Elminster's Daughter tes-5

by Ed Greenwood

  "So you shall," Rhauligan replied and began to pant rapidly, his tongue hanging out.

  Laspeera gave him a look. "What's got into you?"

  "Revealing my innermost overeager dog, Lady Mage," he replied brightly.

  Laspeera sighed, waved one graceful hand, and murmured, "Get on with it, faithful hound. I grow no younger."

  * * * * *

  Lord Vangerdahast of Cormyr leaned back contentedly from the table. His stomach promptly rumbled, sounding every bit as contented as he was.

  The plate on the table in front of him was empty of all but a few smears of sauce, though it had been heaped high with rabbit stew not so very long ago. Good sauce, that. . .

  The former Royal Magician of the Realm reached for the plate, leaning forward with tongue extended to lick it clean-but a grinning Myrmeen Lhal reached in under his arm with the speed of a striking adder and plucked the plate away. Vangey's fingertips thumped down on bare tabletop, leaving him blinking . . . then turning with a growl.

  "You can thank me whenever you remember your manners," the Lady Lord of Arabel said impishly, heading for the washbasins beside the sink.

  Vangerdahast scowled at her, which caused her to lift an eyebrow reprovingly at him, over her shoulder.

  Under the force of her disapproving gaze he sighed, waved his fingers as if to banish what he'd just done, and muttered, "Have my thanks, Myrmeen Lhal. You . . . surprise me. I thought you were merely the best of Alusair's mud-spattered, eager she-blades, determined to outfight and outsnap any man."

  "Oh my, and here I thought you were just a manipulative wizard driven by whimsy, a hunger for power, and a love of being mysterious and rude to everyone in sight," Myrmeen replied merrily, hurling herself into Vangerdahast's favorite lounge chair.

  She bounced once amid its overstuffed, highbacked, and rather shabby comfort-and bent to sniff, frowning in appraisal. Then she shot him a scowl of her own. "Don't you ever wash things? Gods' grief, man! The lice are leaping all over me!"

  She sprang up, growling in irritation, and clawed at buckles and straps, rapidly shucking armor in all directions.

  It was Vangerdahast's turn to rise hastily. "Now don't you start throwing your skin at me! I knew-"

  "You hoped," Myrmeen replied witheringly, bared to the waist with a bundle of leather and chain and armor plate in her hands. Her dangling suspenders, Vangey noticed with some surprise, looked very much like his own.

  "Now," she asked briskly, "where do you bathe? You do bathe, don't you?"

  "Huh-hahem. Ah, down that passage," he said, pointing. "There's a pool. The, uh, stars above it are a spell that mirrors the real sky, not a hole in the ceiling. The, ah, floating wooden duck is mine. I-"

  Myrmeen strode forward, shifting her bundle against her bosom to free one hand-and used it to grab her host by one elbow. "Come," she ordered, starting to march him along.

  "What? What're you-?"

  "My hair was filthy this morning, and 'tis worse now. You can help me wash it."

  "I don't-"

  "Oh, yes, you do. Yours has been washed sometime this month, I'm sure of it. Come."

  She half-led, half-propelled the feebly-protesting wizard down the passage.

  Scarlet with embarrassment and breathless in his enforced haste, Vangerdahast vowed he would get his revenge on this ogre of a she-swordcaptain-and it would be a revenge that would last a long, long time and leave her begging for mercy.

  * * * * *

  The Harbortower turret was always cold and drafty, even at the muggy height of the warmest-and stinkiest-summer weather . . . wherefore this was not a popular duty-post among the War Wizards. When Huldyl Rauthur, a War Wizard of middling rank, had agreed to take it with slightly more eagerness than he'd ever shown before, old Rathandar had seen fit to grimly remind him that the old turret wouldn't stand up to any really spectacular experimental castings and that he'd personally lash some lasting stripes into Huldyl's backside if he found even the slightest sign of feminine companions teleporting or being teleported into or out of the turret during Huldyl's shifts. Steamy chapbooks and richly bad food, on the other hand, were quite understandable . . .

  On this bright morning, however, Huldyl seemed unable to enjoy even one of his stack of daring chapbooks and had barely touched his amber-roast butterfowl-to say nothing of his sugar-nuts. However, he was quite alone and had thrown no cloak over the bare cot by the back window to make it even uncomfortably suitable for dalliance … or slumber, for that matter.

