by Ed Greenwood
“How much do you think the Mage Royal and Laspeera know about the details of Vangerdahast’s work?”
Rauthur frowned. “Almost all of it. He trained both of them.”
“No, no! His grand scheme—the one he’s working on right now! Binding dragons to be defenders of Cormyr!”
“Oh! Ah, that plan. Is that really what he’s …? Gods! Uh, I’m—I’m not sure. I can try to find out, but … well, I’m not a very sly questioner.”
“That’s stone cold truth, Rauthur. Why not say you heard Vangerdahast muttering something to himself like ‘these dragon bindings will never work!’ when his shields went down for a moment, as part of these ‘troubles,’ and mark their reactions?”
“Ah—yes, yes, of course!”
“Good!” The taller, thinner man muttered something else—and the room was suddenly empty again of all but three tables, their chairs, and a Harper feigning a drunken stupor.
Roldro Tattershar promptly sprang up from his chair like a bolt of lightning in a hurry, yanked open the broom-closet door, and drained his tankard in one long pull ere setting it down carefully on the table and backing through the closet door.
Vangerdahast planned to bind dragons to protect Cormyr? Well, well! It was certainly time to stir the cauldron and see who bubbled to the top first!
Besides, being a Harper was hungry and thirsty work, and the Lady Joysil Ambrur would be sure to pay handsomely for this information.
* * * * *
Caladnei smiled. “Well, I’m sure you’re in need of food, drink, a long soak, and some sleep. We daren’t give you those here lest someone see you and take note that our hunted prisoner is now more of an honored guest, but we can give you ample coins to get such necessities at an inn. Rhauligan?”
The Harper rolled his eyes, told the ceiling in a mutter, “Always me! Always! Have you noticed?” and from a pouch poured out an ample handful of coins into his palm. He put all of them carefully into Narnra’s hand.
“Hear then,” Caladnei continued, “your first task: Find the traitor I know is among my War Wizards—not by magic or by confrontation but rather by observing the doings of certain War Wizards in Suzail from the background, trying to stay unnoticed as much as possible.”
Narnra raised an eyebrow. “You can’t just mind-ream them?”
“Many have trap-magics bound into their shield-spells … moreover, they do much better work for me when they think their little sideline activies go unobserved.”
“ ‘Little sideline activities’? Illict and corrupt this and that?”
“Some of them, yes. Others merely have undignified hobbies or socially awkward liaisons, and I don’t want them unhappily peering over their shoulders expecting my cold eye on their backsides for the rest of their careers—or those careers will end up being worth very little to me.”
“Caladnei, I’m the stranger here. How am I supposed to know when a surreptitious visit to a bedchamber or a murmured name traded for a few coins is a little sideline and when it’s high treason to Cormyr?”
The Mage Royal sighed. “A good point. Look, Narnra, I don’t care—Speera here doesn’t care, Vangey in his day didn’t care, and all the Wizards of War knew it—if this or that hairy male War Wizard likes to put on rouge and lady-gowns or roll in nutbutter honey behind closed doors. Or tries to seduce every last noble lady—or lord, for that matter—in the realm. I also don’t care if they mutter future trade opportunities to every merchant in the kingdom.”
She waved an emphatic finger. “I do care if they go behind closed doors to talk to rich Sembians, Red Wizards of Thay, Zhentarim, anyone from Westgate, or nobles who seem to be using false names or who never leave dockside inns in Suzail. I care if they go anywhere to meet alone with independent mages or disappear for days on end into the mansions, hunting lodges, or castles of our nobles.”
She sighed and added in calmer tones, “If they do, don’t try to confront, harm, or follow them. Just come and tell me who went where. I’ll know, of course, if they’re supposed to be doing something sly for me wherever you saw them.”
“And if I’m arrested as an outlander spy?”
“Demand to be interrogated by a senior War Wizard—something so feared by most Cormyreans that they’ll be impressed and won’t think you’re bluffing. When you end up facing any War Wizard, tell them to contact Laspeera or myself ‘in the name of both Azouns.’ They dare not ignore that phrase. We’ll tell them we’ve cast a spell on your mind as an experiment and you may therefore do all sorts of odd things … and aren’t to be prevented from doing so.”
