Obarskyrs from it. He even cited as proof of this the superb job our rightful betters have done guiding the realm thus far!'
Elminster snorted. 'Who is this puppy?'
'The one with his nose buried in Tharmoraera's bosom,' another man in the circle said in dry tones, pointing. 'You'll notice he finds lowborn flesh quite suitable for his purposes.'
'Well, that's the definition of a noble, isn't it?' someone else grunted then added hastily, 'Ah, no offense meant, lord.'
Elminster chuckled. 'None taken. Living by wits and the sword in back streets across Faerun strips away any arrogance of birth right swiftly … or such has been my experience, anyway.' He looked back at the tall man-the minor Red Wizard Thauvas Zlorn, he was sure, in quite a good magical disguise-and asked, 'So why now? This 'Rightful Conspiracy,' I mean? There've been exiles and others who hated the Obarskyrs for centuries and plenty of Sem-bians happy to toss coin to all malcontents in Cormyr, in hopes of gaining something in return, but: Westgate? I've met others here, from farther afield, too. Why now?'
The man calling himself Khornadar smiled coldly and bent forward, pitching his voice low. So did the others, and Elminster found the circle of plotters rejoined, with himself part of it.
'Well, Nameless,' the disguised Red Wizard purred, 'folk with wits are backing us. This revel's a master- stroke, making fools and rich alike excited to be part of something secretive and important and bringing them together to shield those really behind it. We get to know each other by sight and forge a few little friendships on the side, so everyone feels they benefit . . . thus far, all good. Dangerous, yes, but all treason's dangerous, no Obarskyr finds welcome here in Marsember, and we outlanders have easy sailing and other reasons to be here.'
Head nodded around the circle. 'A boy too young to walk or talk wears Cormyr's crown while a rutting bitch of a Regent settles scores in his name, many loyal nobles are angry or afraid, shadow-sorcerers blast things at will up in the Stonelands-Purple Dragons included-while the whole realm tries to rebuild and feed itself. Behold: weakness. The time's right, or better than it's ever been in my lifetime.'
Heads nodded around the circle, and Khornadar went on. 'Now look around you. One more decadent revel in rotting Marsember, yes, but see who's here: the usual seacaptains, pleasure-lasses, and throne-hating Marsembans, but also exiled nobles like yourself; a few sons of nobility still welcome in the realm who're disgusted at what the Obarskyrs have done and allowed; ambitious merchants; and outlanders like me who see gain in a stronger, fairer Cormyr. Behold both the chance and its willing takers.'
The disguised Red Wizard waved his goblet. It was empty, Elminster noticed.
'So why're we all risking our necks to be here? Exiled nobles want their lands, wealth, and influence back and see a way to reclaim it all. Marsembans burn to snatch back their independence. I've seen a few folk from Arabel here who desire the same. Sem-bians ache to seize lands in eastern Cormyr or desire goods they can make quick coin on. That same reason draws most of the merchants of Suzail who are here this night.'
Khornadar thrust his face still farther forward and lowered his voice to a mutter. 'But what of me? Earlier conspiracies invited hireswords and wizards to work violence for promised rewards, but I've been offered no such clear prize-and therefore fear treachery less from masked and anonymous men who want me to help overthrow the hated Obarskyrs but not live to claim what I've been promised. Why am I here?'
He smiled. 'Well, I see Cormyr as a storehouse of magic-War Wizard magic-that I, who am no threat to anyone right now, can use to become powerful without years of toadying to cruel mages in return for spell-scraps reluctantly tossed my way. This room holds quite a few like me. Our very numbers, plus War Wizards scrambling to seize magic for themselves once the Obarskyrs are dead, and the fear and hatred commoners of Cormyr hold for those same oh-so-benevolent War Wizards-a lot of farmers will put daggers or pitchforks through every wizard they see! -will keep us from forming any collective threat. The wise ones will snatch what magic they can and get out.'
Elminster frowned. 'Were I one of the hidden masters of this Rightful Conspiracy, I wouldn't want any wizard here unless I believed I or my fellow Secret Masters had magic enough to smash them down … or we'll all be dying to trade a baby king for a ruthless wizard, no?'
