'The Knights?'
'Yes. Your ornrion was sent to see them out of the realm. Old Thunderspells neglected to tell you that, I see. He neglects rather too much, these days.'
Whatever Alusair was going to say vanished when the man in bed with her deftly captured her other hand, dropped a genrle kiss into her palm-and was gone through the bed curtains, leaving her alone with her heart pounding hard again.
After a long, tense time of listening to nothing, Alusair relaxed, rolled onto her back, and smiled into the darkness.
She was caught up in Palace intrigue at last. Men slipping into her bed in the proverbial cat-hours of the night. Her bed.
She mattered.
Chapter 13
Drowning and dismembering curses
So, laughing man, hear you now my curse:
If you speak not truth, plain and fair,
If this deed does not victory prepare,
May you be drowned, dismembered, and worse.
The war wizard who was no war wizard at all scuttled quietly along a back passage in one of the dustier wings of the sprawling Royal Court, looking thoughtful. His identity was counterfeit, but his 'thinking hard' mien was all too real.
Boarblade had spent some time practicing the real Torst Khalaeto's scuttling gait, the pitch of the timid war wizard's voice, and Khalaeto's favorite phrases, because he needed to fool quire a few people. Not so much nobles, who were apt to be uncaring, barely noticing anything that wasn't all about them, but folk who knew Khalaeto. War wizards and courtiers he might well meet in these very halls and chambers.
Thankfully, this dangerous little imposture seemed about done. A few drinks with Torst in Khalaeto's favorite tavern and the skill of the hargaunt had given Boarblade a perfect copy of the face of timid, bespectacled War Wizard Torst Khalaeto, and fate-in the form of a land ownership dispute between two old families of Immersea-had promptly taken the real Khalaeto off into some of the dustiest chambers of Crown records for some days. When Boarblade thought of war wizards, he never pictured anything like a hesitant, peering-at-life, fussy old clerk, but… well, as the old saying put it, the gods daily taught a noticing man something new.
Khalaeto with his recording scroll, scrollboard, and little collection of quills had been the perfect questioner ro leave nobility unsuspicious. He went to several of the noble families in whose sons the Lady Narantha Crownsilver had planted mindworms, to ask them just which war wizard had later visited them.
Their, answers had all been the same: either Royal Magician Vangerdahast or Wizard of War Lorbryn Deltalon.
Telgarth Boarblade may have been many things, but fool was not one of them. Wherefore he knew better than to try to speak with Vangerdahast. Yet there might well be a way to, ah, worm the secrets out of the lesser war wizard of using mindworms to control those nobles.
So he'd gone seeking Lorbryn Deltalon, only to discover that the man seemed to have gone absent from the Palace.
What was making Boarblade so worried was the 'why' of that disappearance and its implications. He quickened his scuttling pace, wanting to be out of this disguise-and the Royal Court, too-as quickly as possible.
Without coming face to false face with the wizard Vangerdahast.
Wizard of War Maraertha Dalewood knew very well that Royal Magician Vangerdahast keenly scrutinized every word of the house wizards' reports. Even so, he was in the habit of oh-so-casually asking anyone bringing him such a report if there was anything of 'importance' his attention should be drawn to. She also knew that Old Thunderspells asked such questions far more as a test of her and rhe other report-runners than out of any concern over missing a fact, hint, or nuance.
Wherefore-as someone young, quiet, and fairly plain of looks, but ambirious-she'd taken care to pay close attention to the reports coming in from noble houses across the realm, to be ready for Vangey's questions.
She took care to keep the slightest hint of triumph or pride out of her voice, 'I believe so, Lord Vangerdahast, though I fully understand I may merely be unaware of orders you've given to others. I have noticed a pattern in the reports. Many house wizards say War Wizard Torst Khalaeto visited the noble households, unheralded, to ask if their heirs had recently been visited by a war wizard. He further inquired as to the identity of the visitor.'
Vangerdahast looked up at her sharply and frowned. 'And do the reports mention what answer they gave?'
Maraertha's heart started to thud. Unless Old Thunderspells was a better actor than she gave him credit for, this was important.
'Every one,' she said carefully, 'stresses that Khalaeto was told the truth. That the visitor had been either yourself or Wizard of War Lorbryn Deltalon.'
'Good, good,' Vangerdahast replied almost absently, rising and striding for the door. 'Leave the reports there on my desk, lass-and say nothing of this to anyone. If anyone should ask you about this, remember well for me who they are.'
'Yes, Lord,' Maraertha said to his dwindling back.
The Royal Magician raised his hand in a curt wave of acknowledgment ere he vanished down the passage outside.
Very carefully, squaring the papers just so, she set the reports on his desk, taking great care not to so much as glance at anything else on it.
Lord Manshoon of Zhentil Keep smiled to himself, out of long habit taking care that no trace of his mood reached his face.
These Knights might ably serve his currenr purposes.
He dare not work the Unbinding himself. Certain parts of the ritual would be fatal to those performing them, so he needed several capable persons, working together, who would press on with the Unbinding even after more than one of them died rather than abandoning it out of fear or grief.
In short, he needed adventurers. Adventurers such as these, eager to serve Cormyr and take pride in doing so, despite the apparent disapproval and suspicions of Royal Magician Vangerdahast and the usual generous supply of malicious, noble rabble.
That in turn would make the irony all the more delicious, when the Unbinding freed all the mad liches in the Lost Palace and poured them in a murderous, capering flood into the heart of the Royal Palace in Suzail, dooming most in that city to the proverbial 'horrible magical deaths.' Working the Unbinding would be seen as an act of treachery few would forget, even centuries hence. A fitting reward for zealous loyalty to the Purple Dragon, and a warning to all meddlesome adventuters.
Yes, my simple dupes. You will serve Cormyr very well.
Vangerdahast strode through the Royal Court, his robes billowing behind him. Where was Deltalon, anyhail, and why was Khalaeto-Khalaeto, who never concerned himself with anything that wasn't a document-seeking him?
His spell-summons to Lorbryn Deltalon, whose mind he read lightly but often these last few seasons, and whose loyalty he'd never once suspected, were met with only silence. Torst Khalaeto, however, responded instantly, from near at hand in another wing of the Royal Court.
Vangerdahast stopped, ignoring several impassive doorjacks standing stiffly at attention at their posts. He bore down into Khalaeto's mind more harshly than was his wont.