“Well, that’s true enough.”
Caladnei looked hurt for the moment it took her to see Narnra’s crooked smile.
“I’m sorry,” the Mage Royal said gently. “I know none of this has been easy for you. Think of it as a long, grand theft and us as your fellow gang members.”
Narnra rolled her eyes and said briskly, “This is going to proceed much better if I know who these War Wizards are, what they look like, and where in Suzail I might have the slightest hope of finding them.”
Caladnei nodded and reached out a finger to touch Narnra’s forehead. “Hold still. This is the easiest way, believe it or not.”
There was a moment of icy tingling then images burst into Narnra’s mind, unfolding from momentary confusion into the faces of a dozen War Wizards. Two women and ten men, all moving slightly, just as they’d been doing when captured by Caladnei’s magic. Names appeared in her head with each one, reappearing whenever she turned her attention back to an image already seen. “Thaeram Duskwinter, Bathtar Flamegallow, Calaethe Hallowthorn, Iymeera Juthbuck, Helvaunt Lanternlar, Bowsar Ostramarr, Huldyl Rauthur, Storntar Redmantle …”
Narnra frowned, closed her eyes, and sat back, shaking her head slightly.
“Got those?” Rhauligan asked. When she nodded, he added, “Good,” and drew a much-folded square of vellum from his sleeve. It opened out into an incredibly detailed map of Suzail that made Narnra lean forward in awe to peer at the little dots that denoted every last building in the city. The Harper put a finger on one dot and said, “This is a tavern called The Downed Falcon, a favorite haunt of Flamegallow and Ostramarr. And this down here is the—”
Narnra chuckled despite herself, looked slyly over at Caladnei, and asked lightly, “No mental images of taprooms and ladies’ privy-chambers? You disappoint me!”
Laspeera closed the door of the Dragonwing Chamber and turned to give Caladnei an expressionless nod. Narnra had departed, presumably soon to creep about on local balconies and rooftops, listening and peering at certain War Wizards.
Caladnei gave Rhauligan a mirthless smile. “You know your task?”
“Shadow her.”
The Mage Royal nodded. “Let yourself be seen only to prevent Crown treason on her part or to save her life. Otherwise … just watch. Unless we’ve been very lax, none of those twelve is a traitor, but they’ve all met with Rightful Conspirators recently. I want to see how some of them react if they happen to notice a stranger lurking and watching them. If Narnra does spot you, tell her we decided we were unfairly sending her forth without a proper grounding in our politics—and offer to tell and show her more.”
“Of course,” the Highknight replied, rising.
“Some of those coins bear tracer-spells?” she asked him, nodding at the door Narnra had left by.
He smiled. “All of them.” With a wave of his hand to Laspeera and Caladnei that was more of a salute than a farewell, Glarasteer Rhauligan strode to the nearest wall, did something deft to its paneling, and departed through a secret door neither woman had thought he knew anything about.
“There goes a good man,” Laspeera murmured.
The Mage Royal nodded. “Let’s hope I don’t get him killed,” she sighed bitterly. “I … I truly wish Vangerdahast was still irritating half of Cormyr by running things in his usual capable fashion. He’d handle things so much better than I do.”
Laspeera
smiled and hugged Caladnei. “Keep feeling that way and I’ll know you’re doing a gods-damned good job of being Mage Royal. It’s folk who think they’re doing just fine because they’re so brilliant and masterly at magecraft who scare the backbone out of me!”
* * * * *
Rauthur blinked in surprise and peered in all directions. By the sunlight and the smells, he was still in Suzail—but in some narrow alleyway in the poorer, westerly part of the city, not in a passage outside the Dragonwing Chamber.
“This isn’t the Palace!” he protested.
“Indeed it’s not,” Harnrim Starangh agreed—in the instant before something boiled up inside the War Wizard and blew apart.
“Such a suspicious War Wizard,” he murmured as he surveyed the bloody bones and smoke that had been Huldyl Rauthur a moment earlier. “Gone missing just after so many deaths and disruptions at the sanctum—who would have thought he was a traitor? It just goes to show …”
He smiled as the plume of bloody smoke wafted away, leaving only a messy pile of dog-gnaw bones for the next cur—or starving citizen of Suzail looking for something to fill a stewpot—to find.
