half-full, but had been sparkling to the rim with the very finest of glowfire a moment ago. “I know old nobles always say something of the sort, but this time, as the gods bear witness, Cormyr truly-”
“Ah, Lord Eldroon,” Prester Yellander said, his interruption as firm as the snap of a lash, “but that’s just where your words fall into misadventure. Cormyr does not ‘truly’ anything. That is our problem, lords: we are so fallen into deceit and deception, with a royal magician insanely unable to tell the truth about the weather, the color of his own robes, and even his own name, let alone affairs of state, leading us daily farther and farther astray!”
“Strong words, Lord Yellander,” Sardyn Wintersun observed. “As Lord Eldroon intimates, is this slide into untruth not a dark doom decried by every generation of nobles and sages-and Obarskyr kings, for that matter? Does the realm truly totter on the brink of savagery, civil war, and a shattered throne? We may dislike the manner and even particular stratagems of the royal magician, but many a crofter of the realm-and merchant both Cormyrean and outlander-likes well the stability his vigilant war wizards, and the king’s well-trained Purple Dragons, have wrought. The realm prospers, the people multiply and are largely content, the-”
“Cowdung being spewed in this chamber near reaches my eyeballs,” Lord Eldroon growled. “Have you a head of solid stone, Wintersun? Canst think at all? Try looking past the smiles of the fool-headed rabble and underlings beyond counting, to hear and see the ire among those of us who matter: we nobles, who own much land, sponsor many mercantile ventures, pay good coin to all of the rabble of the realm who happen to toil for us-and pay a lot of bad coin, too, taxed from our hands into the court vaults.”
He drained his glass in a single great sip, to snarl, “ ’Tis our contentedness or lack of same as should be measured, not the views of some toothless old retired dragonard who’s happy if his downsun tankard comes to his lips every night, and is served with some juicy gossip to chew over with his goodfellows!”
“Speaking of which,” Lord Yellander told his own fingernails, “I’ve heard some interesting news, my lords. I chanced upon the Lady Jalassa Crownsilver yestermorn, and she seemed anxious to show me her new magecloak earrings.”
Lord Wintersun wrinkled his brow. “Your juicy gossip concerns earrings? ”
Prester Yellander sighed and steepled his fingertips, regarding Wintersun pityingly over them. “Your holdings are rural, aren’t they, Sardyn? The term ‘magecloak’ is obviously unfamiliar to you, so my duty is clear. Magecloak items-be they rings, earrings, anklets, or false beards-are works of magic that foil magical scrying. While you wear one, no war wizard can see or hear you from afar. Perhaps not even the oh-so-awesome Vangerdahast.”
“Made-or at least sold-in the cities of Sembia, for far too much,” Eldroon growled.
Lord Yellander shrugged. “The price will fall when someone duplicates their magics and offers them for less than the price of a good keep.” He slid back his sleeve to display a thin gold band. “Rest easy, Wintersun, mine should keep our converse relatively private, so long as you stray not far from me, and say nothing too imprudent.”
Eldroon tapped a large jargoon ring on his fat and hairy left little finger. “I go nowhere without mine, these days.”
“Yet be not led astray, Lord Wintersun, by our little displays,” Prester Yellander said, “for Lady Crownsilver’s baubles were merely her excuse to tarry and converse with me, not the choice gossip that was the weightiest part of her words to me. Nay, Lords, I’d hardly waste your time informing you that this or that high lady now goes about magecloaked.”
“So what juice did she spout?” Eldroon asked, reaching for the decanter of glowfire.
“That the king has just chartered his own adventuring company, the Swords of Eveningstar, and sent them off to Eveningstar for a little training. When they’ve become seasoned killers, he intends to unleash them on nobles he sees as his opponents. So now Azoun Loosecods has his own private little slaying force-and ’tis a blade about to be thrust at us. Beware!”
Wintersun sighed and swirled his glass, to watch the dregs swirl like amber fire as they caught the light. “As if we didn’t have enough to worry about.”
“You’re sure?” Eldroon asked. “This isn’t just wildtalk? Jalassa had this from someone reliable? If so, who? And how?”
“She pieced it together, she told me, from three court scribes, an overly talkative war wizard too young to keep in mind that others in the realm besides his kind know how to use spells-and something she heard from the lips of Vangerdahast himself.”
“Then he wanted all of us to know it,” Eldroon said darkly. “That man says nothing unguarded. Nothing at all.”
Lord Yellander shrugged. “He’s just a man. I could hire a mightier mage on the morrow.”
“Oh? Then why don’t you?”
“The war wizards are too splendid a blade to shatter. Better by far to find the way to take hold of their hilt.”
“Kill Vangerdahast, you mean.”
“ Replace Vangerdahast, by something that looks just like him. And obeys me.”
“And is there such a ‘something,’ in all the world?”.
“Oh, yes. I found it long ago.”
“And yet we kneel not to King Prester the First.” As if by magic, Eldroon’s tallglass was empty again.
“Not yet. Certain matters stand unfinished.”
“ ‘Certain matters’?”
“Yes. Regarding the ‘obeys me’ part. I may finish them in a tenday. Or never.”
“Ah. Like the rest of us.”
“ ‘The rest of us’?”
“The rest of us, Yellander. All the other nobles besides yourself who’ve glanced at the Dragon Throne and thought: That could be mine, and I’d ride it better than Azoun Obarskyr. Some of us set aside such thoughts and learn contentment. Others achieve little, and chafe and snarl the seasons away. A few dare ventures not shrewd enough, and lose their heads or the right to set boot in Cormyr. And more than a handful nurse schemes, working slowly toward a savage moment that may never come. In short: you’re not the only one.”
“Are you such a one, Lord Eldroon?”
“Once I was. Now I think the prize not worth the hazard. Let Azoun worry and work, while we watch and sip wine and cavil at the quality of entertainment he provides us. Speaking of which, more glowfire, Wintersun?”
“I believe I will. Lords, you’ve both given me much to think about.”
“Think silently. The war wizards do one thing very well: listen to folk who think their talk is private. Get yourself one of these magecloak things. More wine, Yellander?”
“Forget not yon stone goblin,” Pennae snapped, “and watch that door. If it moves, even a little, shout and then get out!”
“Shout and then get out,” Jhessail echoed. “Not much of a war cry…”
“No,” Florin agreed. “Pennae, what have you found?”
Pennae had been swarming all over the ransacked room, peering under things and over things, and running her hands over the walls. She’d frozen at a spot on the wall by the head of one of the lower bunks, and was now frowning at it, and drawing her dagger.
“What is it?” Agannor asked.
She furiously waved for silence then probed with her dagger at a spot on the wall. Nothing happened. She probed again, a fingerwidth above-and a hand-sized panel in the wall appeared, pivoting open. As she pushed her dagger deeper, it swung open more. She stepped well back, keeping behind the door, until she could pluck up her lantern again and shine it into-a niche hollowed out of the rock about as deep as her forearm, which was empty except for a small, mildewed piece of folded parchment. Pennae drew it out balanced on the blade of her dagger, set it on the table, and opened it, reading its simple message aloud: “The rest are hidden in the door.”
“The rest of what?” Jhessail asked.
Pennae shrugged. “Who knows? Yon door looks like solid stone to me. Anyhail, there’s nothing else here. Do we go on through it, given that?” She nodded her head at the petrified goblin.
Florin shrugged. “There’s mold on it-see? — so it’s been here some time. If a wizard or cleric turned it to stone, I can’t believe they’re still standing guard somewhere beyond the door. If ’twas a curse magic left waiting here-on the doorway, say-then did it exhaust itself doing that to the goblin… or does it lie in wait still?”
