assemble enough Dragons, priests, and mages to dare to march this far in. So start arguing.”
Arclath smiled. “You know us well.”
Alusair smiled back. “You are a noble of Cormyr, Lord Delcastle.”
“And although known well for your debonair lack of concern over anything at all,” Storm said gravely, “you have been anything but unconcerned-or even approaching calm-these last few days. I feel your mistrust. ’Tis high time we talked.”
Arclath flushed, let out a gusty sigh, leaned back against a pillar, and folded his arms across his chest. “It is. Though we haven’t had much opportunity for leisurely discussion of anything. Nor have I quite dared to say what I think, with Rune justifiably furious if we talk about her rather than to her, and with, well… my fear of you, Lady Storm, and he whom you carry.”
“True fear? Or just wariness?” Storm asked quietly.
“Real fear, Storm. You are… a figure out of legend. And so is he.”
“Elminster,” Mirt and the ghost said together.
“Elminster,” Arclath confirmed. “Servants of a goddess, hurlers of magic that can shatter castles and level mountains and all of that; I’ve heard the tales. At many a revel, late at night over flagons, there’s talk of you, Lady Storm. It’s said you lead whatever Harpers are left in Cormyr, or recruit new Harpers, or both. I grew up hearing about you. Now I’ve met you and come to care for Rune-and now I fear Elminster wants my Rune, body and soul, to be his thrall.”
“And if he did?” Storm asked gently. “Wouldn’t that make her the best-guarded woman in all the realms?”
“Not if he can take over anyone he wants to. That makes Rune or anyone he rides something to be used up or abandoned when harmed, tossed aside like a cracked flagon. Moreover, long before the flagon gets cracked, my Rune could be gone forever. This has been my fear. That if ever I leave you, Lady Storm, alone with Rune, Elminster will enter and conquer her utterly, keeping her body and making all that’s left of the real Amarune I love fade away!”
Rune started to say something, then closed her mouth firmly and shot Storm a look of challenge.
The silver-haired woman looked back at them, saw Mirt and Alusair gazing at her with just as much interest, and let out a sigh.
“Fair enough, Arclath. Hear the truth: Elminster can only take over bodies I prepare for him, or have previously prepared. Right now, that means just one person in all the world: Amarune.”
Storm took a step forward and stared right into Arclath’s eyes. “He cannot take over your body unless you choose to let him-willingly.”
“I don’t believe you,” Arclath whispered.
“Yes, and that’s the problem that’s been hovering like a shadow between us,” Storm agreed sadly. “A shadow I’d love to be rid of.”
She strode a few steps away through the dusty gloom, then turned back to face him. “I can prove the truth of what I say, Arclath, by going mind-to-mind with you-but I no longer have magic enough to do that without help.”
“Whose help?” Arclath asked sharply.
“There’s a certain enchanted item on display in this palace… clear across it, as it happens. Right now, with the Dragons roused and Glathra after us, the trip to fetch it will hold some danger, but-”
“No,” Arclath said flatly. “You’re carrying Elminster with you, right now. If our minds are, ah, touching, El could come right into mine and overpower me.”
“Not so.”
“So you say. Yet, how do I know Elminster isn’t controlling you right now, forcing you to speak-”
“Enough of this,” Alusair snapped, soaring over their heads. “You, Lord Delcastle, hold an opinion of the Sage of Shadowdale that’s far from how I see him, and I’ve known him for-gods help me! — more than a century, now. Hear this, my royal command: Stop refusing all offers to show you truth, and accept one of them. Cormyr needs wise nobles not just stubborn ones!”
Arclath gazed up at her. “Your royal command? I’m sorry, Princess, but as Glathra said, you’re dead. Your time for giving commands is past.”
“Is it now? Well,” Alusair announced, her voice suddenly as sharp as a sword, “my time for keeping my royal patience is certainly at an end!”
She plunged down out of the dimness like a vengeful arrow, straight into Arclath-and stayed there.
As they all watched, Lord Arclath Delcastle gasped, stiffened, and started to shiver.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T he cold, the clawing cold…
Arclath fought to breathe, struggled to stay on his feet, tried to speak…
And lost all battles.
Sinking down, everything going gray, he was only vaguely aware of Rune shrieking and clutching at him.
Her fingers were warm, but everything else was colder, darker. A deadly chill that had a cutting edge of fury cruised angrily through his innards, searing his mind with a pride and grief greater than anything he’d ever felt.
So, that’s what it feels like, to be the ghost of a princess.
You have no idea, naive lordling, came a snarl from the depths of his mind.
He was sliding down the pillar, his limbs as heavy as stone, and had reached his knees, his mouth slack and his head hanging, before the ghost of Alusair Obarskyr curled out of his chest like a wisp of smoke and snapped, “Helpless, yet? I want you broken, Delcastle, if that’s what it’ll take to have you let Storm or Elminster enter your head and show you what it’s like-and that El has no intention of keeping Amarune’s body or destroying her mind.”
“You… tyrant,” Arclath managed to hiss, glaring at her.
“Yes, I am that,” the face floating in front of him agreed bleakly. “I had to be. They called me the Steel Regent for a reason, Arclath. I accept your judgment.”
She drifted closer, her chill taking the last color from his face. “Yet, hear my judgment of you: ’tis time for you to be wiser, Lord Delcastle. Your friends need you to be, and the realm needs this, too.”
She backed away-the gods granting a small mercy-and Arclath could move again.
He looked at Mirt. “And what’s your judgment of me, Lord of Waterdeep? Am I the stubborn, callow fool these elder folk think I am?”
“Of course ye are, lad. Ye’re a noble of Cormyr! Stubborn, callow fools is what most nobles are-and stay, unless someone gives them a boot up the behind. Ye just got one. Will it work, I wonder?”
Arclath looked at Amarune, whose arms were still around him. “You, Rune? Do you think I’m a fool?”
Her eyes were two banners of love. Two sad, proud pools.
“I think you’re a tower of strength who refuses to surrender,” she replied quietly. “But unlike the many bullies among your fellow lords-that Windstag, for one-you prefer to hide your strength, rather than use it as a daily weapon. I love you for that. My Lord Fool.”
Arclath blinked at her then slowly grinned. “I… see. And as you see so much more swiftly and clearly than I do, I put my fate in your hands. School me, Rune. Even if you use Elminster to do so.”
Amarune looked at Storm.
Who shrugged. “I know not if El’s recovered enough to do or say anything.”
Slipping off one of her boots, she reached inside. When she withdrew her arm, it was cloaked in clinging ashes up to the elbow.
Rune reached out, Storm clasped the dancer’s hand, and ashes raced along their joined arms like
