arm before she could say a word—and, just like that, there was suddenly one less Mage Royal of Cormyr and one less Chosen of Mystra in the littered kitchen.