And when at last Prince Rarvarrick came to the Dread Door and struck mightily with his fist upon it, setting up a great storm of boomings and crashings, a tiny door within the door did open, and out from it thrust a head with no body, that floated in the air where most severed heads would have fallen, and spake unto him: “Thou art too late by a night, puissant prince. For, behold: the foe you seek hath flown. I am bid to say unto you: ‘Trouble Travels North.’ Make of this what you will, for being but a lonely head with no body, all that befalls is as one to me.”
Thaele Summermore
The Roisterings of Bold Prince Rarvarrick published in the Year of the Grimoire
L et the favor of the Morninglord touch us all,” the patriarch of the temple intoned with dignity. Then Charisbonde sat back in the tallest and most ornate of the chairs in the rose-hued alcove, and asked less formally, “Now what occasions such haste, you two?”
“News of adventurers, soon to arrive in Eveningstar,” Claerend began.
“From Maglor, to us, just now,” Hamdorn put in.
Charisbonde glanced at the man who sat beside him. Myrkyr, Bright Banner of the temple, returned that look, then leaned forward in his chair to ask, “The Swords of Eveningstar?”
“Yes!” Claerend sounded relieved, rather than startled, that the two priests who led the House of the Morning knew of the adventurers already. “The apothecary said they were… less than trustworthy. That the king had chartered them to be rid of them, and sent them here to scour out the Haunted Halls.”
“And that all in Eveningstar had best beware thefts and worse, once they were here,” Hamdorn added.
Charisbonde and Myrkyr exchanged looks and nodded.
“Brothers,” Patriarch Charisbonde told them gently, “I would ask you not to place any credence in words said by the apothecary. He serves Zhentil Keep, and whispers at their will.”
Hamdorn and Claerend blinked at him, clearly astonished.
“Then-” Claerend cleared his throat, visibly steeling himself to dare to say what he asked next. “Then why haven’t we denounced him long since? So dark is that brotherhood that he’d be hounded out and away from our midst, and so much the better. We can physic all Evenor at half the prices Maglor charges-without worry that this ointment or that pain-quaff might be poisoned, to do dirty Zhent dark-work.”
“We have at least reported his allegiance to the Crown?” Hamdorn looked anxious. The patriarch nodded.
Myrkyr rubbed his mustache in the back and forth manner that meant he was choosing his words carefully. “We await the right time,” he told Claerend. “Violence always births new things, but the Morninglord is best pleased with splendid new beginnings.”
Patriarch Charisbonde Trueservant stirred in his chair. “Of one thing I can promise you,” he said, rising to signify that this interruption of his midmorning prayers was at an end. “By our hands or others, Maglor will be dealt with very soon.”
“ ’Twould be best,” Islif said firmly, “if you two bosom chortling holy men did not ride together this day, dispensing your usual jests and airy comments. Not until we know our new friends rather better.”
“Agreed, Liff,” Semoor said quickly. “Clumsum here just wants a swift word with me.”
“And I’d prefer you listen in, too,” Doust told Islif, in a low murmur. “This concerns us all, and prudence, and-”
“Just say whatever you came back here to say,” Islif said curtly, in a voice as low as his.
“Well, then: I think we two should pray to our respective gods for guidance.”
“Regarding?” Islif’s voice was cool. “You’re not going to try to decide where the Swords go and what we do in accordance with what you claim the gods want, are you?”
“No, no! Guidance concerning the real aims and natures of our… new four.”
Islif and Semoor nodded in unison, even before Doust added, “For the safety of all our hides!”
“Eveningstar has one of the foremost temples of Lathander in all the realm,” Semoor said slowly. “I would have presented myself there for prayer and advice anyhail. Some say the House of the Morning is too sleepy a backwater, no longer a-kindle with the ‘true fire’ of Lathander-whatever that is-but worship there is led by Charisbonde Trueservant, and Holy Lathander hasn’t allowed many of the Anointed to take so bold a consecration name.”
