In response, guards shouted and came running; Manshoon smiled tightly and worked the spell that would make them really shout.
They did more than that. Some of them screamed and fled wildly through the mansion, crashing past tables and toppling sculptures and suits of armor.
The illusion he’d spun, of a beholder drifting menacingly forward, all of its eyestalks writhing, would circle the room he was in now.
The room where Waylord Fornlar Darltreth’s Darkway flickered and glowed, now alone and unguarded.
His more important casting didn’t take long; this was his tenth murmuring of the spell. When he was done, the Darkway blazed up brightly for a moment as if angered by his magic, then settled back down to glowing just as it had before.
The First Lord of Zhentil Keep gave it a sardonic salute and smile, and let his ring take him on to the next mansion.
Most of the waylords were elsewhere, gathered at Harlstrand House-whose wine cellar was the best, and feasting hall the grandest-to debate what to do about a certain upstart Manshoon and his rising power in the city. Sneel was very good at what he did; one waylord-shaking crisis, conjured up in less time than it took to eat a good meal.
He stood then in a rather colder room, hung with dark tapestries and occupied by another Darkway-and two astonished guards, who raised their spears and reached for an alarm gong.
Manshoon waved one hand and gave them slumber. His armsmen would need some time to hasten through the streets and reach the front doors of this high house; it would be best if no alarm was raised until their sudden assault on its doors.
This was all going very smoothly. He strode to where he could stand over the guards, and look to see if they had any useful magic he could confiscate.
“Let the reaping begin,” he murmured aloud, “and the fortunes of the waylords wane.”
Interlude in Innarlith
“Outlander!” the High Constable of Innarlith roared, “Come forth!”
On either side of his broad, bright-armored shoulders stood a trio of impassive constables, their armor as gleaming as his own, wands ready in their hands. When one challenges a wizard, it is best to be prepared.
High Constable Lhoreld smote the door with his mace, a glancing blow that marked but did not dent it, yet sent an echoing thunder through the bedchamber behind that door. “Elminster!” he bellowed. “You were seen to steal royal paints and brushes, and bring them to this place! Thief, stand forth!”
The door swung open.
Out of the lamplit dimness beyond strode a tall, slender, white-bearded man, barefoot and in fact-the High Constable’s eyes bulged-wearing only hundreds of smears of dried paint and a lady’s diaphanous nightgown pulled around himself. He leaned unconcernedly against the doorpost in what could only be described as an indolent-even jaunty-pose.
“Aye? Have ye brought wine?”
High Constable Lhoreld went a little crimson around the temples, and his nostrils flared. On either side of him, his constables went from looking impassive to looking stern as they hastily leveled their wands at the man in the doorway.
“You stand in the Fortress Royal, wizard!” Lhoreld shouted. “In the name of the Spaerenza, Royal Ruler of Innarlith, I arrest you to face justice! You have stolen her art supplies-”
Elminster made a rude sound, and a ruder gesture. “Pah! I have not.”
“Do-do you mock me, man?” The High Constable was incredulous. “The Spaerenza’s paints are all over you, from head to toe! D’you think me blind?”
“Nay,” Elminster drawled. “Merely stupid.” He peered, to make sure none of the constables was clutching a decanter behind his back, then added, “Too stupid to bring any wine, at least.”
“I’ll not bandy words with you, wizard! I require your instant submission-on your knees, man, and hold out your wrists to be manacled! You’ll be brought before Her Exaltedness for your punishment forthwith, and-”
“Punishment? Surely ye might want to determine my guilt, first? Or perhaps my innocence? Or has Innarlith no laws at all but the whim of its High Constable?”
Lhoreld was now purple and shaking. “Do-do you seriously mean to claim you did not steal art supplies, when sworn witnesses-over a score of servants and courtiers-saw you do so?”
“I do mean to make that very claim. I stole nothing. And I can produce my own witnesses to attest to my claim.”
“Oh? Outlanders in your employ?” The High Constable sneered.
“No, personages that even a thick-headed windbag of a High Constable might have heard of. Let me begin with the Spaerenza herself. Then a certain Lord Wizard of the city, Uldimar Bronneth-ye may know him better as the Marquavarl; their son, Prince Hajorn, oh, and the Princesses Amaelra and Marinthra, too.”
“Ah hah. You are aware that bearing false witness against the royal family of Innarlith is itself a very serious crime?”
“I am,” Elminster confirmed, smilingly. “I believe ye’ll find them happy to state my innocence in this matter.”
The High Constable’s utter disbelief was written very clearly across his face. “Oh? And I suppose the Lord Protector can speak for you, too?”
“No, I fear not,” Elminster replied gravely. “However, both of his subordinates-the Dukes Henneth and Porlandur-were present, and can attest-”
“I’ll bet they can.” Lhoreld sneered. “I’ll just bet they can. In fact, wizard, I’m going to wager my career on that. If you can’t get any of these worthies to swear your words are true, you’ll wither away to bones chained to the coldest, wettest wall in the deepest of our dungeons, down where the rats go to die! I’ll escort you there myself, without delay! Stand forth from yon doorway, or my men will smite you down!”
“Really,” Elminster said reprovingly, like a kindly but disappointed mother to an angry child, “that won’t be necessary-”
“Wizard, step away from yon door!”
With a sigh and a shrug, spreading open and empty hands, Elminster did as he was commanded, the constables smoothly surrounding him-whereupon the constable directly behind Elminster was imperiously swept aside by someone else coming to the door.
The new arrival was a tall woman whose fine features were known to everyone in Innarlith-from the coins in their purses, if from nowhere else-but who wore only a crown and a scepter. As she pointed that scepter at Lhoreld, it was already glowing.
“I trust you recognize me, High Constable,” she said softly, ignoring the trembling, retreating constables to stare steadily at Lhoreld.
He went pale, fought to keep his gaze above her chin, then flushed and hastily looked away, stammering, “Y-yes, Great Spaerenza. I-”
“As it happens, Lord Elminster did spend the night with me. And my husband. After agreeing to my request, relayed by the Marquavarl-”
Right on cue, the Lord Wizard of Innarlith appeared in the doorway beside the Spaerenza. His nakedness was only partially concealed behind an unfinished portrait he was carrying, of an entwined naked couple whose features-though not yet entirely limned-were unmistakably those of the ruler of Innarlith and her husband. Straightening the painting, he gave Lhoreld what could only be described as a sheepish smirk.
The High Constable swallowed, looked at the floor, and firmly turned his attention back to what the Spaerenza was still saying.
“-to paint us, something that was overheard and applauded by all three of our royal offspring, and the Dukes Henneth and Porlandur, just as the Lord Elminster has informed you. I trust you will believe me, despite your reluctance to extend the same courtesy to him?”
“I-ah-uh-yes, Your Exaltedness! I-ah-most humbly apologize for-”
Lhoreld’s clumsy attempt at groveling was interrupted by a soundless thunder that smote every brain and stilled all sound for as long as it took a bright blue mist to arise out of nowhere and wash through the Fortress Royal.
