Khelben winced, eyes closing for a moment as he muttered an extremely creative curse under his breath. Then he turned and said politely, 'Well met as always, Dove. What brings you to this rather remote place? A very long arm of coincidence, or have you been lurking at Elminster's beck and call until the so-called 'right moment?' '
'My,' Dove said, striding into the room and srripping off her long leather gloves, 'you do have a nasty, suspicious mind, don't you?' She undid two buckles, swung two crossed and linked scabbards off her back, and set her swords on the table. 'You'll achieve more in life, Lord Mage of Waterdeep, if you're nice to people more often and bully, bluster, and snap commands at them rather less. Just some friendly advice.'
She half-sat on one end of the table and announced, 'I was sent here by Mystra, as it happens, who has shared with me your amicable discussions thus far. She'd like me to state the view of the Harpers of the Dales-and those of us based in Cormyr, too. We believe it will do much harm to the stability of those lands if the Knights ate left undefended for any lowly Zhent to slaughter and Elminster vanishes from his visible guardianship. Even if another wizard-that'd be you, Blackstaff, but your face is less known hereabouts, and the Zhents are very good at spreading false rumors, to say nothing of wild-tongued Dalefolk and bored citizens of Cormyr-then shows up and engages in a spectacular spell-battle with some fell and scary wraith-things, the Zhents will rub their hands and probably start marching their warriors the next day, to 'protect' everyone in sight. By conquering them, of course.'
She rose and srrolled in Khelben's direction, wagging a reproving finger. 'I hardly need to tell either of you gentle mages that Harpers disagree among themselves over all sorts of things. Yet on this, all local Harpers are agreed: Zhentil Keep must not be given any excuse to send forth the armies they're itching to use, nor emboldened in any way. Starting to think Elminster isn't sitting in Shadowdale watching their every move is a golden pretext in itself. Khelben, don't be stupid. For once.'
'Now who's being rather less than nice?' the Blackstaff retorted, striding slowly to meet her. 'And while I'd like to have leisure time enough to debate tactics with every Harper 'twixt here and the more distant isles of Anchorome, in this particular matter-one Chosen keeping secrets from another-the views of non-Chosen are immaterial. Consider them dismissed.'
The sigh that resounded through the room was so deep and strong that it numbed their very bones and set the stone table to thrumming eerily. Khelben spun to seek its source-and found himself regarding two huge, long- lashed eyes that had opened in the old stones of the wall. Human eyes, by their appearance, but each as large across as he stood tall, and they moved over the surface of the stone and left it unaffected.
Blue fire surged through the veins of all the Chosen, nigh choking them. Mystra was not amused.
'Lady,' Khelben said gravely, bowing his head, 'how-'
Khelben mine, the goddess said, her voice thunder in all their heads, hear and heed my commands, as Elminster has already done. You are to stand back from the Knights and Shadowdale and those known as Horaundoon and Old Ghost. You and all Chosen are merely to watch what befalls, meddling not at all. If one snatches tools out of every forge fire, they can never be tempered at all.
'Your will commands us all, Lady,' Khelben spluttered, 'but- but doing nothing, if you'll forgive me for saying so, seems to render all Chosen unnecessary.'
You are 'doing nothing,' as you term it, in this one matter. Let this be one tale you stay out of, all of you. It is needful. Remember also this, Khelben Arunsun: This world is large and full of striving life. You are not the only one playing a long game.
'That's so,' Storm agreed, her face bathed in the light of the bright scrying sphere floating in the air above her kitchen table. 'Even my patience is growing a rrifle frayed just keeping these dolts Torm and Rathan alive so that they can join the Knights.'
That thought prompted the Bard of Shadowdale to whirl away from one scrying sphere to another, to peer at whatever Torm was up to at that moment somewhere in the Realms.
The sphere brightened obediently. Storm peered inro it, rolled her eyes at what she saw, and murmured, 'Young Master Slyboots, you'll be the death of yourself yet!'
Chapter 6
Great Murdering Battle
For all that of love our bards do prattle And sages opine as they're derided 'Tis always in great murdering battle That things get-in truth-decided.
The horse under Dauntless had tasted battle before, but that didn't mean it had any particular liking for fire that came racing right at it, shrieking.
It bucked, heaving and plunging under the ornrion in its haste to be elsewhere, away from those rushing flames, back out of these trees onto the open road, whereArrows came hissing out of the trees to thud hard and deep into the horse's haunches, causing it to scream in pain, rear, and dance sideways so wildly that Taltar Dahauntul decided being spilled out of his saddle was wiser than staying in it.
He crashed down hard onto his shoulders and rolled hastily away-or tried to. Pain stabbed across his neck and shoulders as the breath slammed out of him. He groaned, and the plunging hooves of another horse came crashing down all around him.
And were gone, leaving in their wake a cursing Purple Dragon who thundered to earth through a rather fragile thornbush, shouting out his own curses.
That straining, sputtering voice belonged to Telsword Grathus. Dauntless saw more arrows hiss past overhead and heard Grathus gulp suddenly, choke, and stop spitting out curses forever.
' 'Tis a monster!' First Sword Aubrus Norlen cried. 'A monster, to be sure! Hew it down! Dragons, to me now! Slay this beast that all Cormyr be delivered from its grave peril!'
Panting, he hacked at the lithe, dark, flaming thing that was rolling in the stream at his feet. A hissing cloud of smoke was billowing up from it. He could hardly see his foe. Yet he swung lustily, and his steel bit into something solid. That brought a shriek of pain from the thing, and it clawed at his ankles. He stumbled hastily back.
'Dragons!' he shouted again. 'To me now! Aid, for the love of Cormyr! Aid, for the love of-'
'— a little piece and quiet!' Blade Orbrar snapped, coming up beside him and slashing at whatever was thrashing and rolling in the stream beneath the drifting smoke. 'Norlen, will you belt up?'
'Whaaat? I am your superior, Teln Orbrar!' First Sword Norlen bellowed. 'Obey me and address me with the proper respect and defer-uhhh!'
First Sword Aubrus Norlen's gasp was as loud as everything else that had been coming out of his mouth. It hung in the air as he staggered backward and sat down, hard.
The Purple Dragon Blade turned to see why Norlen was retreating so precipitously. He was astonished to see an arrow had appeared, sprouting as if by magic, low on his front. It was sunk deep in a gap in the First Sword's too-small armor, between two plates that had quite failed to grow and cover his expanding belly over these last few months. The arrow was quivering, and so was Norlen. He stared up at Teln Orbrar in disbelieving horror, spitting up dark blood, as the light behind his eyes went out.
Orbrar was neither a stupid man nor a slow-witted one. He flung himself flat on the ground right beside the First Sword even before Norlen toppled sideways. The arrow that had been meant for him whistled harmlessly past and was lost amid brief cracklings in dark undergrowth.
'Naed,' Orbrar gasped, rolling frantically over and down into a little hollow in the ground, almost cutting himself on his sword doing so. 'Gods-cursed stlarning naed!'Oh, tluin, tluin, tluin!'
'Not now,' a voice that was tight with pain hissed in his ear, an instant before a very, very cold knife entered his throat. 'I'm too busy being wounded right now. Later, perhaps-you murdering Purple Dragon bastard.'
