Dragons, the king’s own elite, were on patrol through the district. Their deep violet capes were bunched tightly around them, and they looked neither right nor left as they passed along the row of stone townhouses.
Looking up the hill at the castle, Thanderahast waited until the armsmen had rounded the corner. Rebuilt, along with most of the rest of Suzail after the Pirate Years, Castle Obarskyr sprawled over the low hillocks, surrounded by broad lawns and concealed redoubts. No one would sneak up on the Obarskyrs again.
Thanderahast considered returning to the castle and waiting for Amedahast’s return. She was away on court business, as she was so often these days. Thanks to Luthax’s malicious gossip, Thanderahast’s stock at court was none too high, so he had to play spy on his own.
Luthax was up to something, of that Thanderahast had no doubt. The burly wizard, senior mage in the kingdom behind Amedahast, was the Castellan of Magic and the effective leader of the brotherhood. Yet he was a nasty customer, unctuous and fawning to his betters, boisterous and bragging to his equals, and Gehenna-on-a- plate to those he thought his inferiors. Like junior officers. Like Thanderahast.
But for the past month, his actions had been even more intriguing. Mysterious comings and goings, particularly with the other noble houses. Sudden “retirements” of high members of the order, and the promotions of Luthax’s friends to brotherhood offices. The junior officers and lesser mages were being treated more as pawns than as students.
Thanderahast had mentioned all this to Amedahast, and her only response had been, “Then you had better keep an eye on him, hadn’t you?” Which brought him to this wide stone ledge on the outside of a noble’s house in the city on a cold autumn night.
He edged forward and almost pitched off the side of the building as one of the shadows moved before he set his foot down. A night-black cat jumped up from its hiding place, stretched, and meowed irritatedly at the young mage.
What was a cat doing on a third-floor ledge? wondered Thanderahast, at least after his heart had regained its normal rhythm. Cats were everywhere, it seemed. The High Magess had imported them after the last plague from Marsember, and their presence seemed to have acted as a talisman, protecting the city from other such diseases.
Amedahast favored cats, and during visits to his notable ancestor, Thanderahast, had noted that there were always about a dozen running free in her chambers at any one time. If they weren’t hissing at each other over stacks of spellbooks, they were regarding the young guest scornfully from high, secure shelves, or dancing their way through forests of glass alembics and other delicate instruments.
King Draxius Obarskyr, on the other hand, did not like cats. It was no ill experience or sneezing sickness that motivated him, folk said, just a disdain for their familiarity and their lack of devotion. If cats would act like dogs, the king would have no problem with them. Amedahast remembered that the king had once banned cats from the castle, until the vermin grew so numerous that the cooks complained.
The black cat, thin and Untherian in origin, shivered and laced itself around Thanderahast’s ankles. It had a typical cat’s ability, the young mage noted, to put itself just where you wanted to step next. The small creature looked up, revealing a white dollop of fur beneath its chin. It regarded his with emerald-green eyes and mewled imploringly at him.
“Sorry, kitty, I have no food,” Thanderahast whispered, but the cat would not be denied, circling around his ankles, its meows becoming louder and more urgent. Finally the young wizard picked up the cat and cradled it against his breast. The lean black cat was a ball of furry warmth and immediately cuddled against him, purring loudly.
Thanderahast gave a mighty sigh and then inched onward. Why couldn’t Luthax have chosen to have his clandestine meetings in a basement somewhere?
His goal was a set of thin windows along the front of the building. The house belonged to the Emmarask household. One of the noble Emmarasks, Elmariel, was a trusted crony of Luthax’s, and so, of course, he had now risen to be almost as powerful as Luthax himself in the brotherhood. If this house matched a dozen seemingly identical others scattered throughout the city, the street side of the third floor would house the reception parlor.
Thanderabast was not disappointed. The closest of the thin windows, mostly lead and iron enwrapping bits of colored glass, had been cracked open. The warmth of a fire and the smell of wizards’ pipes spilled out. The cat Thanderahast held yawned deeply at the smell, gave a cat-sized sneeze, and resumed its slumber against the young wizard’s chest.
“Weakness,” Luthax was saying. Thanderahast could identify that booming voice across a crowded hall, and the senior wizard was in full form. “That is what we are worried about. The court wizard grows older and more enfeebled with each passing year. And we remember what happened when Baerauble passed on. Without a strong mage behind the throne, the kingdom quickly falls to ruin. The vaunted Obarskyr blood provides the realm no protection without the power of magic behind it.”
Thanderahast leaned forward to survey the room. There were about thirty people inside. The top six officers of the brotherhood were there, in their black and red robes festooned with eldritch symbols and self-awarded medallions. The rest were lesser nobles and some of the most prominent merchants in Suzail, but Thanderahast’s eyes widened as he recognized members of the Bleth, Dauntinghorn, Illance, and Goldfeather houses, plus one or two minor Crownsilvers. A powerful group to be gathered in such a small room. Luthax stood by the fire, Elmariel Emmarask at his side.
All eyes were on Luthax… powerful, broad-shouldered Luthax. The robes hid most of his paunch, and the hearth accentuated the deep crags in his face and over-large nose, making him look all the more serious and wise. His beard was long and reddish-brown, and it was said he shaved his head daily to make himself look more sage and puissant.
“When magic was not strong,” said Luthax, “the kingdom was not strong. Kings and princes are irrelevant to stable governance of the realm if good spellcrafting does not exist. This is one reason we formed the Brotherhood of the Wizards of War.”
Thanderahast stifled a snort. Amedahast formed the brotherhood, not Luthax. She did so to supplement her own abilities with a school of mages loyal to the crown, but also to keep track of the wizards who were appearing in greater and greater numbers in the Forest Kingdom. “Popping up like mushrooms after a good rain,” as she said to Thanderahast once.
Luthax paced as he spoke, punctuating his points with an upraised finger. “Now the High Magess grows feeble and spends her time with her spells and her travels. She is more often than not away in some distant plane, as she is this evening. She has lost interest in Cormyr and its petty kings. Yet she still refuses to step down.”
There was a murmur of assent in the room, and a sudden steaming of hard-drawn pipes. Thanderahast did not like where this was going.
Luthax continued. “At the same time, Draxius himself has passed harsh laws against further logging in the King’s Forest, and denied the rights of the noble houses there. And while he conquered Arabel, he did not give those lands to the nobles who fought beside him, but rather left the noble families there in place, as if their defiant rebellions had never occurred. And this at the recommendation of the senile High Magess.”
More murmurs, and a ‘hear, hear,’ probably from one of the Illances.
“So the blood of the Obarskyrs has run thin, and the High Magess of the realm has become an old crone, leaning on her staff and weaving insane plots.”
More shouts of assent. Luthax was twisting the hearts and minds of this audience, using his own personal charm and argument to make his points. Thanderahast bridled at the description of his seven-times great aunt. Amedahast was no crone, nor did she need any support. “The day I need a staff is the day I die,” she had told him once.
“Now is the time for action. Now is the time for heroes. Now is the time for a new way of doing things in this nation, if Cormyr is to survive.”
Luthax coughed and then raised his voice again until it rang from the rafters. “You, gathered here, are the vanguard. You are the best and the brightest of the merchants, the nobles, and the mages of fair Cormyr, who have labored all too long in the shadows of foolish kings and vain high wizards. We have it in our power to take command of this land and lead it to greatness. All we need is the proper weapon.”
Luthax was pacing now, back and forth, his favorite mannerism when speaking. “My companion Elmariel has returned from exploring the ruins of Netheril with an elder prize,” the senior mage said triumphantly, “a bit of magic
