by Ed Greenwood
"Why don't you apprentice yourself to him or some other mage?" Narnra asked. "Why kill and deceive?"
"Trust someone else as my master? Leave myself so vulnerable? That road is the way of the fool," the Thayan told her, his voice a little stronger.
"Trust," Narnra told him furiously, leaning forward to drive her words home with slow, soft emphasis, "is a strength."
"You are a fool," he replied.
"And you're a cruel idiot," she replied scornfully. "Are all Red Wizards of Thay like you? Preening villains?"
Starangh shook his head. "Just kill me and have done taunting."
"Why? Do words of sense truly hurt you more than wounding magic?"
"Kill me," he pleaded, furious and ashamed.
"No," Narnra snapped, turning away. "My father shall have his chance to twist and shape you, as he does to so many. Why should you escape my fate?"
* * * * *
The flash and flare of magic in their faces sent Vangerdahast staggering back into Myrmeen even before the great silver-blue, scaled bulk burst into being, shattering the low passage ceiling with a roar of mingled exultation and pain then bursting forth skywards, flooding the sanctum with sunlight.
With a surge of wings and claws, the song dragon turned and pounced on the War Wizard Telarantra, rending her limb from limb before she could even shriek-to turn and hand the dripping result to Vangerdahast.
"Here's your traitor," she said, in a soft and vast echo of her human voice.
Back on his feet, Vangerdahast stood facing her calmly, as Myrmeen scrambled to her feet to defend him with her blade.
However, the song dragon did not strike. "Why," she asked the former Royal Magician, "did you spare me?"
"Lady," Vangerdahast replied gruffly, "you fought for your cause as I fight for mine. You've long dwelt among folk of Cormyr and must enjoy our company somewise to have persisted so long in doing so. I bear you no malice-and hope to turn you to support my plans."
"So I might become one of your willing defenders," she replied, a touch of bitterness in that great voice. "Exhibiting the grand destiny of… a useful tool."
Vangerdahast sighed. "Of course you'll see dragon-binding as evil. In truth, I'd avoid it if I could find a better way-but for me, all other things fall before my devotion to Cormyr."
"What has Cormyr done for you to deserve this devotion?"
The old wizard sighed. "Lady, defending this fair realm is what I do. There is no higher calling, no greater task, no brighter boon to all Faerun than this."
The great dragon head shook in resignation, those burning turquoise eyes never leaving those of Vangerdahast-yet searing also into Myrmeen's wary gaze. "What will you do now, Vangerdahast, if I fly away, gather a dozen dragons, and return to destroy you-and your precious sanctum-utterly?"
The old wizard shrugged. "Try me."
"Are you not afraid?"
"No," the retired Mage Royal replied. "I'm growing too old to fear for this wrinkled old hide."
"Do you not fear for your precious realm?"
Vangerdahast raised both of his empty hands in expressionless silence-and spell-links shone forth in the air like silver spider-webs, spanning emptiness between the rings on his fingers and the winking radiances of risen spells and a dozen revealed wands. They formed a vast and glowing ring around Joysil and pulsed powerfully enough that she did not-could not-doubt that they could destroy her in an instant.
The song dragon regarded them . . . and shivered. "Will you use these? If I try to fly away now?"
Vangerdahast shook his head. "Nay. Sworn to defend Cormyr I am, but in her defense I'll stand and fight those who come against her and me. I'll not lash out and become a tyrant over those who may menace her or rival me. I will never make Cormyr into the likes of Thay, or Zhentil Keep, or Mulmaster, just to keep its name on maps."
He started to pace, as if forgetting how close and powerful she was, and added, "I've far more to worry over than dragons-I've the usual treachery among nobles, traitors among the War Wizards, and more than one eager Red Wizard all seeking the downfall of the Forest Kingdom. Any of them is apt to do more harm to Cormyr just now than dragonkind of any sort."
He stopped and turned to face Joysil again. "I don't intend to bind any unwilling dragon-and now I must take steps to link the spells you so fear to my own life, so that if I'm slain they'll destroy themselves and leave no mage empowered to bind you or your ilk."
The dragon's turquoise eyes studied him thoughtfully. Joysil sprang into the air, swooped low and away behind some trees, and flew away, her wingbeats fast and furious.