  Uneasily he strolled from room to room, peering out of the windows at bustling Marsember below more than he bothered to squint into the powerful farglasses aimed out to sea. "No pirates ho," he muttered, in mockery of the cry excited young War Wizards seemed to veritably itch to give tongue to … and restlessly went back into the room he'd just left.

  Rauthur was a short, stout man who always seemed to some people to be nervous, because beneath his thinning brown hair, his temples were always beaded with sweat. Those who knew him better, however, judged him a good crafter of new spells and a sarcastic, often smug man whose green eyes would blaze wildly when he was really excited or fearful.

  There was no one to take note of his eyes at this moment, however, as he stood alone in the turret, tapping fingers idly on the windowsill and listening to seabirds flap and scream. He sighed, turned, started back through the connecting archway once more-and came to a sudden halt.

  The chair by the table bearing his books and food was no longer empty. A young, darkly handsome man clad in black and silver shimmerweave lounged there, an easy smile on his lips and The Wanton Witch Said Yes open in one hand.

  He lifted an eyebrow and the tome together. "A coded spell-book, perhaps?"

  Rauthur flushed, and glanced at the floor. His guest might look like a swaggering noble or idle merchant prince-but he'd met with Harnrim Starangh of the Red Wizards before.

  "I-ah-no. Uh, to make my superiors think I lacked a woman to smuggle up here so they wouldn't scry us and see . . ."

  "Me? Ah, but only you can see my proper self. To the rest of the overly curious world, I am a ravishing beauty in black silks-with the face of someone you prefer to privately refer to as the Crown Princess Wrathful, I believe."

  "Princess Alusair-?"

  "Oh, don't gabble, man! Be bold! Plenty of perfectly loyal folk of Cormyr say arch or even biting things about the royal family and live to repeat them more loudly at revels! Besides, you'll soon not have to worry overmuch about what others think of you."

  The Red Wizard lowered the chapbook with a brittle smile to reveal a tight-rolled baton of parchment.

  Huldyl Rauthur leaned forward eagerly, his eyes catching green fire, and the wizard best known in Thay as Darkspells unrolled the parchment to splay seven scrolls out in a fan array on the table. The sugarnuts were in the way, and without even looking up the Red Wizard sent them drifting smoothly through the air to hover by the War Wizard's face. The chapbooks descended only slightly less smoothly to a soft landing on the floor.

  Hesitantly Rauthur plucked a sugarnut from the air and ate it.

  Darkspells looked up at him, smiled again, and spread his hand in a flourish above the parchments. "So there you are: the seven spells, as agreed. The coins you've had already should be more than enough to buy you a handsome abode in Athkatla, Waterdeep, Sembia, or anywhere more distant, for that matter. These magics should enable you to slay with ease any War Wizards who come hunting you. Practice their use in private to ensure yourself of their stable and complete nature, power, and worth."

  The scrolls rose in unison and drifted toward Huldyl in the wake of the sugarnuts, which the War Wizard gobbled more of hastily, wiping his sugar-coated fingers nervously on the front of his tunic.

  Harnrim Starangh leaned forward over the table with an eagerness that matched his own. "I hereby reaffirm my earlier promise: the same amount of cash and seven more very useful spells will be yours when I've safely reached Vangerdahast and gotten away a
gain."

  Rauthur fielded the scrolls with a chuckle, eyes alight. "I'm your man, Lord Starangh, I am indeed. This is … princely."

  "Prince," the Red Wizard purred. "Now there's a title to aspire to. You could, you know, if you time things right and use just the right spells to tame Alusair to your will and bed. After she delivers you an heir, there'd be no need to sit still for the searing of her tongue any longer. A little spell-blast, a lot of mourning, and you could then do as her father did: have your pick of all the women in the kingdom."

  The War Wizard's chuckle was a weak one, this time, and he shook his head, shrugged, and said, "Lord, you've more boldness in you than I do." He shook his head again, in admiration. "Wouldn't that be something, though . . ."

  Darkspells let him ponder for a moment or two then said gently, "To bind the trust between us, I'll now complete that linking spell . . . if you're agreed?"

