Elminster Must Die

“What if that was the gorget?” Merlar asked hesitantly. “Being destroyed, I mean?”

“Then their lives are forfeit,” Kelgantor said flatly. “Slay them at all costs and by any means, no matter what they threaten or offer. Move.”

The Cormyreans hastened, crashing through leaves and branches. Someone rather tunelessly chanted, “Another bold night in brave Cormyr,” a line from the old ballad popular with the soldiers of the realm. Smiling at that, Storm faded back, seeking to drop behind them all and get clear.

“Not now,” a highknight muttered beside her ear in the impenetrable darkness, mistaking her for one of the war wizards. “You should have emptied your bladder two ridges back, when Kelgantor gave the order. If we-”

Storm knew that cautious growl and allowed herself a thin smile. Eskrel Starbridge was a grizzled old veteran … and one of the few highknights she’d trust to defend Cormyr. Or do much of anything, for that matter.

So she turned and struck him senseless almost gently.

Catching him in her arms before he could thud heavily to the damp leaves underfoot, she thrust the forefinger she’d dipped in her longsleep herb mix up Starbridge’s nose to keep him down and slumberous. Stretching him out gently on the sodden forest floor made no more noise than the boots of his nearest oblivious fellows ahead of them … and passed unnoticed.

As silently as she knew how, Storm set off through the trees in a wide, swift circle. She had to get to Elminster and Alassra before the Cormyreans did.

The gorget flickered feebly once as Elminster whispered the last word of the incantation. Then it tingled, dark once more, and started to sink into nothingness under his fingertips, melting amid a few wisps of smoke as its ancient magics flowed into Alassra.

She stirred in her sleep, frowning, probably dreaming of someone throttling her, as the tips of El’s fingers touched her throat through the fading metal … then smiled, her body seeming to grow more lush and strong under him as the magic fed her.

Her eyelids flickered, and she purred like a satisfied cat, stretching and arching under him, ere murmuring, “Tremble, all, for the Witch-Queen is truly back …”

Her eyes opened, and her arms reached up to encircle him. “Oh, my Aumar,” she said delightedly, “You’ve-”

The spell that struck them then flung them a few feet, wreathed in snarling flames that clawed at them but could not scorch. So it tore them apart, to tumble away side by side, unharmed but furious. As if heeding a cue, the moon burst through the scudding clouds and flooded the tumbled rocks of Tethgard all around with cold, clear light.

Elminster cursed as he felt the soundless burst of sparks that meant the enspelled badge he’d recovered from a Sembian burial vault had just been destroyed, consumed in shielding Lass and himself from the attack. Which meant he had just one enchanted item left.

Without Storm’s aid, he could withstand only one more hostile magic. Or hurl just one spell.

For her part, the Simbul was on her feet and glaring into the trees whence the attack had come, eyes afire. “Who dares-?”

“We dare, witch!” came the cold reply, as a dozen men strode just clear of the trees, some in dark war-leathers and bearing drawn swords. “You stand in Cormyr and are subject to the king’s justice! In his name we call on you to surrender, working no magic and offering no defiance, and submit to our will!”

“Submit to your will? Nay, I choose my own lovers,” the Simbul told them coldly. “I do not submit to armed men who threaten me in the forest. You strike me as brigands, not men of the Crown. Those who uphold justice call polite parley from a distance, rather than hurling spells without warning at couples they espy in the night.”

“You are the mages Elminster and the Simbul, and we have orders to arrest you and obtain from you the Royal Gorget of Battle, stolen from the Crown of Cormyr. We are wizards of war and highknights of the realm, not brigands, and we call again upon you to surrender! Lay down all weapons and work no spells, and you will be dealt with accordingly.”

The men were moving again, spreading out and advancing more swiftly at either end of their line, as if to encircle the couple amid the rocks.

“Where’s Starbridge?” one of them muttered, looking suddenly to right and left along the line, but the man beside him-the one who’d called out to Elminster and the Simbul-waved a silencing hand, swiftly and imperiously.

“Leave us be,” Elminster warned the Cormyreans, then cast a swift glance over his shoulder at a faint sound behind him. Storm was hastening up through the rocks to join them, crawling like a swift jungle cat. Heartened, he went to stand beside his lady, facing into the closing ring of men with her.

Seeing no signs of his quarry fleeing, the Cormyrean commander waved a hand, and two men strode forward from the closing ring. El recognized one almost immediately: Sir Ilvellund Nordroun, the head highknight of Cormyr. The other was a young war wizard he’d seen striding haughtily around the palace, whose name he didn’t know.

“A parley, or are these two sent to wrestle us down?” Alassra mused calmly.

Elminster shrugged. “Perhaps thy reminder of proper courtesy stung them into this gesture. I’ve no doubt it will end in violence.”

“I find myself less than surprised,” the Simbul replied dryly, as the highknight and the mage came to a halt a careful four paces away.

“Yield the gorget,” the young war wizard demanded. “Now.”

“Youngling,” Elminster said gravely, “ye stand in the presence of a queen. Can ye not manage a trifling minimum of courtesy?”

“This is courtesy,” the mage flung back. “We could have just blasted you down.”

“You could have tried,” the Simbul replied almost gently, meeting his sneer with a look of disdain that made him flush and look away.

“You’ve heard our orders to you,” he told them almost sullenly. “Obey, or face our lawful wrath-and your doom.”

“Doom,” Elminster murmured. “Villains always seem to love that word. I wonder why?”

“Villains? You’re the villains here! We are lawkeepers of Cormyr and stand for justice and good!”

The Old Mage sighed. “Are ye still such a child as to divide all the folk ye meet into ‘good’ and ‘bad’? Lad, lad, there are no good people and bad people-there are just people, doing things others deem good or bad. If ye serve most of the gods well, ye should end up doing more good than bad. I try to do good things. Do ye?”

“I’m not here to bandy words with you, old man. Give us the gorget, and surrender yourselves into our custody. I warn you, we’ll have it from you peacefully-or the other way.”

Elminster and his lady traded calm looks then faced the young war wizard together and said in unison, “No.”

Shuldroon looked almost gleeful. “You seek to defy all of us? I remind you that you are overmatched sixfold by we wizards of war, and again by the highknights, the best warriors of the realm. See sense, man, and surrender.”

Elminster scratched at his beard, looking almost bored. “So ye can slay me without a battle, is that it? Nay, loud-tongue, I’ve not lived so long by abandoning all my principles. Here’s one ye younglings would do well to live by: if ye’ve done the right thing, stand thy ground.”

“Sir Nordroun,” the wizard commanded, “take and bind the woman. We’ll see then if the old man wags his tongue quite so defiantly.”

The highknight sighed. “That is less than wise, Shuldroon. I will take orders from Kelgantor, but not from you.”

The young war wizard turned in swift rage. “Are my ears actually hearing-”