Elminster Must Die

His notes were few the casting or ritual, or whatever it was properly called was short and simple.

Which meant he couldn’t delay any longer. Sudden fear uncoiling in his throat, Marlin held up the chalice, peered at his notes again, then said firmly, “Arruthro.”

The word seemed to roll away across vast distances, though it seemed no louder than it should have been- and at a stroke, the room was darker, the air singing with sudden tension. He looked around in case something was slithering or creeping out of the darkness to come up behind him, but saw nothing.

“Tarlammitruh arondur halamoata,” he added, loudly and slowly. He had no idea what language-if it was a language-he was speaking, but it sounded old and grand and menacing. Very menacing.

The room went colder still.

“Tanthom tanlartar,” he read out-and flinched as the chalice in his hand erupted in weird blue fire. Raging flames that raced down his arm to the elbow and then wreathed it and the chalice in an endless, soundless conflagration. That held no heat at all and caused him no pain, only a disturbing, bone-deep tingling.

“Larasse larasse thulea,” he added.

And shivered in the sudden icy chill-as the blue flames sprang from the chalice in a flood, like a gigantic snake or eel pouring forth from the goblet to the floor and then rebounding up again, growing larger and taller … man- high. With a darkness at their heart that slowly became a man. A man standing facing him and smiling, clad in a dark and nondescript leather war-harness. Boots, sword, and dagger. Dark eyes with those blue flames dancing in their depths-and a ceaselessly burning shroud of blue flames around the man’s body that ignited nothing, charred nothing, and seemed to cause the man no pain at all.

As he shifted his stance, one hand falling to his sword hilt and the other coming to rest on his belt, and smilingly faced Marlin Stormserpent.

Who asked carefully, “You obey me, y-yes?”

The man nodded curtly. “I do. And will.”

The lordling let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and asked, “And you are?”

“Treth Halonter. The best warrior of the Nine, or was … before Myrkul.”

“Before Myrkul?” A dead god, something to do with the dead. Old Lord Bones, that was what the ballads called him. “Before you died?”

“Before Myrkul did this to us and bent us to his love of death.” The ghost’s smile never wavered.

Marlin peered hastily at his notes. “Is there-what must I avoid doing to prevent you turning on me?”

“Nothing. We know and obey the one who summons us forth.”

“And you’ll, uh, go back into the chalice when I say the right words?”

“Or just command me to. Myrkul was not interested in allowing me to deceive, betray, or turn on you. This is no fireside faerie tale, man. I am your slave.”

Marlin glanced at his sword, still lying where he had left it.

“How many of the Nine can I command at once?”

Halonter shrugged. “I know not. Are you given to fits of madness?”

In the depths of young Lord Stormserpent’s mind, Manshoon smiled.

This was going to be fun.

Marlin discovered he wasn’t just drenched in sweat; he was shaking with exhaustion. The two cold smiles facing him felt crushingly heavy, as if he was staggering under the weight of two suits of armor at once.

Those unwavering smiles belonged to the two who stood facing him wreathed in glowing blue flames that burned nothing-but drank energies from living beings they touched, if they willed it so. Or so they claimed.

Two blueflame ghosts who could stride through stone walls at will, but nothing living. If he commanded them to, they could literally walk right through the walls of the palace-leaving them whole and unmarred-and out into Suzail. Again, so they said.

Not that he had any way of proving wrong anything they said, except by watching as they tried to follow his orders. He would order them to walk through the wards and the walls beyond them, in a breath or two, and see.

He’d already commanded them both back into the sword and the cup he’d brought them forth from, and had brought them out again. They assured him they could sense where those items were, no matter how far he took them, and would return to them, but “go into them” only if he was present to command them. Unless or until his command over them was broken by someone else.

How that could be done, or by whom, they did not know-or, again, said they did not. Marlin knew he had no way of catching them in falsehoods until it was too late … and he was beginning to fervently wish they’d stop smiling.

Relve Langral had been the rogue among the Nine and was far more talkative than Halonter. According to him, the dark god Myrkul had corrupted them; they were now ruthless and uncaring, gleefully enjoying killing and any chance to do harm. “We are insane and beyond death,” Relve had announced calmly. Smiling that terrible smile all the while.

They had been awakened from their imprisonments before, and had then heard themselves termed “blueflame ghosts,” but said they were nothing like the real ghosts they’d met and fought when the Nine were adventuring.

They’d said more, too. “We cannot and will not destroy each other, nor will we attempt to. It’s one of the few commandments you can give us that we must ignore.”

“And the others are?”

“Still unknown to us-and, I gather, to you, too,” Relve had replied promptly-and, of course, smilingly.

Marlin drew in another breath and wiped his dripping forehead with the back of his hand. “Then hear my first command to you. Somewhere in this city around you-we stand in the palace in Suzail, Cormyr-there is a man by the name of Seszgar Huntcrown. The one I seek is nobly born and the heir of House Huntcrown, in the unlikely event you find someone else by that name. You are to go forth from here-through the walls-to find him without delay, slay him, and return to me. I will not then be here but in my home, not far from here in this same city. Go. Go now.”

In smiling silence, the two flaming men-or ghosts, or whatever they were-drew their swords, slashed the air around them a time or two as if working stiffness from their limbs, and started toward him.

Marlin watched them come, mouth dry, and it was only when they were a mere stride away that he retreated, clutching at his belt dagger and trying in terror to remember what in all the odd powers of the various rings he wore might save him against two ruthless slayers who could suck the life out of him with a mere touch.

He was still stumbling back, trying to think of something to stammer to keep them at bay, when they strode past him with their fierce smiles, cold contempt for him in their eyes, and … through the nearest wall, as softly as any maiden’s whisper.

And the blue flames were gone from the Dragonskull Chamber, leaving Marlin Stormserpent whimpering and shaking.

Farruking Tempus forfend! So he could control them … or were they merely humoring him?

Stlarn. He swallowed hard, his mouth as dry as he imagined any howling desert to be, and tried to quell his shaking.

He had to get out of there, notes and chalice and all, and back home before some sneering fool of a war wizard found him.

Home, to await a horrible doom-was there anything in the family vaults he could protect himself with? Anything? — or to learn that this little test had become a success, and he was rid of a longtime foe.

Not that Seszgar Huntcrown was one whit as important as Seszgar Huntcrown believed himself to be. However, he’d hated Seszgar because the Huntcrown heir had bullied and humiliated him when they were both young, and still sneered at him.

Moreover, Seszgar would be no loss to anyone. And, overconfident as he was, he was all too apt to trust in his formidable skill with a blade and go swaggering out alone, dismissing his bodyguards, and so could more easily