Elminster in Hell

Torgent's gauntleted hand. 'Where's Piergeiron, this hour?'

Torgent looked troubled, even as he smiled and handed Asper to her feet. 'Lady,' he said automatically, bowing. His face fell grim again. 'The lord is no doubt in the Inner Audience Chamber, under heavy guard. I'm glad you've come. He's not himself, these last few days.' The other guards murmured agreement. They wrestled the gate down again. 'Keeps his armor on day and night, with the visor down. He's always been one to use words sparingly, but he says even less lately. Just 'yes' and 'no¹ and 'next' and 'enough.' I'd take it kindly if you'd let us know what's amiss.'

Mirt's frown was black.

With a little shiver, Asper saw him in memory-once again in the saddle in his mercenary days, hearing of the treachery of a Tethyrian noble and vowing to repay it.

The blade in Mirt's hand leaped a little. Seeing it move, one of the younger guards reached for his own sword out of habit.

'I'll tell you what I can, when I can,' Mirt said, striding on. 'My thanks, Tor. I know the way.' And he was gone, boots flapping. Asper danced at his elbow on lighter feet.

:

Torgent turned back to the gate, a fierce smile on his face. 'Now, by my sword, we'll see something! I'd see the back of all this mystery, lads-and that man'll do it where others would strike stone and fall back. There'll be some wild times ahead, or I miss my guess!' He sat down again whistling a jaunty old marching song.

The younger guards exchanged glances, shrugged, and grinned. More than one of them stole a look the way Mirt and Asper had gone, Not one remarked on Asper's beauty. Torgent looked just a mite stirred up for that.

Magic, elminster. When do we get to the magic?

Soon, devil, soon.

That refrain has come so many times, it's almost a chant.

That it is, Nergal. Would ye like the entire ballad?

[disgust] get on with showing me remembrances, wizard. I'll not sit still for your singing.

[amusement, bright images flashing]

They took a secret passage, and another, and avoided most guards and almost all servants. Mirt was known, and his ready passwords and display of a signet ring of Waterdeep carried them swiftly to the doors of the Inner Audience Chamber.

The guards held ready blades and moved them aside not a finger's width while their captain went in to announce them. He was a long time coming out again. When he did, his voice was cold.

'The Lord Piergeiron will see you both. Reluctantly. Lay down your blades and follow.'

Mirt shrugged and dropped his blade. He had others, to spare, about him. Asper handed hers hilt-first to the nearest guard.

'Cheery greeting, indeed,' Mirt said, matching the guard captain's cold stare with the steel of his own anger.

Were he not a lord of Waterdeep, he'd have little way of even reaching the First Lord. These guards did not known his true standing.

Were they not lords, his friends would not now be dead-nor would warning Piergeiron be necessary.

Mirt's face was as dark as his mood as he stalked into the gloom of the Inner Audience Chamber. Ahead, Piergeiron sat in full armor under a single lamp.

''Dismissed,' Mirt snapped at the guard captain.

The guard ignored him. Who did this fat moneylender think himself to be, anyway? Lord of all lords in Waterdeep?

Piergeiron's silent gesture reinforced Mirt's order.

Mirt waved to Asper with one finger to keep her eye on Piergeiron. No sooner had the guard closed the door than die Old Wolf spun about, a dagger appearing from somewhere about his person to flash through the air» and transfix the bell-rope not four inches from the First Lord's hand.

Asper gasped.

Mirt stomped forward, leaped on Piergeiron, jammed iron fingers into the visor-swivel, and jerked it upward as they crashed together to the floor.

'I thought not,' he snarled, staring into shocked brown eyes within. 'Who are you, and what have you done with Piergeiron?' Without waiting for a reply or shifting his gaze, he snapped, 'Take that wrist, lass, and hold it up over his head! 'Ware daggers!'

The struggles beneath him were feeble. In another instant he had the helm unbuckled. He tore it off with more haste than gentleness-to reveal the frightened face of a lass younger than Asper!

'Now just who might-Aleena?' Mirt growled, hand bringing yet another dagger up to the bare throat of the girl in armor.

'Y-yes.' Aleena swallowed, face marble-white, jaw I trembling. She lifted her chin and looked angrily at him.

“Is-did you try to slay my father?' When she spoke, her voice had the full, deep boom of a large man of middle years; Piengeiron, defender of Waterdeep. It sounded odd indeed, coming from such delicate lips.

Mirt frowned and rolled off her, waving Asper back. -Nay, of course not,' he growled. 'What befell? Come girl, quickly! Tell! Lords of Waterdeep have died this night! What happened to your father, and why are you wearing his armor? Piergeiron would never agree to using you as bait to trap a blade that missed him once!'

Aleena nodded, sadly. 'Father's in no condition to agree to, or forbid, anything. He lies in Blackstaff Tower, deep asleep. Someone almost slew him, three nights ago.'

Mirt bristled. 'And we were not told? How is he?'

Aleena shrugged. Her eyes were moist. 'He lives. Laeral poured a good seven healing potions down him. He'd-been run through, more than once. He-oh, gods weep, Mirt!' She clung to him and burst into tears. Mirt patted her awkwardly, turning to Asper with an appeal in his eyes.

Asper fetched the nearest decanter and poured out a glass of whatever it was.

Mirt thanked her with a glance and held it to Aleena's lips. She shook her head violently through her tears. 'Too much already,' she said. Mirt shnigged and drained the glass himself.

'I've been so scared.¹' Aleena sobbed. 'Sitting here, waiting for the killers to come again… I can't even touch this sword! It's father's holy blade, even if I knew how to fence as the warriors do!'

Asper gently shouldered Mirt aside and knelt to put her arms around Aleena. The grand plate armor was cold and hard as she embraced it.

Aleena blinked at her with a watery smile. 'M-my pardon, Lady, she said desolately, 'I-it is not right to weep before strangers. I am Aleena, daughter to Piergeiron. Might I know your name?'

Asper smiled. 'I am Asper. Mirt is my man. We came here to warn your father, I fear: two lords of Watercleep, at least, have been slain tonight. The Lady Tamaeril Bladesemmer is dead; she managed a sending to my lord, and we know that one man, masked and able to get somehow within her wards, slew her. Earlier, the wizard Resengar was killed in his own parlor. Do you know of others?'

Aleena shook her head. 'I do not even know the full count of who is a lord and who is not. Laeral did tell me that Mirt was, ere she sent me here.'

Mirt stared, the decanter already half-empty in his hand. 'Laeral sent you? What foolisliness is this?'

Aleena lifted her chin again. 'Lord,' she said softly,' 'tis I my duty to Waterdeep, as your service is yours. The palace throne could not be seen to be empty, else this man or men, and their backers, would know they'd succeeded-and what might befall the City of Splendors then? An army, attacking? Fleets? All slaughter that we might prevent!'

'Men, you say,' Mirt said, frowning, ignoring her other words. 'How many attacked your sire?'

Aleena shrugged. 'None here know. He used a teleport ring Khelben gave him long ago, to come to us in