Myrmeen and Vangerdahast stood in the sunlight watching her distant form dwindle, until the old wizard sighed, shook his head, and peered about to see if there still was a passage he could traverse ahead of him. At his shoulder, Myrmeen said softly, "You're either the greatest fool I've ever met-or the greatest man."
Vangerdahast looked at her. "The former, I fear-yet I'll cling to some pride in not trying to be the greatest villain, when the power to be so has come into my hands, time and time again. 'Tis why I admire Elminster, my sometime teacher, even though he infuriates me more often than not. Temptation snatches at him and finds him wanting, over and over."
Myrmeen nodded. "I've met Elminster . . . long enough to come to know him better than some high ladies of Cormyr know their husbands. A very great rogue. We parted with swords drawn on each other-respectful, but wary."
Vangerdahast lifted one bristling eyebrow. "That," he told her, "is a tale I must hear in full someday."
He spun around to stride briskly down another passage back to his spellchambers. "But not now. Now I must do as I promised Joysil and bind my spells to my life."
"How swiftly can that be done, and at what risk to you?"
The retired Mage Royal shrugged. "In the space of a grand fool's speech akin to the one I just uttered. The risk is no more than the one you both apprehend: Slaying me ends this danger to dragonkind."
"What do you expect the dragons and the other foes you mentioned to do now?"
"Come here with all speed and slay us," Vangerdahast replied gruffly, throwing wide the door to reveal a glimmer of lantern-light and walls cloaked in a latticework of full scroll-shelves. "So I must get you safely gone ere I must go down fighting. 'Twill be interesting to see who gets here first."
"My lord, I'll not leave you," Myrmeen said, lifting her sword.
Vangey chuckled. "Lass, I can have you deep in dreamslumber and halfway across Faerun before you can blink."
"But you won't," Myrmeen replied, diving forward to lie across a desk of spell-scrolls challengingly, clasping the lit lantern to her breast. "I've but to smash this, and let the flaming oil spill . . ."
Vangerdahast sighed. "All right, lass-what do you want?"
"To stand with you and die fighting at your side. I, too, am sworn to defend Cormyr."
"Right then, so you shall. Now put that damned lamp aside- carefully!-and get your distracting self up and off my writings so I can fulfill my promise!"
The binding took a long time, and Vangerdahast was trembling with weariness when he finished. They exchanged glances, and Myrmeen put a steadying hand on the mage's shoulder. "And now?"
The former Royal Magician shrugged. "And now we wait for someone to attack. My spells are ready, each set to unleash when certain conditions are met. We wait to die, I suppose."
Myrmeen gave him a dark-eyed look then set down her sword. "Well, then, I'm going to dare to bed the greatest man Cormyr has ever known," she said firmly, grasping at the front of his robe.
"I'm-Lady, I'm centuries too old for you," Vangerdahast protested, "and ugly, besides. I-"
Her lips found his.
When he could speak again, it was to cough, shake his head, and whisper, "Lass? Would you?"
* * * * *
The fang dragon hissed in rage and fear when no less than a dozen wyrms suddenly alighted on the edge of the great rock-cauldron mountaintop that wa
s its lair-but the song dragon that approached from among them did so murmuring words of polite supplication in a soft thunder that held no malice.
In truth, the fang dragon was gigantic among its kind and bore the scars of many battles won, including a vast, rainbow-hued swath of scales on one flank where a great old wound had healed imperfectly. Had the song dragon been alone, it would have pounced and torn apart the overbold intruder very swiftly.
"I need you," Joysil said gently. It had been a very long time since Aeglyl Dreadclaw had heard such a sentiment. He laid aside his wild schemes of escape and revenge in an instant to listen . . . and when she was done speaking and laid bare the bald truth of her words with a spell that Aeglyl had last seen cast in his youth an age ago, the great fang dragon drew itself up and hissed, "Lead me, and I shall fight wing to wing with you. This peril must be swept away for all our sakes."
The song dragon turned, flapped her wings, and all of the wyrms took wing, climbing and drawing apart to let her and the newly recruited Dreadclaw soar into their midst.