“I’m so sorry, Rauthur,” he addressed them. “I fear I may have neglected to mention a few details of that linking spell. Or this other magic, for that matter.”
He made a swift gesture. The skull rose, dripping, from the rest of the tangle and floated in the air facing him, cloaked in the very faint, flickering aura of his magic. The spell he’d just cast would preserve the brain behind those now-eyeless sockets long enough for him to read Rauthur’s fading mind.
The wizard best known as Darkspells looked up and down the alley to make sure he was unobserved—he’d chosen this narrow, bending way carefully, noting this stretch between two large heaps of rotting, discarded crates some days ago; there was no one coming now to see—and carefully cast yet another spell.
Rauthur’s mind was screaming at him.
“Why why why why why?”
“Never leave witnesses and co-conspirators,” he replied softly, “and they can never drag you down with them. Trust, my weak friend Rauthur, is a weakness. A fatal weakness.”
He bore down on the dying mind, forcing his way in through the shock and pain and tattered memories, seeking first any contingency magics that might be set to awaken against him. He didn’t think Rauthur had the power or skill to craft any such magics, nor access to those Vangerdahast undoubtedly commanded.
As he probed deeper, it seemed he’d been right about contingencies … but it also appeared Rauthur had really known nothing of much interest, beyond the nicknames of a few fellow War Wizards that might prove briefly useful as lures.
Oh, and one other thing, glowing here in the most recent ‘must remember’ elements: One Narnra Shalace, currently a guest of the Mage Royal of Cormyr, is the daughter of … Elminster of Shadowdale.
Starangh’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Well, well,” he murmured. “Larger fish frying right in my lap.”
* * * * *
The doorguard sneered.
“The Lady Joysil will have nothing to do with street beggars,” he said curtly. “Be off with you, or I’ll summon the Watch!”
The man in dusty, filthy leathers who stood facing him, an obviously false moustache askew on his upper lip, gave him a rather cold glare and said, “Joysil and I have done business together before and parted quite amicably, I might add. Quite amicably. I’d not be here now if I didn’t have something urgent and of the gravest importance to impart to her, and I’m not leaving until she’s heard it—in private and from my lips alone!”
The doorguard used the bracer on his wrist to rap a small, unseen gong inside the doorframe, and stood his ground.
“And I am not allowing some stranger at this gate who could be any sort of murderer, kidnapper, blackmailer, or common thief to reach the Lady Ambrur alone! I’m paid to see to the safety of her person and property, not allow any swift-tongued rogue in from the streets to wreak whatever havoc whim moves him to!”
“So call the Watch,” the man in dusty leathers said softly, “and we’ll all go in to see her together. I’ll lay you a large wager that she’ll be most displeased, when she hears my news, that she has any sort of audience to see her reaction.”
The doorguard raised his eyebrows. “That makes me even more determined not to let you pass. News of that sort should not be—”
“Yes, Melarvyn? What’s the trouble here?”
The steward of Haelithtorntowers was a brusque and efficient man. He was not disposed to look kindly on any wastage of his time, trivial matters, or unnecessary distractions. The doorguard knew this well and stepped back with a tight smile as he indicated the dusty man standing on the threshold.
“This—ruffian—is demanding an audience with the Lady Ambrur. He won’t go away, even when threatened with the Watch, and insists that his business is urgent and that he has a personal relationship of some sort with the Lady. I believe him not, but in fairness—”
“Fairness? Melarvyn, since when did fairness play any part in life, beyond nursery tales? Since when have I allowed any hint of ‘fairness’ into the daily governance of Haelithtorntowers?”
Without waiting for a reply, the steward looked coldly down his nose at the aforementioned ruffian on the threshold and began, “As for you, sir—”
The dusty man peeled off his mustache and said quietly, “Enough foolery, Elward. Take me to Joysil now or I’ll inform the Watch of the fate of Iliskar Northwind. And the matter of the missing Selgauntan crab shipment last month. To say nothing of your part in the disagreement between the Seven Traders and the port tax-takers here two months before that. Or the new Marsemban trade-agent of the slaver Ooaurtann of Westgate who goes by the name ‘Varsoond.’ But then, Elward Varsoond Emmellero Daunthideir would know nothing about a buyer of slaves, would he not?”