Islif looked grave. “And how will you seek his advice without informing him you have your suspicions about our new members? Bearing in mind that even if those doubts are baseless, letting a high priest hear of them-if he takes note at all of anything said by a mere novice from the dust of Espar, wearing a homemade holy symbol-may make them real? If he and his flock treat any of us with suspicion, damage is done. Based on nothing, and nigh impossible to wash away. Be very careful.”
Semoor nodded. “Yet you dispute not our underlying concern?”
“No,” Islif murmured, giving both priestlings long and level looks. “No, I don’t.”
“So, lass? Have you come to scold me for not taking to my bed last night? Or to tell me someone’s prepared me a meal? A royal pet’s gone lame? Or is it something important?”
“No, Lord Vangerdahast.” Laspeera gave the royal magician a rather pert look. “Merely reporting in, as you ordered me to.”
Then she brought her hand out from behind her back. There was a handwheel of onion-and-mushroom cheese in it.
“Stolen from the kitchens for you. To keep you from falling flat on your face with hunger until you get yourself down to the Unicorn Chamber-where Samdanthra will shortly be serving you a meal you will eat, if I have to stand over you with a bullwhip.”
Vangerdahast gave his favorite aide a bristle-browed look. “Stealing food? Bullwhips? Have you been talking to Queen Filfaeril again?”
“No, Lord. What befalls behind closed palace doors is none of my affair,” came the oh-so-innocent reply, delivered by a Laspeera who was carefully studying the ornately molded plaster ceiling overhead.
“Ah, but it is, lass. It is. As you well know.” Vangerdahast sniffed the cheese, bit into it cautiously-then started to devour it like a starving lion. “So,” he managed to say between bites, “report!”
Laspeera inclined her head politely. “I have the pleasure to inform you that the Hammerfall affair seems to be moving to a satisfactory conclusion. The Goldsword situation remains very much as before, but we’re working on a stablemaster right now, hoping he’ll confess. You were right about Ruirondro; Vaelra and Straekus are working on some suitably horrifying dream-visions right now, to scare him appropriately. We thought you’d prefer that to any trial.”
“You thought correctly,” Vangerdahast grunted. “Blood of the Dragon, I busy myself for half a day watching just one of the usual traitors, and you get up to all this! You know I prefer to have a hand in everything.”
“Yes, and we worry about you losing fingers, thereby.”
“Ha ha. The trouble with clever-tongued lasses is that they too seldom resist being either clever or wagging their tongues about it. Anything else you’ve been up to?”
“Yes, Lord Vangerdahast. You set Braelrur and Daunatha to watching the Swords of Eveningstar. Well, as of last night there are four new Swords, duly written in on the charter and riding with the king’s chosen heroes.”
“ Dragon! Who? Any sign of this being prepared beforehand?”
“None at all, as far as the Esparran are concerned. However, we worry that any or even all of the four may be members of, or agents for, various noble cabals, the Zhentarim, or Sembian sneak-coins.”
“ ‘Sneak-coins’? Lass, I’ve chided you before about using cant. What are ‘sneak-coins’?”
“Since Royal Undertreasurer Aliss Thondren invented the term-some two centuries ago, Lord-sneak-coins are Sembian cabals or even formal syndicates who covertly try to gain control of businesses in Cormyr, and all too often attempt to secure influence in the realm by bribery, blackmail, and otherwise influencing officials. Or nobles.”
“Huh,” Vangey grunted, inspecting his fingers and licking the last of the cheese from them, “as if a Sembian would behave any differently. We called those cabals ‘cabals’ in my day.”
He got up from the chair he’d been slumped in. “I agree we should know more about them. Get Belthonder and Omgryn onto this; their current work can wait.” He strode to the door. “The Unicorn Chamber, you said?”
“Yes, Lord Vangerdahast.” Laspeera bowed, but Vangey spun around.
“Stop that,” he snapped irritably. “You’ll have me thinking I’m one of those popinjay nobles. Who are these four arrow-swift opportunists?”
“Lord, all youthful humans, two men and two women. The men are Agannor Wildsilver and Bey Freemantle,
