the most respected servants of the lord of beasts-a holy decree that still applies to all priests of Malar, as it has for nigh a thousand years: ‘The Hunt must be clean. If disease or affliction is visited on hunters by a beast, clergy of Malar must do all they can to root out and exterminate the taint, that bloodlines and beasts in the wild remain always strong.’”
The huntmaster gaped at him in pale-faced astonishment. He hadn’t expected a layman, even a wizard, to know the gospel of Saernclaws. They both knew Garmos had said just that, and Agrathar Buruin was bound by it.
The Royal Magician dropped his eyes from the stunned gaze of the Malarite and looked around at the faces of the other priests. There was no more fight in any of them, it remained only to gesture toward the door and add gently, “Lord Alaphondar and Palace Mage Halansalim will accompany you to the chambers of the princess and be your escort therein and when you examine and bring out Bleth.”
The priests tumbled out of the room like adventurers fleeing a dragon, the sage and the war wizard in the lead. Vangerdahast imagined the turmoil that would result when the gaggle of holy men arrived at Tanalasta’s quarters and dragged off her suitor for laborious tests, examinations, and divinations. The Royal Magician labored to keep a broadening inner smile from spreading across his face.
Instead, he merely made the gesture that caused his staff of state to disappear, then turned away, to leave the Chamber of Crossed Dogs by another, smaller door, passing the gigantic wall carving of leaping hounds that had given the room its curious name.
The door opened onto a small, dark passage that gave onto a step halfway up Halantaver’s Stair. Ascending, he passed through the echoing stateliness of Endevanor’s Hall into the Salon of Six Scepters, nodding to the belarjacks who sprang to open doors before him. Across a hail from the eastern door of the salon was the Upper Eastern, or Satharwood, Banqueting Hall, the way to its closed doors barred by a solid line of grim Purple Dragons in full armor.
Vangerdahast stepped inside to find himself facing a watchful ring of tired war wizards, who raised wands to menace him out of habit. “For the realm,” he said to them wearily, the watch phrase should have been unnecessary. They lowered their wands, but four or more continued to watch him expressionlessly. The others turned back to what was going on inside their ring.
Above the tables where the royals lay, both still motionless and silent, hung a globe of radiant air, its soft glow illuminating the weary faces of the priests who were working on the baron-experimenting with vigorous massaging of his arms and legs, it appeared-under the direction of a weary-eyed Dimswart. Vangerdahast gave him a silent wave when he looked up to see which fresh face had joined the circle, and he replied with a silent negative shake of his head. No change.
The Royal Magician turned grimly away, trying for an instant to recall what pressing business he’d been attending to when the breaking of the summoning wand had dragged the realm into chaos. Thus occupied, he almost ran into the Bishop of the Black Blades. Gwennath was slumped against the wall, silent tears of grim failure and exhaustion running down her face. Vangerdahast took her gently by the shoulders, and as she looked up in weary wonder, he said merely, “Come.”
The belarjack by the door had fallen asleep, there was fear in his fluttering eyes when he saw that he’d been sleepily cursing the High Wizard for pinching him awake, but Vangerdahast simply said, “Go and get someone to relieve you and your fellow priests-after you bring Matron Maglanna to me.”
“Have I-done wrong?” Gwennath asked sleepily.
Vangerdahast kept his hands under her elbows to keep her from sliding to the floor and said, “No. By my decree, however, you are now to go with the matron of this floor of the palace and get some sleep in whatever chamber she puts you.”
Maglanna, doughty and dependable, though looking as worn as Gwennath, was at his side before he’d finished speaking. Vangerdahast merely added a gentle “By my command” to her, watched her nod and gather the exhausted priestess into her guiding arms, and turned away again.
Sleep might soon be a good idea as well for certain High Wizards, he reminded himself as he passed grimly on through another set of wary guards-backed up by war wizards this time-into Belnshor’s Chamber, where the clockwork beast had been stored.