The steward had gone the hue of old cracked ivory during the stranger’s soft little speech, and he’d begun to swallow repeatedly, his left eye twitching as if there was something in it.
The doorguard had slowly stepped back from Steward Elward Daunthideir as his own face had slid from annoyance to rage to astonishment to dumbfoundedness. His facial expression was now veering toward something akin to amazement.
“Uh, wha … whuh … ahem,” the Steward began then suddenly smiled, stepped forward to offer the stranger his hand and asked brightly, “Why, Lord sir! Whyever didn’t you mention all of this before? Of course the Lady Ambrur will be happy to see you—immediately, I might add, and it would give me the greatest pleasure, it would indeed, to escort you to see her myself!”
He ushered the dusty stranger across the threshold and in through the thick outer wall of Haelithtorntowers with swift, florid gestures, almost sweeping him along the short, curving path to the nearest grand door of the mansion. The doorguard stared after them with an amazed whistle on his lips and wonderment in his mind.
He broke off whistling to remark, “I’ll bet it would, I do indeed—and I’ll bet yon stranger had best look sharp, or he’ll never reach the Lady alive.” His face darkened. “Whereupon my hide will be next, as old Elward knows I heard all of that, too. Wherefore I’d best confide in the Lady myself, and soon, too. Hmmm … what if she knows about all of these matters? What if he fronts for her in them? Oh, gods …”
The Lady Joysil Ambrur was in her retiring-room, reclining in a vast couch strewn with a waterfall of pillows. Her gown was of a rose-pink silk, her feet bare, and her hair unbound to spill and swirl across the pillows.
Tomes were piled all around her, some of them larger than the tops of her small, ornate side-tables. It was a wonder how her slender, languid limbs could lift them—but perhaps servants assisted with the larger ones. Some of them looked magical and dangerous.
One such was spread open on her lap as she looked up, more surprise than annoyance in her gaze. The servants knew she was not to be disturbed when …
Her steward bowed lower t
han she’d ever seen him do before and raised pleading eyes to her. “Ah, Lady, a very special guest has come to us in some urgency, with a private message for your ears alone! He says you know him well.”
A shapely eyebrow arched, long fingers closed the book and set it aside, and a hand extended in a beckoning gesture.
“So bring him to us.”
The steward bowed again, his manner fawning rather than its usual careful, slightly disdainful dignity, and turned to the door he’d entered by behind the hanging tapestry at the foot of the great couch.
Roldro Tattershar strode in wearing a grave expression. At the first sight of him the Lady Joysil said sharply, “Elward, you may withdraw. To the south pond, where the rainbow-fins are in need of feeding.”
The steward nodded stiffly, face frozen impassively, and departed. The bard in dusty leathers waited, his hand raised to signal silence, and after a few breaths went quietly back to the door, opened it, and peered out. Elward was gone.
He returned, nodding in satisfaction, and the Lady Joysil rose to embrace him fondly and murmured, “What is it, Roldro? No good news, I can tell.”
“Ammaratha, I’ve just come from Suzail, where I overheard two War Wizards talking about the retired Lord Vangerdahast’s current work.”
“Yes, he’s crafting new spells at his sanctum—difficult magics, it would seem. Powerful ones, without a doubt. Binding spells to establish new guardians for Cormyr to replace the Lords Who Sleep, who were all destroyed. Some of his early ones had to do with finding and calming the guardians he intended to hunt for, I believe.”
The Harper nodded. “Indeed. So much We Who Harp also believe. However, I doubt you’ve discovered just whom he intends to bind.”
“I’ll pay you what I did last time, Roldro, to learn this,” the Lady Ambrur said calmly.
“That much coin will be quite acceptable.”
The noblewoman looked at him sidelong. “Why are you backing away from me?”
“To give you room,” the bard replied calmly.