  "A-aye," Rauthur replied, in a low voice. He ran a hand through the thinning hair atop his head and blurted, "Remind me, Lord Starangh, of its specifics. I'd not want to put a foot wrong, if you understand me."

  "Of course." the Red Wizard said gravely, watching the last of the sugarnuts hastily disappearing down Rauthur's gullet.

  "Things that befall one of us also befall the other, at the same time. These shared fates are drunkenness, injury, hostile-but not self-cast-enspellment, and death. We will not share thoughts, emotions, dreams, or other things I've not spoken of: these things and these only. The spell will fade in a year." Starangh locked gazes with the War Wizard and added in dry tones, "Which will give you plenty of time to disappear from both Cormyrean justice and Thayan regard."

  Huldyl Rauthur smiled rather uncertainly and grunted, "My thanks, Lord. Do it."

  Starangh nodded and beckoned the War Wizard over to him, rising from his chair to hold up both hands, palms outward and fingers together. Hesitantly Rauthur set aside the scrolls and held out his own hands to match.

  Palms touched. The Thayan nodded approvingly and murmured a short incantation, awakening a tingling in them both that left their forearms shuddering as they stepped back from each other.

  "I'm ready to proceed when you deem the time is right. Contact me at any time of day or night. I'll be pleased if you guide me through the defenses of Vangerdahast's sanctum to him sooner rather than later, if you take my meaning."

  "I-I do," Rauthur assured him hastily.

  Harnrim Starangh smiled thinly. "Just one thing more, Prince-to-be Huldyl. If this linking spell between us is broken, I'll instantly be aware of that and of your whereabouts at the time-and may well be forced, for reasons of prudent diplomacy, you understand, to strike out from afar with slaying magic to obliberate Huldyl Rauthur and whoever helped you remove the spell."

  His smile widened and stayed broad and promising as the man called Darkspells silently faded away.

  Leaving Huldyl Rauthur standing alone in the Harbortower turret, shivering in fear, with The Wanton Witch Said Yes lying fallen at his feet.

  Fourteen

  NARNRA TAKES A TASK

  Well, we all have to work at something-even the gods. So pick up that bucket, and let's have no more of your backtalk.

  The character Farmer Juth in Scene the Third, of the play Troubles In The Cellar by Shanra Mereld of Murann, first performed in the Year of the Griffon

  A small, bright, and airy turret thrusts up from one corner of the Palace of the Purple Dragon in Suzail: a lone chamber whose four windows are open arches that breezes blow through at will but no bird nor raindrop enters.

  The door that links that turret room to a corner of the top floor of the Palace stands open-and guarded by four veteran Purple Dragons-at all times. The turret had for some years been an abandoned dovecote before the coming of Caladnei but was now a place much used by the Mage Royal to think and pace and gaze out over courtyard and gardens, and think some more.

  Caladnei of Cormyr (as she pointedly preferred to be spoken of) often teleported into and out of her turret room-but she'd never been known to do so in the company of anyone else before, and the guards were quite startled to suddenly hear the deep, hearty laugh of a fearless old man from behind them.

  They whirled around, spearpoints glittering, and gaped at what they saw: the Mage Royal embracing a hawk-nosed, white-bearded old man in dirty robes. Caladnei was weeping softly, and the old wizard-whom more than one of the old warriors had seen before-cradled her shoulders with a protective arm, saying softly, "There, there, lass. 'Tis overwhelming, aye, but a sight all mages should see in their lives before they've too much time to do foolish things unmindful of the glory we all share."

  "Uh . . . Lady Caladnei?" one of the guards asked uncertainly, lifting his spear to menace the old man.

  "Lord Elminster!" the eldest of the guards said delightedly, clapping a hand to his breastplate in salute. The gesture was echoed by the guard beside him, as the other two Purple Dragons turned to gape at their fellows . . . then turned back in horrified slowness to gaze at the old man they were menacing.

  Bright blue eyes gazed at them from under dark brows, and the Old Mage nodded, winked, and lifted a finger to his lips to request their silence ere gesturing down at the sobbing woman in his arms. The two guards who'd saluted him nodded and pushed aside the spears of their fellows, silently withdrawing a pace. Elminster gave them an approving nod.