Usually used to store whatever furniture wasn’t in use at the moment, the high-vaulted room was largely bare at the present time. It was lit by moving radiances, the fey lights of working magic.
They gleamed on the golden curves of what had been the bull in the forest, lying in glittering pieces on trestles at the center of the room. Light spells hovered over it, and other magic spells were lifting plates and rings of metal with invisible hands as two women leaned forward to examine them. They wore identical frowns of intense concentration.
One woman was familiar to the Royal Magician. Laspeera Inthre was warden of the war wizards, his deputy in the command of that vital fellowship. Still beautiful, she was beginning to show her years of strain in service to Cormyr. Lines flanked her pursed mouth, and a tiny pair of exquisitely crafted clear crystal spectacles, held aloft by magic, floated in front of her sharp nose as she stared at the intricate assembly of metal objects that lurked behind one of the bull’s nostrils. Without looking away from what she was studying, she raised her fingers in a salute. In all his years of working magic, Vangerdahast had met very few mages who could concentrate on as many things at once as this one. She was murmuring another spell now, the deft manipulation of metal plates and coils must be her work.
He’d seen the other buxom, beautiful woman before, too, but never expected to find her here in the depths of the palace, in chambers normally closed to the public. She tossed her head to shake long, honey-hued hair out of her face and favor him with a smile as he approached. The High Wizard knew he’d last laid eyes on that pert, mysterious, rather catlike smile in The Laughing Lass, a Suzailan establishment that often transformed itself from tavern into festhall when the nights grew warm. The woman been dancing on a table at the time, wearing very little more than a smile and a few strings of coins. She smiled now as if she knew him, but Vangerdahast was sure such was not the case. The web of disguise spells he habitually wore to the Lass was impenetrable. Wherefore his challenge, when it came, was a trifle sharper than he’d intended. “And you are-?”
She raised eyes like warm flames to meet his and replied, “I am called Emthrara Undril, and I can show you something that means more. Pray stay your spells and mistake not my intent, lord wizard, which is peaceful. I but open my locket.” Slim fingers went slowly up to the ribbon she wore at her throat and the oval of chased silver there, to push a tiny catch and swing the locket open. She lifted her chin to let Vangerdahast get a good look inside.
Within was more black silk, and on it a tiny silver harp. She was a Harper.
The Royal Magician’s eyes narrowed. A tavern dancer, aye, that fit with the way Those Who Harp liked to operate… but how came she here to this room at such a time?
“Is this more of Elminster’s meddling?” he asked suspiciously.
Emthrara frowned slightly. “The Great Oversorcerer, Favored of Mystra? Nay-I doubt he even knows I am here.”
She tossed her head almost challengingly, eyes on his, and said excitedly, “I met him once! He was very kind. He said I danced as well as they once did in Myth Drannor, if you can credit that!”
“Harrumph,” Vangerdahast growled and turned away.
From behind him came Laspeera’s low, level voice, the wizard could tell she was amused. “I brought Emthrara here, lord, because I knew she’d once fought, disabled, and then taken apart a giant spider of metal, called by some a ‘clockwork horror.’ Is she not, therefore, the best person in all Cormyr to learn the secrets of this beast?”
“Harrumph,” Vangerdahast said again, striding toward the door. A pace away from it, he spun around and said heavily, “Accept my apologies, please, for my churlish manner. I am overtired and no great friend to surprises at the best of times.”
Emthrara smiled easily. “I’ll look for you again in the Lass, High Wizard,” she said cheerfully, and Laspeera laughed at the way Vangerdahast winced and put his hand to his forehead.
Still shading his eyes, he asked in pained tones, “The abraxus, ladies. Have you found any traps yet, or reservoirs where more of its breath gas might be waiting?”
“No, lord,” they said in chorus, and Emthrara added, “We did find a small metal tray inserted beneath the beast’s chin. It might have held the venom, but it was empty, its poison spent. And a switch along the spine, which
