Alusair swirled up behind them, growing more solid. She could chill all of these cruel swaggerers by plunging through their bodies, but this time she was angry enough that she wanted to slap one of them-Harbrow, who was chuckling heartily down at his spellwork-across the face first, and spit her royal displeasure into his face.
It took a lot of effort to achieve any sort of solidity, even very briefly, and she was still straining to when Storm Silverhand came striding down the passage, long silver hair coiling and slithering about her shoulders like a nest of angry serpents.
“That was not well done, Saer Mage,” she snapped. “Since when do Cormyr’s wizards of war strike down any blameless citizen they see?”
“Since they are ordered to smite particular miscreants and espy two of them,” Baern Harbrow told her triumphantly. “This mask dancer-and you!”
The wand in his hand spat magic at Storm.
Mirt stared around the luxuriously appointed room-hah-hum, nice four-poster; pity he’d no one to share it with-and took a sip of Berduskan Dark.
Then, frowning, he took another.
Frown deepening, he held the glass up to the light.
This was the wine he’d remembered as so special? Either he’d been off his head, this inn was playing him false, or the drink that went by that name these days was poor swill compared to the vintages he’d tasted all those years ago.
He downed the whole goblet in one great gulp, to see if that improved matters. It didn’t, and the servant who’d just brought it winced visibly.
Mirt gave the man a hard and heavy look.
After the man started to back away, the Waterdhavian asked gently, “Have you a better wine to recommend to me?”
“N-no, saer. That is our best.”
“I see,” said Mirt, and sat down heavily in the great chair. It groaned under his weight but held up. Well, at least the gods granted some small mercies.
“Bring more,” he commanded, and he sat back to commence thinking.
Harbrow’s sleep wand struck at Storm Silverhand at the same moment that two of his fellow mages made the mistake of deciding to join in the fun.
Storm smiled.
Caladnei of Cormyr had become her good friend, and they’d worked together for years. She’d shown the silver-haired Harper how to use the ring Storm now wore to do more than simply turn back spells. When more than one magic struck the ring at a time, its wearer could decide where to redirect some or all of those magics.
Storm sent the sleep spells that struck her from three sides all at Harbrow.
Whose feeble defenses bought him just time enough to look surprised before he collapsed to the floor, joining Rune in slumber.
The other four wizards shouted in alarm and scattered, throwing back their sleeves and preparing to hurl real battle magics at this obviously dangerous foe. Alusair promptly plunged through the nearest one, to spoil his casting-and was just solid enough to give his heart and lungs a good bruising that sent him to his knees, gasping in pain and terror.
Storm didn’t wait for anyone to blast her with anything. She sprang at the nearest mage, punched aside his feeble grapplings, took him hard by the throat, and spun him around to serve as a shield as she throttled him.
He tried to shriek and managed to get out a gargling wail-as Storm ran him hard back into the nearest wall, knocking him cold against its stone carvings. As he started to sag in her arms, she took him by one elbow and the opposing thigh and flung him into the next wizard.
By which time the last wizard had gone gray and toppled to the floor, as Alusair hovered in his chest, freezing his heart. Behind him, the mage she’d chilled just before that was crawling away down the passage as fast as he could, with the one whose innards she’d bruised sobbing in terror and feebly trying to follow.
Alusair sped to where she could grin into Storm’s still-angry face. “Want me to fell the fleeing?”
Storm frowned. “Just long enough for me to get their rings and wands off them.”
“Glathra and the other senior war wizards can readily trace Crown-enchanted items from afar,” the ghost warned.
Storm nodded. “If we can put, say, a ring into the keeping of Marlin Stormserpent without his knowing it-in his clothing or belt-it’ll draw them to him. Or we can use the wands as lures, if we hide them in places we want war wizards to find.”
Alusair gave a low laugh of agreement as she swooped down the passage. A moment later, the most distant fleeing mage moaned in pain and fear as she plunged into him.
Storm watched her sport with the two crawling men for a moment, then relieved Harbrow and the other two nearby mages of their rings and wands.
“El,” she murmured, pulling off a boot, “I need you to take over Rune’s body and walk her out of here. The war wizards slept her.”
Where is “here”? Are we escaping the palace?
“Yes,” Storm told the briskly flowing ashes. “Again.”
Well, ’tisn’t as if we haven’t done it before. Glathra still furious with us?
“You could say that,” Storm replied dryly.
Good. So long as a wizard of war is enraged at us, we’re doing something right.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
M irt tossed the empty decanter onto the empty bed, glared down at both, and let out a growl.
It was no use. He was as restless as a prowling cat with the flea-itch.
As he’d always been, when it came to ponderings. He always mulled over matters better while he was striding somewhere, doing something, rather than sitting idle and alone in luxury… and ever-deepening boredom.
Night had fallen, but no matter. If he could walk Dock Ward in Waterdeep and bring his unlovely old hide home more or less intact, he could stroll the well-lit Promenade of Suzail and have a better-than-fair chance of returning to this tarted-up rental hovel in one piece, too.
The coins were hidden where only a strong and determined thief could hope to take them from, flattened behind a wardrobe it would take two strong men-or one sweating, straining, snarling, fat, old Waterdhavian lord- to shift. He had his blades; the desk would mind his key; there was enough loose coin down his boot to buy a cuddle with a dancer if his wandering feet took him past such a place…
“Moneylenders aren’t alive if they aren’t finding trouble,” Mirt muttered aloud, “and if ye wander a city, trouble generally soon finds ye. Aye.”
Down the sweeping, dark-carpeted stairs he went, under the soft light of many ornate hanging lamps, and wheezed his way out into the street.
Marlin Stormserpent strode along the shuttered shopfronts, his darkest cloak swirling around him in the wind of his own haste. His oldest, quietest boots made little sound as he hurried through the night.
He was so excited he was almost choking, and a small worm of fear was rising in his throat, blossoming swiftly now. Illance’s plan had seemed so gods-sent, so right, back at Staghaven House, but now…
Well ahead of him, two blue flames moved quickly in the deepening darkness, side by side. His ghosts were heading straight to the palace.
To imperil the king.
Either the nobles were taking their time mustering warriors and buffing their boots so as to look their best
