by Ed Greenwood
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, Gala: 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, yell 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 Vang-erdahast'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 leave, 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 chose
n 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.
Across suddenly empty space, Vangerdahast and Myrmeen stood gazing at each other.
Coldly he looked her up and down, from her drawn sword to her patched and battered leathers, and a slow sneer crawled across his face.
Myrmeen surveyed him from head to toe with raised eyebrows, shook her head, gave Vangerdahast a derisive grin, and strode right past him.
"Don't touch anything," the wizard snarled, whirling around to see where she went and what she did.
Which was three paces away, to stand with hands on hips and slowly turn to witheringly survey the state of his kitchen.
Swiveling slowly around to face him, the Lady Lord of Arabel wrinkled her nose. "Is this what you've been eating? No wonder your wits are so addled!"
Twelve
DRAGONFIRE
Come storms, great waves, earth-cleaving, god-smiting lightnings, and dragonflre, Faerun shall abide. Us smaller creatures on it? I'm not so sure.
The character Blind Nars, in Scene the Second of the play Four Bloody Swords by Corsour Hamadder of Waterdeep, first performed in the Year of the Nightmaidens
The torches were guttering out now, one by one, leaving the great soaring hall of Haelithtorntowers noticeably darker. Two long-frozen figures in leather moved in sudden unison, both drawing back cautiously from the balcony rail-and lifting their heads to regard each other.
Narnra Shalace did not give her pursuer her usual angry glare.
Like Rhauligan, she knew unfolding treason and disaster when she heard it. This was the sort of softly menacing talk she was sure went on inside the spires of the wealthy and nobility of Waterdeep all the time-though she'd never been foolish enough to try to enter and lurk in such places, with their alarm-magics, wardings, and enthusiastic guards.
No wonder nobles didn't want anyone close enough to hear what they were saying. Caethur the moneylender would have had to double-deal for years to reach the point of openly plotting ambitions like these.
She stared almost thoughtfully across the ring of emptiness at Rhauligan, knowing that she'd just gained one more reason to elude the Harper without being seen by others in this house. A very good reason.
Keeping herself alive at least a few nights longer.
* * * * *
It was a bright and breezy morning in Candlekeep. The sea-breeze blowing ashore could better have been called a strong wind. In front of the Lady Noumea Cardellith, as she walked the last stretch of the Way of the Lion, the banners of a minor noble of Tethyr flapped and streamed in a constant fury. The rearguard of that personage-six riders in gleaming armor who rode with great spiked long-axes gripped in their gauntlets- were eyeing Noumea narrowly, at least two of them always crossing to opposing sides of the noble party so as to keep full watch on her.
And no wonder. Through the wonders of magic Noumea may have looked like a lone, bespectacled male merchant from Lantan, afoot and bearing only a leather carrysack slung over one shoulder-but she'd arrived out of nowhere, just suddenly there, in mid-step. And Tethyrian house guards who hadn't seen teleport spells in use before had certainly heard of them-and knew well enough to be wary in the presence of what must be an accomplished wizard or sorcerer.
Or something worse.
Wherefore they turned to present Noumea with a leveled row of glittering spike-points when the party reached Candlekeep proper and stopped to parley with the monks of the gate.
Noumea came to a halt, nodded to them politely, and waited calmly enough. When it was her turn at the tall gates-spell-shrouded vertical bars as thick as her forearm, bearing the castle-and-flames device of Candlekeep and a guard of five purple-robed priests-she gave the expressionless monk who approached her a book from her sack and waited while he carefully stripped away its wrappings.
"The Life of the Sembian Woodworm," he read aloud, his voice devoid of judgment. With gentle fingers he opened the tome, glanced at a few pages, stopped to peer at what were unmistakably the glyphs of spells-minor wardings effective also against paper-worms, he noted with an audible sigh of excitement-then looked up and said, "A notable, valuable gift. You are most welcome within our walls, seeker of wisdom. What's your name, your land, and your intent within?"
"I am Roablar of Lantan, come from trading up and down the Sword Coast and most recently Sembia to examine certain texts. I'm most interested in Thelgul's Do Metals Live? and Bracetar's Notes On Preservation of Foodstuffs and Oils!"
The monk smiled for the first time. It transformed his face, leaving Noumea with the impression that it was not an expression he assumed often. "Be welcome here, Roablar, so long as you treat books with the reverence they deserve, eschewing fire, damp, the torn page, and the removal of lore from the eyes of others. Cross the yard ahead of you to the green-hued door, and give your name to the Keeper of the Emerald Door. You'll be provided with food, a bath, quarters in which to sleep, and a moot with the monk who will escort you on your first visit to the rooms of the tomes."
"I thank you, sir," Roablar replied, bowing slightly and favoring all the monks with a beaming smile. He was waved in through the gap in the partly open gates and set off across the courtyard shifting his sack on his shoulder, as all travelers do.
"Well, Amanther?" the monk who'd dealt with him asked, glancing at the next supplicants-a large party of horsemen, still some way off down the Way of the Lion.
The oldest, tallest monk of the five smiled faintly. "A mage-human female, not old-wearing a very good spell-spun disguise. I daresay the books she mentioned are already familiar to her; I doubt she needs to peruse them again. Slyly learning spells is of course the aim of most who enter covertly, but she feels different to me, somehow. She'll bear close watching."
The other monks nodded. "Thaerabho already answers your signal," one of them said, pointing at a monk strolling across the courtyard to casually follow Roablar of Lantan up to the Emerald Door.
"Good," another grinned, rubbing his hands. "A new mystery to dissect at table this night. One can never have enough delving and prying. It keeps the soul young."
"A tongue more deft, Larth," Amanther admonished. "Say rather: Inquiry into all things keeps a mind bright."
"That too," Larth agreed with a chuckle, which was echoed by the other monks.
"Well, then, clever dissembler," Amanther said, waving at the approaching cloud of dust and sun-flashing armor. "Deal you with these next seekers!"
"With as much pleasure as humility," Larth replied cheerfully. "I'll wager they'll proffer a family history or perhaps a text on the genealogy or heraldry of their immediate region."
"Nay," said another monk, squinting at the banners. "I expect another copy of Navril's History of the Parsnip, with some obscure local collection of plays or minstrels' sayings to serve as their entrance-gift when we reject old Navril one more time."
The chorus of chuckles was hearty but brief, for it was not proper for monks of Candlekeep to be anything less than politely grave when first greeting supplicants.
Across the Court of Air, the monk Thaerabho gazed at the shoulders of the Lantanna talking to the doorkeeper and had to suppress an urge to stop, cross his arms, and rub his chin in eager anticipation.
This was going to be one of the interesting deceivers. He could feel it.
* * * * *
Lady Jo
ysil Ambrur stood sipping wine and watching her servants reluctantly depart. Before ringing for them, she'd downed an entire bottle of potent vintage without any apparent effects at all and begun a second by the rather daintier means of filling (and refilling) her tallglass. Though she still stood by her high-backed seat behind the table, a new piece of furniture had made its appearance, in accordance with her orders, in the hall nearby: a broad, simple bed covered with luxurious linens, cozy-blankets, and pillows. Though it lacked a high headboard carved with her coat-of-arms, it was a bed for her.
Silence deepened in Haelithtorntowers around Lady Joysil as she sipped, regarding the rubies on the table-which lay undisturbed in their own little oval of light dust in the only part of the table that (again at her orders) had not been cleared and dusted.
The Lady of Haelithtorntowers was wearing a slight smile. She'd also ordered all the servants to take a day off from their duties, and the night to follow, in the luxurious guest apartments in the farthest tower of her mansion, Firewyrm Tower. They were not to disturb her or return until the next dawn for any reason.
Their obedience had been doubtful-wherefore, after their going, the Lady Ambrur had taken a scepter from the hollow leg of a particular piece of furniture and magically sealed the door that walled off the lone passage linking Firewyrm Tower to Great Tower.
At the heart of Great Tower was the hall in which she stood, and as the torches failed it was rapidly growing dark despite the brightening day outside. Appropriate for a weary noble lady taking to her bed alone-and Lady Ambrur did that now.
She took her glass and bottle with her, still showing no signs of being tipsy, and retained all her garments, from her jeweled slippers and glittering tiara to her rows of sparkling dangledrop earrings. In the deepening gloom she kept her eyes on the table and sat on the edge of her bed in calm silence, waiting.
Quite soon and suddenly ruby fire flashed from the gems-and four black-clad men appeared on the table above those stones, crouching with weapons ready as it groaned ominously under their weight.