better view.
The Silversword noble made a disgusted sound and leapt back, almost into the Purple Dragon’s arms. Lareth had his own dagger drawn by then. The Purple Dragon used the dagger’s pommel with a heartiness driven by fury, clouting the young noble across the back of the head. Ammanadas Silversword fell limply to the cobbles, and Lareth stepped around him to see to the wizard.
Lareth Gulur did not need his battlefield memories to know that Ensibal Threen’s life was hanging by the most slender of threads. He sheathed his dagger and waved at people to keep clear, in case violent magic was triggered by the wizard’s death.
“Gulur? Gulur! For the throne’s sake, man, what happened here?” The shocked and angry voice behind him belonged to Hathlan, a senior officer of the Purple Dragons.
“Get a priest. A noble knifed this wizard because he supported our Lord High Wizard, or at least the young fool thought he did. I knocked out the noble, and he might have his wits scrambled a trifle, but he’ll live,” Lareth replied without turning. His eyes were on the gathering crowd, looking for nobles-or anyone else-trying to slip away.
“All of them have their wits scrambled a trifle,” Hathlan snorted. “There’ve been attacks like this all across the realm these last few days. The nobles are seizing their opportunities and settling scores, real and imagined.” Then he was off, bellowing for a healer.
Lareth looked at his superior, then at the fallen war wizard. “Cormyr is balanced on a sword edge,” he murmured, “with years of red war waiting on either hand should we fall.”
“Have you heard the news? Some noble just slaughtered a war wizard right out on the street!” The speaker, a new arrival to the Snout Room, was breathless with excitement, but not so breathless that he couldn’t gasp out news this good.
“It’s beginning, then,” Rhauligan muttered. He looked as if one of the high-quality turrets he sold had crashed to the ground.
Dauneth Marliir, the young Arabellan noble, was gaping at the new arrival as the man bustled on down the Snout Room, bawling his news. The man’s words had distracted the young nobleman from the warm knee and rather revealing charms of the tavern dancer who sat drinking with them. She was an old friend of Rhauligan’s, the merchant had said heartily, but was lavishing her affections on Dauneth.
The dancer, Emthrara, kissed Dauneth on the cheek, seeking to restore his attentions. Dauneth blushed and hoped the hunger he felt for the young woman wasn’t showing too much. He swallowed. What was he doing, thinking about women when Cormyr was crumbling into war outside?
“They’re saying up at the palace that Princess Alusair fled deeper into the Stonelands,” Emthrara said in a low, husky voice. Dauneth felt smooth skin shift against his arm and swallowed hard a second time.
The turret merchant made a small chuckle. Rhauligan knew exactly what was going through Dauneth’s mind about the dancer and did not hide his amusement. Dauneth tried not to look at the merchant’s knowing smile across the table as Emthara said quietly, “I’ve heard more talk of Vangerdahast’s possible treachery too.”
But surprise had seized hold of Dauneth. He turned his head to look at Emthrara and discovered that his lips were mere inches away from hers. He could feel the soft touch of her breath on his face. He swallowed again, grimacing. Stop it, Dauneth. This is too important!
“You were inside the palace?” he asked, his voice louder than he’d intended. Emthrara gave him a smile and a nod. Dauneth tried not to feel the soft brush of her honey-blonde hair on his cheek.
“I’m often up at the palace, Dauneth,” she said, her voice deep and musical with soft mystery. “I-have work there.”
“Oh,” Dauneth said, and then realized what she meant. “Oh!” he hoped he wasn’t blushing too furiously and thanked all the gods that neither Rhauligan nor the dancer laughed at him then. He struggled to think about what seemed more and more important and found himself asking, almost calmly, “Can you get me into the palace- unseen?”
“Why?” Rhauligan leaned forward across the table to ask that very direct question almost in a whisper. Dauneth was startled by the sudden proximity of those bristling eyebrows and lined forehead and shrank back.
