group of nobles-ourselves and those who join with us. We will hire outland wizards to advise the king-’control’ is such an ugly word-as we employ mages, mercenaries, and loyal Cormyreans who cleave to our cause, to hunt down and exterminate those foul subverters of the throne, the wizards of war.”
He sat back and looked into the eyes of the young lords around the table, watching them relax in relief… then lean forward in excitement.
Good. The ring on his finger that could slay them all would not be needed. Yet.
Lord Windstag could read faces, too. “I think I speak for all of us,” he said eagerly, “when I say we are most interested in-”
The door banged open without benefit of steward or announcement, and a panting, wide-eyed arrival was in the room before a single dagger could be drawn.
“Save me!” Marlin Stormserpent gasped, almost collapsing onto the table. “You’ve got to hide me!”
“From whom?” Handragon snapped.
“Who’s after you?” Lord Illance asked sharply, twisting a ring on his finger until it glowed.
Stormserpent’s eyes were wide with terror as he waved a heavy chalice in one hand and a bright-bladed sword in the other.
“He bursts into your mind,” he hissed in Illance’s face, “and hunts you with beholders!”
Everyone was on his feet, talking at once. Decanters toppled, rolled, and shattered unnoticed.
“What happened, Marl?” Ormblade demanded, his voice louder than the rest. “Who’s after you-”
“Hold!” Handragon shouted, drowning out the rest of the question. “Who’s this?”
He was pointing at the door.
Which stood open again. Framed in it stood the wincing steward, with a man whose stance and garb suggested he was a house servant, but of another household.
“Osbur? What news?” Illance barked, before adding to the rest of the room, “This man can be trusted!”
The man bowed then announced huskily, “I am sent by Lord Elbert Oldbridle with a mess-”
“Elbert? What of your master, Lord Olgarth Oldbridle?”
“Dead, Lord Illance. Slain by… others, led by a man of Westgate. Lord Olgarth’s last orders to me were to pass on a specific warning to his son, if he fell. I did this, and his son-my master, now-bade me seek you out and give you the warning, too.”
“Do so.”
“ ‘Competing cabals from Sembia and from Westgate are seeking to subvert senior courtiers of Cormyr during this unrest, so as to either influence or outright rule the Forest Kingdom. Beware Kormoroth and Yestrel and the Lhendreths of Saerloon.’ Those were his exact words, Lord Illance.”
“Thank you, faithful Osbur. Take yourself back to Lord Elbert, and convey my sympathies for his father’s demise. Tell two of my men-the warriors in red you passed, outside the gates-that they’re to accompany you, on my orders, for a safe return to your new master. With the city in an uproar, some nobles may see messengers as targets.”
The servant bowed low, gave thanks, and departed, the steward going out with him and firmly closing the door.
Stonestable raised his flagon to Illance. “Lord Oldbridle-the unfortunately deceased elder-was of your faction, I take it?”
“Father and son both,” Illance replied calmly, guiding the still-panting Stormserpent to a chair. “Olgarth will be missed, for his fellowship and his prudence. This last news he sent, I’m afraid, surprises me not in the slightest. Lords, we stand squarely at the heart of… interesting times for us all.”
Marlin Stormserpent made a confused, almost sobbing sound, and all eyes went to him.
“The realm at war… what have I done?” he quavered, staring around at their frowning faces. “What have we all done?”
Many young nobles of Cormyr might be languid do-nothings, but there was nothing at all wrong with Arclath Delcastle’s legs or lungs. He was racing like a harbor-gale wind, dwindling into the dark and echoing distances of the haunted wing with impressive speed.
With a sigh that would have done any exasperated mother proud, the ghost of Alusair Obarskyr sped after him.
“What’s she going to do to him?” Amarune demanded, trying to see where the fleeing noble went. Her voice was that of an angry, frightened young mask dancer, not the rougher tones of the Old Mage.
“Protect him,” Storm replied. “This is the haunted wing, remember? Spells, traps, even a few walking skeletons…”
“Elminster,” Rune said fiercely, “I require the use of my body. Now.”
“So ye can pursue him, too? Catch and comfort him? Of course,” the wizard within her said-and was gone, falling from her in a thick, momentarily blinding cloud.
“Thank you!” Amarune gasped. And sprinted off into the gloom.
“By the gods,” Mirt growled, “but the lass can run! They’ll have to be swift spells, traps, and skeletons, to do aught to-”
“Thank you for that cheery thought, Lord Moneylender,” Storm told him tartly, as ashes flowed up her legs in an eerie rustling stream, into the tops of her boots.
The moment the stream had ended, she started to run, too.
Mirt sighed gustily, shrugged, and lurched after her, his ragged old boots flapping.
“Rather than tarry alone, I may as well join the parade,” he growled aloud, hurling himself along passages and across cobweb-hung chambers. “See Cormyr, dance with its skeletons, leave my mark. Or find my grave at last.”
Unseen, behind him, a spider as large as the puffing Waterdhavian’s head descended on a thread of its own making, to survey the spot all the noisy humans had just departed.
Torn remnants of its web hung everywhere; there was much work to do. As always.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
T he last of the smoke is gone,” the young mage-Caldor Raventree, a keen-to-prove-himself lad from Arabel-reported, throwing his shoulders back like a Purple Dragon on parade. “Sixteen spells it took us, to make sure.”
“Good,” Wizard of War Yarjack Blamreld replied curtly. “So, who’s been found?”
He had Dragon officers trotting up to keep him apprised of that throughout the cautious search of Stormserpent Towers, but he was interested to see if Raventree was a “do my job and pay no attention to anything else” sort, like the last eager youngling he’d been saddled with… or someone who just might turn out, after some firm training, to be halfway useful.
“Names, I know not, but I saw the Lady Stormserpent and twoscore others, all of them garbed as house servants. I’ve heard nothing of Lord Marlin Stormserpent being found, yet.”
“How many dead?”
“Six or seven, but the priests say more may die. There’s much coughing among the revived, and none can walk yet.”
Absently Blamreld caught hold of his scraggly beard, tore a fistful of loose hair out of it, and flung it away into the breeze. He always did, when thinking hard.
So, who got into a noble mansion undetected-through a cordon of Dragons and Crown mages, himself among them, yet-and caused poisoned smoke to rise from smashed vials throughout the place, before vanishing again? Sending a beholder, or perhaps the illusion of one?
“You can entrust the questioning of the pris… er, survivors, to me,” said Raventree. “Ah, overseeing it, that is. Of course, all of our fellow Crown mages will be-”
“Of course they will. And so long as they remember as well as you do that these good Stormserpent folk are
