The listeners on the stairs heard the glass stopper of a heavy decanter set down, liquid gurgling, and the thud of the decanter returning to the tabletop.
'Sword, would you-?' The stopper was replaced and the decanter shifted again.
'Thank you.' Stormcloak sipped, swallowed, and came closer. His voice was loud, very close under them, when he continued. 'I have long had my suspicions, Councillor Gulkin, that some among us may well serve other masters, unknown to me. Perhaps you know something of this and can enlighten me? No? Well, feel free to unburden yourselves, any of you, should you learn of such misplaced loyalties among us. There have always been those who meddle-worshipers of dead dragons, the Harpers, and the Red Wizards, to name just three. I'll be very surprised if at least one man here doesn't know more of one such concern than he wants us to realize. Of course, we must always look to Cormyr on the one hand and Sembia on the other to take an interest in us, lying between them, the lightly patrolled backlands of both within our reach.'
They heard him walking about almost lazily in the deep silence that followed.
'That, Cheth,' Stormcloak added lightly, 'is why I'd like everyone here to know just how matters stand. Besides, this will give traitors among us something to do-trying to report back to those who hold their secret loyalty, and not be discovered by us while doing so.'
'Yes, Lord Stormcloak,' Cheth agreed.
'Ah, but let us have the vote,' Stormcloak's voice came again, almost purring now. 'Or rather, to save time and thirsty throats, councillors, let us hear who would vote against me. Simply speak out and name the one you would have rule the dale in my stead.' He chuckled and added, 'In view of the situation at present, please ensure that you choose someone you know to be still alive.'
Elminster leaned over and murmured, his lips against Sharantyr's ear, 'I'd not seen this humor in the man before. It's much worse than his cold, snarling side.'
Sharantyr turned her head until her soft lips were at the Old Mage's ear. 'I take it, then, that you're voting against him?'
Elminster chuckled silently. It made his beard dance against her cheek.
'I believe you're right, Cheth,' Stormcloak's voice came up to them. 'It seems I am lord in the High Dale, after all. We'll have to set a feast over this. Tonight, in the Great Hall. Give the orders, won't you, Councillor Gulkin?'
'Aye, Lord,' the deep voice muttered. 'Is this meeting at an end?'
'If the council agrees,' Stormcloak said silkily. There was a gruff, uneven answering chorus of assent, the sound of chairs scraping back, and the noise of booted feet moving about. The sounds receded until they died away entirely.
'Follow the wine merchant,' Stormcloak's voice came again. 'He's been entirely too quiet and agreeable these six rides past.'
'Aye, Lord,' someone replied, and left.
Stormcloak's tread came closer until it was right beneath them. His hard, carefree voice said, 'All right, Haragh, you can come down now. You've been crouching up there listening to all of it, haven't you?'
Sharantyr twisted out from under Elminster's hand and launched herself down the stairs like a vengeful arrow. Her sword flashed as she came out into the light in a leap that brought her down on top of the startled wizard.
Only the goblet in the Zhentarim's hand saved him. Her landing drove his outstretched arms up, and the goblet with them in front of his throat. Her sword cut it to twisted ruin, but Stormcloak's flesh beneath escaped, leaving him alive and able to shriek.
Sharantyr's training made her look up as they struck the floor together. Three fully armored, capable warriors were moving toward her, weapons grating out.
Veterans, and not alone. Two swordsmen had been going out the door after the departing councillors. They were already turning startled faces to her.
If she carved up this Zhent wizard, she'd have no time to hold back all the swords coming for her. And who would protect Elminster then?
Sharantyr sprang up, too busy to curse, and leapt to meet the first warrior. From behind her, a magic missile streaked into one of the faces at the door, quelling the shout it was widening to utter. The other missile must have struck the new lord of the dale. Behind her she heard him gasp, curse, and roll frantically away.
Then she was fighting for her life and had no time to watch Angruin Stormcloak frantically teleport away.
Harpies curse the woman, whoever she was, were his parting thoughts. He'd snatched the time to take that spell back into his mind as battle raged at the very gates of the castle. Now it was used and gone, with dangerous fools still lurking about.
Red butterflies suddenly swirled all around Sharantyr, and with them came a drift of snow.
She heard Elminster sigh and murmur, 'Wands!' in exasperation. Then the first warrior slipped on something and fell heavily at her feet, nearly taking her with him. She caught the second blade reaching for her life at the last possible instant.
The first man was struggling and heaving beneath her, reaching for a dagger or trying for room enough to get his sword into her, no doubt. The second man was snarling and using all his strength to force into her face the broadsword she'd parried a finger or so in front of her nose. Sharantyr set her teeth and resisted, knowing he was stronger and that the struggles beneath her were forcing her up into the waiting blade.
'Lady, aid me,' Sharantyr cried, calling on Mielikki, the goddess of the forest. 'Tymora and Tempus, attend,' she added for good measure, seeing death very close to her and reaching dark fingers her way.
Then the man above her grunted and was spitting blood and teeth as a tattered, dirty, and familiar boot took him in the face. Elminster had joined the fight. He stepped on her with a muttered, 'Sorry, lass,' as he bent to drive his dagger into the neck of the man beneath her. Then he sprang up, robes swirling, to stamp on the sword hand of the man he'd kicked. There was a cracking sound and a roar of pain, and Elminster had the sword in his own hands and was bringing it up to parry the rushing attack of the third man.
'Shar,' the Old Mage suggested calmly as a flurry of ringing blows drove him back across her toward the stair, 'cut the legs out from under this fellow for me, will ye?'
Sharantyr grinned savagely. 'I'll do better,' she replied, and snaked an arm out from under the tangle of limbs to drive her sword up into the breeches under his armor skirt.
The man screamed, gave an awkward hop, and fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Elminster dropped the sword and went to the table.
Men were thundering back up into the room, hastily donning helms and drawing swords. Elminster picked up the heaviest chair he could find, and with a sudden rippling of muscles threw it across the room to crash into the foremost man.
The startled Wolf went down, and the man behind him tripped and went sprawling. Elminster hurled the iron sphere he was carrying at the next man and charged forward, snatching out his dagger again.
He used it twice with brutal haste before he reached the pinioned man. With a bleak smile he struck the sword out of the man's hand and shoved the man hard with his shoulder.
The man was wrapped in metal bands, like a cage that has tightened around its prisoner until the bars press into the skin all around and movement is impossible. Elminster drove the helpless man backward into the door frame, where he lodged amid cracking noises of wood and bone, and a scream of pain.
'Noisy, these Zhents,' he commented as the man screamed again. Men behind him in the corridor outside the room began to curse, trying and failing to push the pinioned Wolf out of their way. 'How do ye, Shar?'
Sharantyr came to join him, blade wiped clean. 'I'm still alive,' she replied grimly, eyeing the man, 'but I like little the thought of hacking my way through that lot. What say we go back up again and seek another way down?'
Elminster frowned for a breath or two as unseen men shoved and cursed, doing something that made the caged man scream again. Then he nodded. 'I don't like to leave magic behind, with things as they are,' he said, eyeing the iron bands, 'but there's no easy way to get that back without fighting all of them. I suppose I should thank Mystra and Tymora both for it merely working when I needed it.'
Sharantyr nodded and took his arm. 'Come, El. Let's be out of here before someone else finds magic that works and fills this room with fire-or worse.'
