Elminster Enraged

magical, and give them as much wine as they want to down.”

Gulkanun raised an eyebrow. “While we-?”

“While we search every other nook and cranny of this fortress for intruders.”

Farland coughed. “There are two persons in a cell, right now. They were outside the walls after the south tower fell. Asked for shelter from a dragon, gave their names as Harbrand and Hawkspike, and say they’re Crown- licensed investigators-for-hire. ‘Danger for Hire,’ they call themselves. Never seen two such clumsy law-sly rogues in my life.”

Lucksar smiled. “Take me to them, before we do any of the rest. I should be able to get them to tell us more than they’ve shared with you thus far.”

Gulkanun looked stern. “By enspelling them?”

“That wasn’t my intention, no.”

Arclath turned to the lord constable. “Let’s be about it. I’d welcome some answers-before the next blast.”

Farland winced, nodded, waved for everyone to follow him, and strode off down the passage.

“Well, someone connected to the palace is organizing treason among the nobles- and I’m getting more and more suspicious of Chancellor Crownrood.”

“We’re all suspicious of this courtier and that noble, Rymel. D’you have any evidence? Something that can be waved in his face, not ‘you were seen with Lord Stumblebones, and the next day Stumblebones got drunk and yelled that the Dragon Throne should be hurled down’ stuff. If that were all it took to get traitors into cells, half the court and all the nobles of the realm would be in the dungeons, right now!”

“No,” Rymel said heavily, “I don’t have anything I can openly challenge Crownrood with. Yet. But I think I know how-urrAAAghh!”

“Rymel? Rymel?”

The younger war wizard’s voice was high and shrill with fear. Vranstable had heard a man sob like that once before, after being stabbed. It had been the last sound that man had ever made.

So he got his wand out and ready before he peered cautiously around the corner.

“Rymel?”

Another wand-Rymel’s wand-was thrust into Vranstable’s mouth, choking him.

His own dying sob sounded even worse.

Manshoon shook his head as the second body slumped. “Killing these fools isn’t exactly difficult,” he murmured aloud. He wiped the wand clean on his second victim’s robes and retrieved the other wand from Vranstable’s hand. “Why, I’m doing Cormyr a favor, weeding out such weaklings.”

Elminster smiled. Aye, she knew these two.

“Well met, Drounan Harbrand. Or do you prefer ‘Doombringer’?”

The man she’d greeted gaped at her, then shut his mouth hastily without saying anything.

The drow hadn’t waited for a reply; she had already strolled over to the other man. “And you, Andarphisk Hawkspike-how are you keeping? Or should I call you ‘Fists’?”

The five Crown folk standing behind the dark elf watched the two men in black go pale.

“H-how do you know us?” Harbrand asked, finding his voice. “We’ve never met.”

The drow walked back to him, advancing until they were face to face, and gave him a knowing smile. “Oh? I know all about you, Drounan. Shall I share it with everyone? Even the things you might not want Fists here to learn?”

Harbrand swallowed. Hawkspike had turned to glare at him, but the drow stepped between them, and advanced leisurely on the scarred brawler.

“And you, Fists,” she purred, “are you ready for your partner to hear about … Sulblade?”

Hawkspike fell back, gaping at her. Behind the smiling dark elf, Harbrand was frowning. “What about Sulblade?”

Hawkspike shook his head frantically. “Don’t believe her, Droun! Whatever she says, don’t believe her!”

Oh, El, you are evil, Symrustar purred merrily, inside Elminster’s head.

The commander of High Horn quelled a sigh and gave the visiting wizard of war a sour look.

“No, nothing since Darlhoun’s murder,” he said shortly. “We’re not missing any more Crown mages. If you’d like to search for one, I hear Rorskryn Mreldrake’s still missing. Or have you found him yet?”

It was the war wizard’s turn to sigh. “Lord Sunter,” he said patiently, “I’m aware you hold little love for wizards. Yet there’s no need for anger on your part. We are on the same side, you know. We revere and guard the Dragon Throne, too.”

Erevon Sunter ran a hand down the old sword scar that gave his chin its twisted look, and he nodded abruptly. “I know. I’m just … unsettled. Fed up. Half the nobles in the land talking treason, darker rumors every day, monsters we’ve not seen in sixty summers suddenly everywhere, pouncing on my patrols …”

He looked up, fixed the war wizard with tired eyes, and growled, “Why don’t you tell me the truth, for once? What has brought you here, to stand and ask me your coy questions? Tell me. Something’s happened, that much is plain. Well, what?”

The Crown mage was young. He hesitated, then took a step closer and said in a swift, quiet voice, as if he suspected there were spies hiding in every corner of the commander’s office, despite it being at the top of the main keep tower, “Lord, wild magic has been seen in the skies by night, in many upland corners of the realm, these last few nights. Blue flames, great wild conflagrations in the skies, sometimes with a lone, flying human outlined at their heart.”

Lord Sunter studied him. “And you don’t know what to make of it, you mages, and you’re scared,” he said slowly. “Well, now you have company in that.” He got up, went to his suit of armor on its rack in the corner, lifted the visor of his war helm, and took out a decanter.

“Flagons yonder,” he said briefly. “Sit down, drink up, and we’ll talk. I want to hear the truth about these rumors of Vangerdahast coming back from the grave as some sort of spider thing.” He chuckled as he sat down again, and unstoppered the decanter to pour. “Probably pure fool-tongue wildness, being as they’re talking about that old goat Elminster striding around the royal palace, too, but …”

As he saw the expression on the young wizard’s face, his words faltered. “Oh, tluin. Hrast and tluin and all gods damn.”

“That about covers it, yes,” the war wizard whispered, holding out both flagons to be filled.

Arclath, Rune, Farland, and the two war wizards watched with interest. With a few drawled words Lucksar had terrified the rogues.

Rune could read their faces like two glaringly headlined broadsheets. The two men in black were suddenly facing a beautiful, menacing female drow they’d never seen before, who obviously knew all about them and could tell it to war wizards and a lord constable, in a cell full of chains and manacles in the heart of a Cormyrean prison they were already locked into …

“If-if you promise to swear by Lolth to say nothing at all about our pasts,” Harbrand stammered, “we’ll … we’ll answer any questions about why we’re here.”

“I swear by the deadly kiss of Lolth,” the drow replied. “Talk.”

“I-we-uh-”

“You came here to get inside Irlingstar, didn’t you?” the lord constable asked sternly. They nodded, and he asked, “To do what?”

“Fulfill our commission.”

“We gathered you were hired by someone,” Gulkanun said sarcastically. “To do what?”

“Get someone safely out of Irlingstar, then out of the realm.”

“Into Sembia. Who?”

“Uh, ah …”