“Ah… um…” he began auspiciously, and then, irritated at his own discomfort, he brought a fist gently down on the table and said grimly, “Something dark and treacherous is going on in this realm, and I’m going to do something about it.”
The other two looked at him, and Dauneth felt a sudden swelling of pride. Again neither of them laughed at him, nor did they look anything other than serious as their eyes rested on him thoughtfully.
“I know of a way to get into the palace,” Emthrara said then, “where few folk should see our arrival. A way I know of for… professional reasons.”
“I’ve never been one for waiting overlong,” Dauneth told her firmly.
“Aye,” Rhauligan said dryly. “I’ve noticed.”
He did blush then, but Emthrara laid a hand on his arm and murmured, “Come on, then.”
Dauneth followed hard on the Harper’s heels. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Finally he was doing something that mattered, and his skin fairly crawled with eagerness. Finally, after all these years, he felt truly alive.
“Lie down here, beside me,” the tavern dancer said in his ear, and suddenly she went to her hands and knees and crawled in under the bushes. Dauneth cast a quick look around the royal gardens, noting the helms of some Purple Dragons not far away, and followed her. Patches of bare, hard-packed ground amid the moss told him that this was a way that had been traveled a time or two before. Emthrara was lying on her belly, stretched out along the wall. “Beside me,” she murmured again, and Dauneth hastily lay down as she bade him. Emthrara added, “Watch, and then follow me quickly,” and stretched out the toe of her boot to touch a certain small stone on the wall. It gave slightly. Holding it in, she reached out her arm until her fingertips touched another stone. It moved, just a trifle-and all the stones between them quietly folded down and inward, revealing a long, low slotlike opening. Without any hesitation, the dancer rolled sideways into it with a pale flash of exposed leg.
Dauneth propelled himself after her and promptly encountered soft flesh in the darkness as he rolled into her. Behind him, there was a faint grating sound and then suddenly complete darkness again as the stones rose back into place.
He lay there, smelling cold, damp stone and earth, and-just for an instant-wondered why he was doing this.
“Take this,” Emthrara said into his ear, seeming to know exactly where it was in the darkness, “and put it into your inside pouch-the one where you keep the gems and the letters of reference your father gave you.”
Dauneth froze. How had she known about that? He’d then he relaxed. Probably just about every man she meets visiting at court carries pretty much the same things. He felt something smooth brush his fingers: a tube of parchment… a scroll, tied with a ribbon.
“Don’t crush it,” the tavern dancer murmured. “If anyone challenges your presence, show it to them and say you’ve been hired by a master you dare not reveal-Alusair, if they force an answer out of you-to give this message to the Lord High Wizard Vangerdahast personally. If you crawl straight ahead in the darkness, you’ll find steps leading up. Stand up then, but not before, and walk up the steps. There’s a door two paces beyond that, it opens inward by a pull-ring and leads to a space behind the hangings in the Blue Banners Room. Try not to be seen emerging, after you’re out, walk along unhurriedly but purposefully, as if you know where you’re going and belong there. Don’t run if a guard challenges you-oh, and try not to burn the place down or kill too many people. Good luck, young hope of the realm.”
And then a pair of soft, warm lips found his mouth in the darkness, kissed him fondly but thoroughly, and she was gone. Dauneth heard a soft swish of a shoe edge on stone, another small sound, and then nothing. He was alone in the darkness, under the very wall of the palace. His place and manner of entrance was probably not what anyone in House Marliir had intended. Dauneth grinned at that, made sure the scroll was secured, and crawled ahead into the darkness. The realm needed him, adventure awaited, and all that. Who was Emthrara, anyway?
“Oh, just to see him smiling again,” the Crown Princess of Cormyr sobbed, “smiling for me!”
“The king your father lives yet,” Aunadar said smoothly, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Is that not proof enough of his strength?”
Tanalasta burst into tears-the deep, wracking weeping of a woman who makes no effort to cover her face or hold anything back-and went to her knees on the footstool in front of her. Aunadar circled around to embrace her