  "T-thank you, Lord Elm-"

  "El, please, lass. Just 'El.' Or 'Old Mage' if ye want to scold me." He took hold of the Mage Royal's slender shoulders and stood her back a pace, to look gravely into her tear-bright face. "How do ye feel?"

  Caladnei managed a smile, and then swiftly looked away . . . then, deliberately, back up at him.

  "Sobered. Shaken. And, may I say, vastly more respectful of you and of Vangerdahast, too, damn him. I … thank you. That was . . . magnificent."

  "Much to think upon, eh?" Elminster reached out two long fingers to touch her forehead. "This much I can do: make sure nothing fades of this. Ye'll remember everything we saw, vividly, whenever ye call it to mind. This shall be with ye always."

  Caladnei shook her head wonderingly. "What a … a …"

  Elminster chuckled. "Storm called it a 'whirlwind tour,' but I've shown ye but a handful of highlights from all this vast and wonderful world of ours. 'Twas time for ye. Ye needed it to set in perspective this fair land ye guard and to temper thy rage with Vangey. Know ye this: When I took him to see the same things, he wept even more than ye have, begged forgiveness for his rudenesses, and told me he was shamed."

  "I-I feel I should do the same," Caladnei said with an unsteady laugh, ducking her head and looking up at him again.

  Elminster recoiled. "What? And rob thyself of the chance to get in some really good rudenesses to me, first?"

  The sorceress burst into startled laughter and clung to the old man's robes for support. He hugged her fondly then-the eyes of the watching Purple Dragons narrowed-reached down to his belt, fishing around in a pouch there for something.

  Cormyrean hands clapped dagger-hilts, tightened, and . . . fell away unneeded, as Elminster's hand reappeared holding a length of fine chain. He held it out where the Mage Royal could see it, waited for her to notice it, and said gruffly, "Yours, lass. An anklet. Nothing valuable, but-wear it. Now and always. If ye feel the need, and say the word 'amulamystra' while wearing it, I will come."

  Wondering, Caladnei closed her hand around the delicate chain. The Old Mage bent his head and bestowed a fatherly kiss on the top of hers.

  Then her arms were empty and she was staggering forward off-balance across a turret room that held no Elminster of Shad-owdale. Caladnei looked around wildly and beheld only the four guards, staring at her.

  She gave them a rueful half-smile like a child caught doing something naughty, and the guards drew themselves to attention and saluted. The eldest said politely, "Lady Mage, we've been requested to inform you that the Lady Laspeera, the High-knight Rhauligan, and a captive await you in the Dr
agonwing Chamber."

  Caladnei drew herself up, suddenly every inch the brisk Mage Royal they knew so well, and snapped, "I thank you." She smiled like a young lass again, bent over and drew off her right boot, and clasped the chain around her ankle.

  "Looks good," a guard said gruffly-then turned as swift as any whiplash to face away from her, at stiff attention. His fellows sprang to join him in the maneuver, so when Caladnei straightened, she'd have no idea which one of them had spoken.

  She grinned at all four armored backs, parted two of them with firm hands, and murmured, "Old lechers," as she strode between them and marched off down the hall.

  The guards saluted her in silent unison and went back to guarding the open door.

  * * * * *

  Roablar of Lantan sat back and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses pinched-then rubbing the eyes behind them for good measure.

  The everpresent hovering monk bent over the merchant. "Is there anything you're not finding, goodsir?"

  "Ah," Thaerabho murmured, to the Keeper of that particular reading-room in Candlekeep. "It begins. Tis time for an unmasking."

  Silent in his soft slippers, he started to move purposefully toward the seated Lantanna.

  "You can see what I'm seeking," the disguised Lady Noumea Cardellith told her escort.

  The tall, pockmarked monk ran a hand through his unruly, strawlike hair, bent closer, and replied in a low voice, "All you can about the Red Wizards of Thay, in particular recent writings. If you've come to Candlekeep in search of their spells, I fear you've wasted your journey. We keep those secure for very good reasons."

  Without regarding them, Noumea was well aware that several monks were silently drawing in around her. She smiled thinly.

  "No, Esmer. What would a merchant of Lantan want with spells? I live and die by trade, and 'tis this new policy of establishing Thayan trade enclaves and who in the Thayan hierarchy is behind it that I seek to learn all about."