as she plunged through a door, out into a garden of little fishponds, moss-covered modest mermaid statues, and artfully pruned shrubberies.
The Swords pelted after her, out of the gardens, past a stables where a startled horse awakened and tossed its head, and up an ivy-cloaked wall that had trees beyond it. As the last Sword-Semoor-scaled it, armored men burst around the corner of the mansion they’d just left, shouted, and started sprinting through the garden. There were splashes as the foremost runners precipitously explored the fishponds. Twisting silverfin flew into the air.
Grinning, Semoor turned away, clawed his way up the last torn ivy, and crested the wall, slipping once-which turned out to be a good thing.
The lightning bolt that greeted him raced past his shoulder, lifting every hair on that side of his body, and clawed harmlessly at the sky.
In the light of the scrying orb Horaundoon smiled and sat back, ignoring the hargaunt’s squirmings. This was becoming a superb show. Amanthan had once been an apprentice of the Blackstaff, hadn’t he?
“Get out of here!” The tall young mage was so angry he was trembling. “I’m not afraid of kidnappers and thieves! I’ll-”
“Live longer if you calm down and hold your tongue,” Pennae said, drawing a wand from her belt and aiming it at him.
Behind her, the rest of the Swords all plucked out various rods, wands, and scepters they’d plundered from Whisper’s hoard, and leveled them at the wizard. He need not know they hadn’t the faintest wisp of a notion what the items did, or even if they dared to find out.
Their eyes were all fixed on his-except for the young lass with flame-red hair, who seemed to be peering with great interest across his gardens.
Amanthan swallowed, looking again along the line of wands. The lass in leathers, at the fore, was now hefting something more than the wand she’d trained on him: she’d produced a small metal sphere from somewhere, and was juggling it in the palm of her other hand. Her eyes were cool and uncaring.
Amanthan swallowed again. “W-what do you want?” he stammered.
“To pass into your house in peace,” the tall ranger said, “and hide there. We-”
Jhessail put a quelling hand on Florin’s arm and pointed across the garden, to where she could see a blue glow between two trees. “Where does yon portal go?”
The wizard blinked. “Waterdeep.”
“Good. Let us pass unhindered through it, and say nothing of where we went. Do this, and I’ll toss this — ” She shook the scepter in her hand. “-to your feet as we depart. To be yours.”
Amanthan blinked at her again, then shrugged. “Accepted.”
The adventurers flowed past him like a hurrying wave, wands pointing at him all the time. The flame-haired lass lingered to do as she’d promised, bending to send her scepter skittering to Amanthan’s feet.
He stared at it, then darted swiftly to one side, eyeing the portal warily.
Nothing came through it at him, as he drew three long, deep breaths in succession. Finally he sighed, took up the scepter gingerly-and whirled around as he heard the rustling of ivy tearing free of stone.
An armored flood of Purple Dragons poured over his wall.
Amanthan strode forward, finding he did not have to feign anger. “And just what,” he snapped, “is the meaning of this?”
The Dragons landed with heavy thuds, panting and staggering. One of them, a lionar by his badge, dodged through the dozen or so who were busy drawing their swords, and growled, “Fugitives from justice-six of them- came over this wall moments ago. Where did they go?”
Amanthan smiled thinly. “Fugitives? Really? What sort of fugitives?”
“Lord sir,” the Purple Dragon said icily, “three women and three men, attired for battle. You can hardly have failed to see them. ’Tis some good way from your house to where you stand, here, and we were right on their heels.”
“Lionar,” the wizard replied, in a voice every whit as cold, “I suffer no uninvited guests to trample my flowers-and live.” He waved the scepter meaningfully. “Do I make myself quite clear?”
Some of the Dragons went pale. Behind them, the tops of ladders and many helmed heads appeared all along the wall, ropes were flung down, and a stouter lionar came puffing down one of them.
“Ah,” Amanthan said pleasantly, “more for my scepter. Well, it has been some time since it was fed properly…”
A few soldiers ducked away, heading for the wall or at least a place behind their fellows, but Lionar Dauntless, hastening from the bottom of his rope, doffed his gauntlets and strode forward, extending his hand to the mage.
“Pray accept my apologies, lord sir. Amanthan of Waterdeep, is it not? I tender the apologies and beseechments of Lord Thomdor, Warden of the Eastern Marches, and Myrmeen Lhal, Lady Lord of Arabel. We hound six miscreants upon their orders, and they will stand coin for any damage we’ve done. I was about to ask if we might search your grounds, here, but if you’ve seen these six…?”
Amanthan reached for the proffered hand. “I fear your time would be wasted: the six you seek are… no more. I was under attack-they thrust weapons at me-and defended myself with my scepter, blasting them utterly to dust, as you can see. Or rather, not see.”
Their hands met, and the wizard stiffened as if someone had struck him.
“Ah,” Dauntless replied, turning his head to look all around. “Well. Ah, I suppose… that’s that.”
Swordcaptain Nelvorr, standing near, noticed a wisp of something like mist drift from the lionar’s mouth to Amanthan’s.
The wizard turned his head to look at Nelvorr, and the swordcaptain quickly looked away. And shivered.
“So, my king, this is about much more than tax-cheating and slavery.”
Vangerdahast whirled around dramatically, robes swirling. “It concerns, once again, an eventual attack on your person; yet another attempt to seize the Dragon Throne.”
Six faces gazed at him. Unhappily.
Azoun sat with his queen beside him, the sage Alaphondar in a lower seat nearby. A highknight stood guard behind each of them.
There was no one else in the Soaring Dragon Room but Lord Vangerdahast-until he turned and made the gesture that caused the life-sized images of two additional men to appear in the air beside him.
“It grieves me to report this, Majesty,” the royal magician said, waving his hand at the image, “but here’s the proof: Lord Gallusk meeting with the exiled ‘Lord’ Sorn Merendil. Note the room around them.”
“The Swandolphin, in Marsember,” Queen Filfaeril murmured, causing Azoun to blink at her in surprise. “Minus its usual dancing whores.”
The king blinked again, as Alaphondar and Vangerdahast both glanced away to avoid showing their amusement. Safely behind the royals, two of the highknights grinned broadly.
“So the House of Gallusk,” Azoun said, “are providing slaves to be trained into a rebel army?”
“No, Majesty. Lord Anamander Gallusk-we don’t believe his kin know about any of this-has gangs who snatch peddlers, pilgrims, shepherds and hands from upcountry steadings, caravan-folk, and sailors they overcome with free drink in dockside taverns, and supply them as slaves to Rorth Torlgarth.”
“Who is-?”
“A Sembian shipper who owns a sizable-and fast-growing-fleet of fast caravels. Torlgarth sells the slaves elsewhere about the Inner Sea, and in return recruits mercenaries and sends them to the Gallusk lands near the Sembian border, nigh Daerlun. Torlgarth’s coins pay them for the season; in this manner, Gallusk’s building a private army. We believe Merendil, here, is giving him both gold and orders, and is the brain and war-gauntlet behind this.”
“And thus far, you’ve failed to arrange an ‘accident’ to befall Merendil-even when he leaves Sembia or Westgate to defy his exile, and slips back onto our soil?”
“Merendil has his own backers: three Red Wizards, led by one known as Klaelan, whose Art, I must confess, outstrips my own.” Vangerdahast lifted a hand to indicate the floating semblance of Lord Gallusk.
“Anamander Gallusk, however, lies within our grasp even now. He’s here in the city, and I can have him seized forthwith. I fear I must recommend his arrest and execution. Better one man’s neck than an army on the march and hundreds-perhaps thousands-slain. More, if others in Sembia and elsewhere see a chance to strike at