The disguised Red Wizard nodded. 'Which is why I believe there is a great wizard somewhere behind this, one who intends to make any new king his puppet. He can then rule Cormyr without any of the dangers of reigning-after all, this Caladnei and her bedmate Laspeera very much do so now, strolling along the path old Vangerdahast paved for them. All it costs them is a few spells to keep the Dowager Queen and the Steel Regent in mind-thrall! Why, our hidden mage could even fund a few of the intrepid wayfarers of that Society of Stalwart Adventurers club in Suzail to find him spells and long-lost riches in other lands, too!'
Thay would be your 'great wizard,' young Thauvas, Elminster thought, and Cormyr would then swiftly become a farflung western tharch-and, just as you say, a base for reaching out to other cities and lands. Keeping any hint of this from his face, El nodded, stroked his chin thoughtfully as he frowned, and said, 'Gods, this is why I've never thought about joining any rebellion until now. All this scheming and thinking about what others are thinking hurts my head!'
There were nods and chuckles from the circle of faces around him. Elminster was aware of the close and thoughtful scrutiny the false Khornadar was now giving him. Quickly he called to mind the faces of two Cormaerils he knew-one of them Jhaunadyl, sitting up warm-eyed in her bed after their lovemaking. . . .
The Red Wizard's probe was as fierce as it was sudden, but rather than let it shatter against his mind-shield, Elminster let it slide in and spun a welter of mental images for Thauvas to see, leaving Jhaunadyl's laughter and outreaching arms to the fore.
The wizard stiffened and reared back his head in disgust. Ah, yes, rampant incest among decadent nobles. Another man might have eagerly looked for more memories of even warmer moments, but many Red Wizards regarded women as little more than cattle and intimacy without domination as hardly worth the time spent on dalliance. Young Zlorn was evidently one such.
It takes great strength of will to maintain such a probe, let alone steer the invaded mind to certain thoughts and memories, and the false Khornadar was gone from Elminster's thoughts as swiftly as he'd come, looking pale and tired as he stepped back in the circle. Someone noticed the trembling of his goblet.
'Art well, mage of Westgate?'
'I-yes. Merely tired,' Khornadar replied curtly.
'More wine?'
'Nay, that would be the worst thing. I must sit and listen for a time, letting others do the talking!'
The circle moved confusedly toward a pillar that was apparently encircled by a stone seat, and several of its members took the opportunity to drift away into the throng-where dancing had now broken out in earnest, imperiling several platters of savory tarts being taken around the crowded dance-floor by uncomfortable -looking, weatherbeaten-faced men who were obviously unused to serving food forth.
Elminster ducked under a platter that was well on its way floor-wards-only to see it rescued in his wake by a whooping merchant whose fat quivering chins boasted trembling chinlets of their own-and turned from that impressive sight to find himself face to face with a stunningly beautiful woman in a shimmering gown adorned with gilded badges. Or rather-El dragged his eyes with some difficulty away from an impish smile, swirling dark hair, and darkly knowing eyes-the same badge, repeated over and over in gold thread upon blue-green and clinging shimmer-weave. A seashell crossed with a trident, the arms of a Marsemban house . . . Mistwind, that was it. A very old family, very private, few in number.
Regal Lady Mistwind-for this must be the heiress apparent of the house, it could be no other-gave him an even wider smile, showing just the edges of a fine row of pearly teeth, and asked sweetly, 'You look like a nobleman who's tasted the world, sir. How does our hospitality here, this night, measure up?'
Well, that was clear invitation enough. Elminster gave her a gallant smile, a bow in the elder court style to signal that he was of a long-established house, too (though of course the Cormaerils would have been scorned in such a claim by many 'true' oldblood nobles of the realm), and the words, 'Most beautiful lady, I've but begun to taste what's offered here-yet confess myself impressed thus far by any measure. Perhaps we can speak more of this later?'
Her smile broadened. 'Perhaps.'
She danced toward him a trifle, almost concealing the hard-eyed bodyguards swaying in time to her movements beyond both of her shoulders, and added huskily, 'Your discretion speaks well of you. Lady Amrelle Mistwind gives greeting to-?'