"We must hasten," Joysil called and hurled herself through the air toward Cormyr-with a dozen dragons in her wake, a scaled host going to war.
Twenty-One
NO SWORD SHARPER THAN HER TONGUE
The din of battle can be deafening, even to dying ears-but give me twenty such deafenings over one bitter dispute with my wife.
Sarseth Thald, Merchant of Amn, Musings On Being A Merchant Prince Year of the Turret
"B'gads, Surth! How much longer must we sit here in the dark starving, eh?" Aumun Bezrar wiped his sweating brow with one plump and hairy forearm, and waved at the window with his knife. "The rest of Marsember grows richer by the passing hour, while here we sit!"
The tall, lean figure leaning on the windowframe straightened and said icily, "We're not starving, Bezrar. You've sliced open a good dozen cheeses since I started keeping count-and emptied an entire hand-keg of Sembian jack, too! I chose this warehouse for two good reasons and the plentiful supply of food was one of them. Mind you don't 'starve' too much or you won't fit through the door when the time comes to go!"
"When will that be? Stop me vitals, Surth, they can't care enough to spell-hunt us forever-just as I can't eat cheese forever!"
"I know," Surth said darkly. "The other reason I chose this place, dolt, is that crate you're sitting on. Tis full of Selgauntan glowstones, and their enchantments-duly registered and duty-paid-should hide us from any seeking spell that's not cast from right inside this building. I hope."
"Odd's fish, Surth-don't you know? For sure? We could be cowering here for nothing?"
"Stop waving that fish-gutter of yours and sputtering at me, Master Importer Aumun Bezrar, and-"
Malakar Surth fell silent in mid-sarcasm and threw up a hand for silence. With a warning hiss, he slapped a finger to his lips and took two swift steps toward his fat, sweating business-partner to drive home the urgency of his warning. With his other hand, he pointed repeatedly at the floorboards below. Someone had entered the vast, cavernous ground floor of their warehouse.
"You're sure this place is safe?" a cultured male voice asked doubtfully, bringing a whiff of strong musk with it. Surth bared his teeth in a silent sneer. A noble, for all the coins in Marsember.
"As safe as anywhere in this rotting fishgrave of a city," another man replied in amused tones. "The rogues who own this cargo-barn haven't been seen for some days-and small wonder, with the Watch looking everywhere for them!"
"All the better reason to be wary," the perfumed noble said angrily. "Who's to say there isn't a purple-noses patrol in here now or heading here for a regular peer-about?"
A sudden glow flared below, shining up through gaps in the floorboards to show Bezrar and Surth each other's tense faces.
"Behold," the amused noble said, "my glowstone. We can take a good look about as we talk and be gone before anyone's the wiser.
If the Watch does burst in, saw you the 'storage for reasonable coin' sign outside? Well, we're two empty-handed nobles inspecting the place to see if it's dry enough to store the next incoming shipment of the wardrobes of Eastern silk our wives have gone mad for, hmm?"
"All right," the perfumed noble said grudgingly. "Shine it over there-I thought I saw something moving."
"You did."
"Tymora's sweet tea-!"
"A big one, yes. No, let it go. A rat that big is the main nightfeast for some dockers' families in this city."
"Thandro, you're sick!"
"So my mistresses often say-but they never refuse my gifts nor company, I've noticed. Enough of this. Satisfied?"
"I suppose. Thundaerlyn Hall, yes, and I've found five minor baubles my kin won't miss-a comb that slays lice, the head of a walking-stick that knows north, that sort of thing."
"Good. How many blades can you muster?"
"Seven at least, three trained to the blade, and two experienced hireswords. When and where?"
"Under the broken lantern on Thelvarspike Lane-you know it?-by five-toll at the latest. We have to be in our places well before First Candlelight, when the royals are supposed to arrive."
"They'll bring dozens of War Wizards and Purple Dragons, Thandro!"
"Of course. We of the Rightful Conspiracy shall be ready for them. Act like you're out for a night of scouring the taverns, get to that lantern-post, and all will be well. We've blades and wizards enough to take care of any army the Obarskyrs bring-and yes, we expect to have to deal with the Mage Royal and her bully-spells, too."
