was muttering something under his breath: a word she could not catch, but the same one, over and over.
Breathing heavily, hand stealing toward the hilt of her dagger, Narnra crouched, not knowing what to do … or what doom would reach out next to snatch them all.
'We'll depart this place, now,' another of the Red Wizards said harshly, 'with the Mage Royal our captive. Good hunting to us. You, old man, will leave us be and make no move to twist or harm our spells as we go, or she will die.'
Elminster nodded his head. 'I understand and agree,' he said heavily, bowing his head in surrender.
Two of the Red Wizards gave him sneers of triumph as the third began a translocation spell-and silver-blue fire erupted behind them, with force enough to make them all stagger.
'And I,' a crisp new voice said coldly, 'understand my role in this little drama well enough and agree to it.' Whirling blades of shining silver burst from nothingness to bite deep into three maroon-robed backs-and three Red Wizards, transfixed in mid-turn, gasped as those conjured attacks sliced through their torsos like razors. 'Slaying Red Wizards is, after all, my task and my pleasure.'
Spell-bonds melted away from Caladnei of Cormyr, who fell to her hands and knees, coughing weakly. Men were sprinting toward the cellar from all directions, now, and spell-glows flared here and there as War Wizards of Cormyr teleported in to join them.
Their advance was checked by a sudden wall of silver flames. Its source smiled at them through a wild tangle of unruly silver hair, standing proudly barefoot in a torn and tattered black robe. Her feet did not-quite-touch the floor but trod on air just above it.
'Well met, all,' she said serenely, her surging fires forcing folk of Cormyr to fall back. 'I am the Simbul, sometimes called the Witch-Queen of Aglarond.'
She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, smiled, and said to Elminster, 'Sorry, love. I came as swiftly as I could.'
Five
You must not think that every third person you meet in tavern or market is a mighty personage, who talks with the gods nightly and overthrows empires by day. Faerun is in sad decline from the golden days of yore. The count is now down to every seventh person, or even more.
Snarling silver flames whirled severed halves of Red Wizards to the cellar floor and in a matter of moments melted them to greasy smoke and then nothing at all. In the wake of their obliberation the flames sighed, slowed, and sank to nothingness, leaving the wild-haired woman in the tattered black robe standing on high with a smile on her face and her arms folded across her breast.
Narnra kept to her crouch on the cold cellar floor, wondering what fresh rending chaos of magic was going to erupt precisely where and when. Soon, very soon. Gods above, her hair is silver. Truly silver-and alive, moving like a bucket of bait-worms!
'As this is the admirably law-abiding realm of Cormyr,' the Queen of Aglarond observed calmly, the risen power of her magic carrying her voice through every dark and distant chamber of the cellars as her upright form drifted higher into the air, 'my deeds are sure to bring protest from those whose duty includes keeping order here- despite my saving their hides. Again. May we, for once, begin these protests and remonstrations in a civilized manner, please?'
The half-ring of Harpers and War Wizards stared at her in grim, wary confusion, blades and bows and wands raised. In the far reaches of the cellars, behind them, new radiances blossomed as more mages arrived. Stalwarts of Cormyr cast quick glances at each other, stirred, and seemed about to speak . . . but for long, tense moments, as their Mage Royal winced, stretched, and found her feet, weakly waving away Elminster's proffered hand … no protests nor remonstrations were offered.
Then a lone man strolled almost nonchalantly forward from the line of tense Cormyreans, toward the Queen of Aglarond. He was stout and weatherbeaten of appearance, with sun-bronzed skin, shaggy sideburns, and the neatest trace of a beard squaring his chin. His eyes were either butter-hued or brown, and both his wintry brows and the copious white hair curling out at the world from the open front of his florid silk shirt-a fine garment that contrasted oddly with his worn and much-patched leather breeches and mud-spattered boots-told all eyes that he was not young and not likely to soon become any younger. His smile, however, was bright.
'Though I'm but a humble dealer in turret tops and spires, Glarasteer Rhauligan by name,' he said, coming to a stop to peer up at the Simbul, 'perhaps that makes me a more fitting ambassador for the Forest Kingdom than some. In the name of Cormyr, great Queen, I bid you welcome-so long as you work no violent magic against us. A few villainous and uninvited Red Wizards are one thing, but those sworn to uphold the laws of this realm are quite another. In the name of Mystra, if I may be so bold, I'd ask you not to bar passage to our Mage Royal, that she be returned safely to us.' He swept one large-fingered hand out to indicate Caladnei.
The Simbul looked down at him, her silver tresses stirring and curling around her shoulders like the idly lashing tails of a lazy legion of displeased cats, and replied politely, 'Very civil speech, Highknight and Harper Rhauligan, and yet plain. I thank you, and make reply: of course the Mage Royal is free to walk as she wills. Her writ holds in this place, so far as 'tis prudent to follow it.'
'Ah,' Rhauligan said quickly, eyeing Caladnei's slow and limping progress around the Simbul toward the cellar-mouth, 'and what, in your experienced and worldly view, great Chosen and Queen, are the limits prudence places upon such obedience?'
The Witch-Queen half-smiled. 'The commandments of Mystra regarding tyranny of all who work magic, which binds Chosen such as the Lord Elminster and myself; and the expectations of all good and loyal folk of Cormyr that the laws of the realm and the even-handed dispensation of justice shall be afforded to all, equally, and not misused by anyone in authority.'
She lifted a hand. 'I am not saying that your Royal Magician has thus far shown signs of arbitrary rulings, favoritism, or corruption-merely noting that should she do so or act in such a way as to seriously imperil the realm, it will be the duty of all staunch citizens of Cormyr to resist her, rather than to obey.'
'And to disagree with you, most honored queen, would be to imperil the realm?'
The Simbul's smile grew a little. 'Disagree, no; attack me, yes. To lose so many loyal War Wizards and Harpers at one stroke would seriously weaken Cormyr's ability to deal with hostile wizards-from Thay, or Sembian- hired, or hailing from any elsewhere-and with other conspiracies against the Crown better led than this so-called 'Rightful' one.'
'Forgive me, great lady, but this sounds very much like the 'as long as I get my own way, things will be fine' argument of many tyrants,' Rhauligan observed, in the gentlest of voices.
'So it does, sir, yet consider: we Chosen have magic enough to shatter kingdoms and the minds of all folk in them, wreaking cataclysm at will-yet we do not. We possess two things most tyrants do not: Mystra's leash upon us, and learned wisdom as to when to smite and when to bide in peace. Which is why you're yet standing and debating with me now, rather than lying dead here alongside all your fellows. If I was Szass Tarn and you'd dared to query me, even politely, rest assured that you would be.'
At that moment Caladnei reached Rhauligan and put a hand on his shoulder in thanks and support. Behind them both, the line of Harpers and War Wizards took a step or so closer.
In the same casual silence, Elminster strolled closer to the floating queen.
* * * * *
