Elminster Must Die

Marlin listened as the Sembian became increasingly loquacious, as drink after drink took hold. Grand tale after grand tale was rolling out of Meddanthyr, and even the nobles’ bodyguards had started to listen.

“Oh,” he was saying to one would-be noble, leaning forward to favor the table with an unlovely smile, “the Harpers officially disbanded. That is, the head Harpers announced the dissolution and then set about very publicly butchering many Harpers whom they knew to really be agents of various evil groups who’d infiltrated Those Who Harp.”

Meddanthyr sipped from his jack, smiled again, and added, “Yet I very much doubt it will surprise any of you to learn that the Harpers did not, in fact, cease to exist. An extremely secretive, underground fellowship of some two dozen Harpers continued-as they do to this very day. In fact, my friends-”

The wizard thrust his head forward and lowered his voice dramatically, to add in a menacing whisper, “theHarpers are rebuilding …”

“WhooOOoohoo!” young Lord Anvilstone piped up, imitating a ghost’s frightening wail as he wiggled all his fingers in mock apprehension.

“They’re sitting among us right now,” his friend Lord Mrelburn put in sarcastically. “Under the tables, everybody!”

There were snorts and derisive chuckles, in the heart of which someone muttered, “Fear a lot of lasses and fancy-boys sitting half-naked over harps? Not farruking likely!”

“Here, now,” an older lord said quellingly, “I can hear wild nonsense about the Harpers any time! Leave off; we’ve got a wizard here, and for once it’s not one of Ganrahast’s watchful toadies. I want to hear about magic, old magic out of legend-and what out of all those tales has real spells and suchlike behind it that we should be seeking or being wary of or that might be here in Cormyr under our noses.”

A general rumble and roar of assent greeted these words, and Marlin decided to seize this chance to steer the Sembian’s tongue before he downed any more drinks and veered toward the fanciful or incoherent.

“Hey, now!” he called firmly, before Meddanthyr could decide what tale of magic to tell first. “If it’s to be magic spoken of, I want to hear about the Nine-the Crown of Horns, Laeral before the Blackstaff ‘saved’ her right into his bed, and the shattering of that fellowship. Two of whom had interests hereabouts, I’ve heard. We know what befell Laeral, but whatever happened to the rest of them?”

Meddanthyr turned to face Marlin for just long enough to dispense a shrug. “Dead, some of them. Fled away, others-I know not where, but they were veteran adventurers, mind; they may well have had other names and faces prepared to step behind, to live out their days in plain view but not known for who they really were. And they could have had all manner of spells and enchanted items, aye, though Laeral was their strongest spellhurler, by far. I’ve heard of nothing linking any of them or their doings to Cormyr after the Crown of Horns took her and she turned on them all. But as to powerful magic, three of them shared a fate that should be of interest to you.”

The Sembian sampled the fresh jack that Marlin’s signal had just set in front of him, set it down again with a sigh of nigh tipsy contentment, and added, “Three of them got trapped and bound into magic items.”

A murmur of interest rippled around the table, and the old lord nodded and beamed triumphantly, as if he’d already heard something of this and was very pleased he’d be hearing more.

Meddanthyr waited for someone to answer the cue, and one of the younger and more impatient lordlings obliged. “Well? Who did it, and why, and what’re they like? Curse you for being so secretive, wizard!”

The Sembian smiled. “Secrets are what wizards deal in, Lord Mhorauk. No one knows who did it, which is to say there are so many competing stories and accusations that we can be certain of nothing beyond most of them being pure fancy. Someone very powerful in Art, obviously-and any answer to your ‘why’ will have to wait until we know that ‘who,’ or we’ll be merely spinning new fancies. Yet I can tell you a little of what they’re like … and will.”

He sought to sip from his jack again, discovered it empty in an almost mournful pantomime, then waited in satisfaction as three irritated lords all signaled to the Favorite’s hovering maids to refill it.

A trio of jacks were swiftly set before the Sembian, who in priestly pious manner both smiled his thanks and contrived to look surprised at the same time.

“Right now,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice to gather all nearby ears to his words, “somewhere in the Realms, there are three metal objects-a sword, a rather grand chalice, and a largish hand axe, most of the writings say-that are the prisons of three of the Nine. Anyone who has hold of one of these can order the trapped one to come forth from it, or send them back in, and when they are out of it can compel them as exactingly as a willing and eager slave. A servant who’ll never disobey, tire, hesitate, nor feel pain, and so can never fail for reasons of weakness or treachery.”

Meddanthyr held up a finger in warning and added softly, “You can know these slaves by their flames. At all times when outside their items, they are wreathed in leaping blue flames that burn no one and nothing and consume them not. So it is written, by several wizards and sages who saw them nigh a century ago. They’ve not been seen since, at least by anyone who survived to write or speak of it. The three objects that imprison these three of the Nine, I should add, do not themselves flame.”

He fell silent, leaving the table waiting for more, but sat back and spread his hands to silently indicate what he’d said was all.

An excited babble arose, all of the men asking or telling each other the same thing: the murderers of Huntcrown had been wreathed in flames, hadn’t they?

“And how sure are you, of all of this?” Marlin asked through that chatter, making his voice sharp as well as loud, hoping to goad. He succeeded.

The Sembian turned to glare at him and snapped back, “Wise men know they can never be sure of anything when it comes to the Art, saer, but I know what I’ve just said to be true-and also know I’m surer of matters magical, large and small, than you’ll ever be. I’m well aware that nobles are reared to belittle their lessers and to think all who lack titles are their lessers, but such thinking is wrong, and those who cling to it all pay stiff prices for doing so, sooner or later. Be guided accordingly-or ignore me and be just one more noble fool. I’m a wizard; I’ve met many noble fools. They’re not nearly as special as they believe themselves to be.”

Marlin waved aside this blustering with casual impatience. “But three adventurers? Three, and no one’s found even one of them?”

Meddanthyr shrugged. “They may never be found. Buried and lost, or lying at the bottom of the sea, perhaps-or found by some dragon, who’ll keep the chalice, the blade, and the hand axe in his hoard and never call forth the adventurers from them!”

“That’s true enough,” Marlin agreed, sitting back to let other questions come, and the wizard burble on about other things.

Finding a largish hand axe was a tall order for one young noble, but he could call on six nobles to do the seeking-and thereby draw attention to themselves and not him-just as soon as he returned to Stormserpent Towers.

Though they were still breathless from climbing the stairs of Marlin’s turret in such haste, Delasko Sornstern and Sacrast Handragon looked not just excited at Marlin’s news. They seemed delighted.

Marlin Stormserpent turned back to triumphantly telling his table of conspirators all he could remember of what the talkative wizard in the Favorite had said … and he could recall almost everything.

“That axe must be found!” he added, bringing his fist down on the table. “Find it, seize it, and bring it here! I-there’s, ah, a spell I’ll have to awaken, to call forth the slayer inside it to do our bidding!”

Your bidding, more than one noble around the table thought, but that thought made their faces slip only momentarily, for Marlin was watching them closely.

Eager enthusiasm was what they strove to show. With one exception.

“But how?” Irlin Stonestable asked sourly. “There must be a lot of hand axes in Suzail!”

“Call on the nobles who’ve come to town for the council, in their rooms,” Marlin snapped. “Say you want to really get to know them and strike up friendships. Bring your House wizards along with you’ to sniff out magic with spells they cast before you go in to meet any lords. Your mages only have to pay