Elminster Must Die

The boy stared at him for the moment it took to judge Arclath’s fine clothes and sword then grinned and sprinted off, tossing the bucket over his gate as he went.

He was back before Arclath reached the mouth of the alley, a small coach clattering in his wake.

Coin, Arclath reflected ruefully for about the hundredth time thus far that month, can work wonders.

The coach was a swift one; he soon overtook Delnor and called up to the drover to stop.

“Don’t you have all sorts of Crown errands and inspections to do?” He grinned, beckoning Delnor to enter the conveyance with a grand flourish.

The messenger’s mouth fell open, and he shied back. “Yes, but not in a coach! I can’t be spending Crown coins like that!”

“You’re not,” Arclath said sweetly. “I am.”

Delnor blinked. “Uh-ah-yes, but-but everyone will think you’re buying my approvals and Crown business!”

“They already do. You’re a courtier, remember?”

Delnor sighed, shrugged, and climbed into the coach. “That’s … overly cynical,” he murmured.

“That’s Cormyrean,” Arclath corrected airily. “We border Sembia, by the gods! We’d have to be barking mad not to be cynical!”

Mockingly Delnor made a halfhearted barking sound by way of reply-but broke off abruptly as he saw a shopkeeper staring curiously at him.

By the gods, indeed.

Storm peered out of the secret passage again, then drew back her head and slid the panel closed in calm, smooth haste.

“Court and palace certainly seem to be in something of an uproar,” she observed.

Elminster nodded silently, looking tired and less than pleased.

As they’d worked their way through the cellars, heading south from palace to court, seeking a way they could depart either royal building unobserved to slip into Suzail for some Amarune-hunting, neither of them had failed to notice the large and frequent armed patrols of Purple Dragons who were suddenly tramping tirelessly through the halls of both vast buildings-or standing alertly, guarding most secret passage entrances.

To say nothing of the many grim-faced trios and quartets of war wizards searching this room and that.

“They’ve found the bodies,” Elminster growled. “And that, plus the inevitable rumors of assassins and worse being prepared for the council-or by or for the nobles now gathering in the city before Foril’s little get-together-is causing all of this sudden burst of vigilance.”

“Well,” Storm replied, “our long-standing palace identities won’t serve us any longer; they know the Rhauligans are Elminster the mage-murderer and the notorious Harper who walks with him, now. Do we burn one of the baubles you took from those three ward-meddlers, to look like two courtiers or palace maids? They probably won’t be too suspicious of two dirty, work-worn lasses!”

“Frightened and suspicious mages usually suspect everyone of everything,” Elminster reminded her darkly, “and everyone of being someone else than they appear to be. They use magic for disguises, so of course they think everyone else does, too.”

“Oh, stop being so cheerful,” Storm said serenely. “If they’re going to pounce on us, they’ll pounce on us. It’s not as if we haven’t spent years being Elgorn and Stornara Rhauligan, repairers and restorers of the ever-crumbling stone, plaster, tapestries, and wood of these great buildings.”

“Descended, moreover,” Elminster joined in, almost chanting, “from the famous highknight hero, Glarasteer Rhauligan.”

They snorted in unison-and the Sage of Shadowdale held up one hand with a grin, drew a ring from his belt pouch, and announced, “Many minds, approaching fast. So we burn a bauble, as ye suggested. Thy typical wizard of war may be darned suspicious when he sees Royal Magician Ganrahast and his trusted Vainrence striding along a passage-but he’ll hesitate before he blasts them, I’ll wager.”

He frowned, there was a flash from inside his fist as the ring vanished, and a brief tingling sensation crept over them both.

Storm held up one of her hands. It had gone hairy. “Hmmph. Not an improvement, I must say,” she commented. “I get to be Vainrence, of course.”

“Of course. I’ll tender ye my apologies later,” El replied, turning back from the door that led into the overly bustling hall beyond, and seeking a passage he knew to be older, moldier, and usually quieter.

It was still all of those things and led them out into a dark and deserted room where disused furniture was shrouded in dust wraps.

“An old tablecloth of Rhigaerd’s, if I’m not mistaken,” Elminster murmured, peering at one of them. “Aye, there’s the stain where-”

“Hold, intruders!”

The shout from behind them was loud and sharp.

“Hold what?” Storm asked mildly, reaching out two rather eager hands-only to find that she was about to embrace several onrushing spear points.

“I thought I heard voices!” one of the Purple Dragons at the other ends of those weapons snarled excitedly.

An entire patrol of Dragons trotted forward, clanking and clanging as they hastily drew daggers or swords and rushed to menace the newly discovered perils to the Crown.

The Royal Magician and his Lord Warder Vainrence stood calmly waiting as a ring of glittering spears swiftly formed around them.

“Halt!” the patrol commander barked at them, unnecessarily.

The two immobile men exchanged glances with each other then turned to reply in laconic unison, “Aye, still halted.”

“Who-oh, by the Dragon!” The swordcaptain knew their faces and was suddenly looking decidedly ill. “M-my apologies, Lords!”

“Accepted,” Elminster replied with dignity. “Now continue your patrol, Swordcaptain. The enemies of Cormyr are, I fear, everywhere.”

“Closer than you think,” an angry voice said sharply. “Arrest them!”

The furious speaker strode into the room. “I’m Wizard of War Rorskryn Mreldrake,” he snapped, “and these two men are impostors, using magic to seem to be the Lords Ganrahast and Vainrence!”

Purple Dragons stared at him then swiftly and frowningly back at the two men standing quietly in the midst of their ring of spears.

“I have just now come straight from converse with those two lords-the real ones,” Mreldrake added, “and as you can all see, these two are dressed as the Royal Magician and Lord Warder were garbed a day back, not as they now are.”

The Purple Dragons stiffened, three of them-who’d evidently seen Ganrahast and Vainrence not long ago- starting to frown and nod.

The possibly false Vainrence cast a calm look at his companion, who shook his head ever so slightly before sighing and announcing, “Yon mage is mistaken, but in the interest of sparing the lives of diligent Purple Dragons, we’ll not resist. Obey your orders, Swordcaptain.”

“I … I shall,” that officer said grimly. “Seek to work no magic as we conduct the pair of you into the presence of some wizards of war who will then interrogate you. ‘Bring us anyone suspicious,’ they told me … and you certainly are.”

“No doubt. I also have no doubt whatsoever that when he hears of this, the king,” the possibly false Ganrahast informed the Purple Dragon darkly, “will not be pleased.”

“You tell the wizards that,” the swordcaptain replied evenly. “They may even believe you.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN