Elminster Must Die

trust with secrets that could cost noble necks.

Yet among the young heirs of Houses available in the realm, Marlin judged he’d done about as well as he could, if he wanted to retain any semblance of dominance at all in enterprises that could lead to swift graves if handled poorly. He had no stomach at all for recruiting stronger fellows who’d thrust him aside into the role of lackey-or scapegoat-once success was near.

They were all in their seats; Marlin sipped from his glass and studied them, his face once more a smoothly unreadable mask decorated by the faintest of smiles.

Windstag was a good blade and better hunter, but the sort of big, florid, blustering hothead that could all too easily land them all in disaster-and, there beside him, Sornstern was a nothing, Windstag’s toady. Dawntard, though sly and a drunkard, had swift and sharp wits and could steer Windstag where none of the rest of them could.

Dawntard could be trouble, though; trouble for Marlin himself. The sort who waited for weakness and then betrayed fellows to step forward and seize the spoils for himself. So were Handragon and Ormblade, for that matter; he must take great care to keep the three of them opposed to each other, not working together.

Irlin Stonestable was sour-faced and dour of outlook, one who’d endure and do what was needful and no more-but stand like stubborn stone for the cause, when others would slip away and run.

Mellast Ormblade he still could not read as much as he wanted to, nor had he means enough to blackmail. The man was the worst snob among them, but a saturnine, sophisticated, smooth-tongued diplomat, who just might deserve to look down his nose at almost everyone else in all the realm.

Marlin knew a bit more about Sacrast Handragon, whose family’s fortunes had fared perhaps the most poorly of them all-but what he knew made him firmly resolved to treat Handragon with wary respect. The man had the face of a statue when he wanted to, and iron self-control his every waking moment, it seemed. Swift and ruthless when that would benefit him, and a superb diplomat and actor all the time.

Aye, Ormblade and Handragon would bear watching. Hard and constantly too.

He smiled, raised his glass, and announced, “It’s time, friends, for me to impart some truths.”

By the gods, how he loved watching men stiffen in fear, waiting for his next words! This must be how it felt to be king.

Marlin waved a dismissive hand at the paling faces and stiffenings around the table, and let his smile broaden.

“Have no fears! This is not a moment of betrayal, I assure you. Rather, it is when I demonstrate my deepest trust in you by revealing my dearest secret: the very thing that made me dare to think a small, loyal-to-each-other band of true nobles could succeed in remaking-in rescuing-the land we all love. Before I reveal it, let me reassure you once again that no war wizard-not even the Mage Royal himself-can eavesdrop on us here. I have assembled magics they cannot hope to master or win past.”

He waited a moment, seeing by their burning stares that he had their interest, all right. No superior and sneering detachment rode any face around the table just then.

“I have a weapon in my keeping that legend trumpets often but very few folk suspect truly exists. One we can use to conquer Cormyr when the time is right. Friends-fellow conspirators-I have a hold over someone I will not name nor breathe any hint of where this someone is hidden. Someone whom spells protect me from revealing by coercion, spells that I can use to kill in torment any who seek to coerce me. Lords, I control … a long-imprisoned Obarskyr!”

A wordless, hastily stifled murmur-almost a gasp-arose. Then silence. The silence of men leaning forward eager to hear, excited and delighted.

“We must work out the details of my grand-and, yes, treasonous-scheme together, in meetings to follow this one. Yet here is its general outline. Agents I’ve been training-with, from time to time, your assistance-will deal with any courtiers who learn too much about us as we proceed. Our work shall be to eliminate living Obarskyrs-without betraying our own identities, and as much as possible delaying anyone seeing this goal of royal elimination-until we can present the one who’s under my hand as the sole remaining true Obarskyr!”

He fell silent to let them burst out with their questions.

“Coronation,” Stonestable murmured. “And then?”

Marlin gave them all a warm and friendly smile. “At my covert bidding, this new king will name me Lord Chancellor and Marshall Supreme of the Realm-and appoint all of you to the other major offices of the kingdom.”

“And then?” That was Handragon, his voice soft and almost lazy.

“And then,” Marlin purred, “Cormyr will be ours, and we can all settle all the scores we want to. I have my little list, and I’m sure all of you do, too. I expect much blood.”

The Sage of Shadowdale sank down into a crouch in the reeking alleyway, peered through the best of the many gaps in the untidy heap of rotten crates between him and the crowd of Purple Dragons milling about in front of the Bold Archer, and listened hard.

Not so much to the Dragons, for he’d heard Dragons who knew little but were being grandly the-entire- realm-rests-on-my-proudly-uniformed-shoulders about it more than a time or two before.

No, he was intent on the two persons in the little throng who weren’t wearing Dragon uniforms: Lord Arclath Delcastle and the dancer who was with him, her cloak swirling open at every step and trying to take her robe with it. Amarune Whitewave, pride of the Dragonriders’ Club. His descendant.

Hopefully his successor.

She was keeping silent and staying at Delcastle’s side, as the young lordling asked questions of various Purple Dragons. He got some curt answers from the lowest-ranking, and a few “I know not” shrugs, but Dralkin’s telsword answered his query with a blunt, “Who are you two? And why are you here, instead of keeping back beyond our sentinels?”

Arclath smiled. “I,” he informed the Dragon officer loftily, “am Lord Delcastle, and I am charged by the war wizards to learn as much as I can about what’s happened here.”

The telsword regarded him expressionlessly for a moment and then raised his arm to point at the barely clad Amarune. “And her?”

“She,” Arclath replied grandly, sweeping an arm around his ill-cloaked companion, “is with me!”

“Just for the evening?” another Dragon asked cynically from behind them. Arclath whirled around to confront the man, but couldn’t tell which of the six or seven impassive veteran Dragons standing there had spoken.

He turned back to Amarune to say something supportive-and saw she was both pale and trembling with weariness. The excitement of the fray and seeing bloody death was wearing off or hitting home or whatever such things did. There was only one gallant thing to do.

“Lady fair,” he announced, “Suzail seems all too full of brawling nobles-and worse-this night. Menaces who may well reappear, despite the vigilance of these dedicated Dragons. Pray, allow me to escort you safely to your place of rest!”

Amarune eyed him for only a moment ere shaking her head wearily. “No, Lord Delcastle, not there. The kindness of an escort back to the Dragonriders’ forthwith, however, I’ll not refuse.”

“But of course!” Arclath replied with a smile, bowing low. Far wealthier and more respectable women didn’t want lords to know where they lived-neither location nor depth of squalor. Well enough.

“I can promise you, Lady Dragonrider, that you’ll be quite safe. There won’t be just one upright and well-bred man guarding you; there’ll be me, my title, and my honor-so that’s three!”

Amarune rolled her eyes amid amused snorts from several of the Dragons. “I’m not Lady anyth-oh, never mind.”

“Of course not,” Arclath told her jovially. “I barely ever use my mind at all!”

Heralded by a louder chorus of snorts, the two of them set off back down the street. Elminster kept his eyes on the Dragons and was not surprised to see the telsword point at one of his men and then at the departing noble’s back.

That Dragon nodded and started to drift off down the street after the lord and the dancer, walking casually to a nearby doorway and standing in its shadow until Amarune looked back. When she was done doing so and the pair