"I don't like it."
"Your sort never do, Sauvrurn. If it wasn't for men like me, you'd be muttering darkly about Obarskyr misrule from now until doddering to your grave seventy summers hence-doing nothing all that time but fuming. You want a new Cormyr? Well, we'll give it to you and the 'true power' you crave so loudly. You can use it to order Alusair-or whatever's left of her-brought bound to your bed by morning and stop boring our ears with that oft-repeated demand, too. Who knows? You might even get to father the next King of all Cormyr, you lucky dog!"
"My family beast," the perfumed noble replied icily, "is the winged lion-not some mongrel hound."
"Well, my Winged Lion," Thandro replied, his voice fading as he moved toward the door, "just you be there under the Lightless Lamp before five-toll, and you'll get your chance to leave the Steel Regent gasping. If you don't have to slice her up like sausage-meat in the fray, that is."
"She'll be no match for me in swordplay, so keep your men well back. . . ."
Sauvrurn's voice faded entirely, and the two men in the loft heard the door-bar crash back into place.
"B'gads, Surth!" Bezrar hissed, sweat streaming down his face like a waterfall. "What have we gotten ourselves into?"
"Nothing" Marsember's wealthiest dealer in scents, wines, cordials, and drugs snarled, "if you shut your loose jaws for once and help me get the roof-trap open. We have to stay quiet, and move quick-and get as far away as the walls of Marsember let us from all the bloodshed that's going to erupt ere dusk! Whatever happens in Thundaerlyn Hall, this city is going to be scoured out and turned upside down by every War Wizard the realm can muster by highsun tomorrow!"
* * * * *
Florin Falconhand stood with his fish dripping forgotten in one hand and his blade ready in the other, warily watching the sprawled Red Wizard. Helpless at his feet, Starangh stared back. If glares alone could slay, the ranger would have been done for-but as it was, the real battle was taking place a pace or two beyond them both.
Narnra Shalace stood facing her father, her anger boiling over. "You're no better than this grasping, evil Thayan!" she snapped. "You do just as you please and have done for years! Years of meddling in the lives of many, more for your own satisfaction and amusement than anything else!"
Elminster shook his head. "I've done most of my deeds and misdeeds in the service of Mystra, the most powerful goddess of all," he replied quietly. "For good or ill, I've been a finger or two of her hand and acted as she co
mmanded me."
Narnra waved away his words with a sneer of disgust. "You could've refused! You could've renounced it all-if you hadn't wanted all that power!"
El shrugged. "Want it or not, I have it-why should I not use it? Who better than myself can I trust to use it well?"
"It's not about power and control," Narnra snarled furiously, "it's about doing the right thing."
"Ah, and what is that 'right thing'?"
Narnra drew herself up scornfully. "If you can't tell-"
Elminster said a single cold word that echoed across the meadow like a thunderclap, freezing everyone. Narnra's face went bone-white and terror flamed in her eyes as she found herself unable to move or speak.
Her father took a step forward and suddenly seemed a shade less old and ridiculous. Contempt flared in his blue-gray eyes as he met her gaze and said softly, "My daughter-just one more young hothead with all the answers. The 'right thing' is whatever ye think it is … but unfortunately ye've seen so little of the world and are capable of understanding so little beyond what's right at the end of thy nose for thine eyes to fall upon easily that ye only see one 'right thing.' "
He walked right up to that nose and began to circle her, keeping close, hands clasped behind his back, voice soft but fierce. "Listen to me, lass: I'm guilty of whimsy and vengefulness and standing in judgment and bad temper, willful meddling, and even loss of my wits, often-but before I try to shape the world around me I also try to do something ye've not yet learned to do: I try to look at things from all sides, to understand disagreements and rivalries through the eyes of all involved . . . more than that, to look ahead to the probable consequences of what I might do."
He stopped in front of her and said more gently, "Sometimes I may appear heartless to ye, young Shining Eyes with thy heart ruling ye-but I think about what I do, before, during, and after, and turn right around to try to right my mistakes instead of striding on and dismissing yesterday's misdeeds as gone and past, beyond recalling. If ye don't grow enough to do that, ye are no better than this grasp-all, evil Thayan."