realm survives, not King Foril. You must not lay down your life fighting here!”
“That choice, your Highness,” Ganrahast replied politely, “may not be mine.”
“It is not,” King Foril agreed, striding into the room among the stream of Crown magelings. The bearded head of Vangerdahast rode like a spider on his shoulder.
“You are all to stand aside and let the intruders in,” the king of Cormyr added quietly. “They need to reach the Room of the Watchful Sentinel, to use the Dalestride. Let them.”
Alusair looked at him. “But-”
“Great Princess, greatest regent Cormyr has ever had,” Foril replied gently, “trust me in this, and obey. Please. I am king now, after all.”
Alusair looked into his eyes for a long while, then nodded and lowered her spectral sword.
King Foril pointed at the novice mages and commanded, “Open the gates, and let Storm and all who follow her in. They are to be allowed to walk the halls unchallenged. Spread the word. Be swift.”
Several of the wizards jumped at the ringing severity of those last two words. They landed running, racing out of the room to obey him.
“I hope, Your Majesty, you’re not making a terrible mistake,” Ganrahast said quietly.
“That’s a hope I share,” Foril replied without turning. “Nevertheless, it is mine to make.”
Storm, Amarune, and Arclath walked quickly, in a tight-knit group. Only Arclath kept looking back.
The five ghosts were striding faster, steadily overtaking them. A little behind those blue-flaming figures strode a lone, calm woman unshrouded by blueflame. She was tall and slender, strikingly beautiful despite her cruel face and dark, rage-filled eyes. The bloody point of a dagger protruded from her chest.
King Foril’s eyes narrowed. He waved his hand in a signal, and Cymmarra, the Lady of Ghosts, almost vanished under the sudden barrage of spells hurled by wizards of war on all sides, a handful even hastening up behind her.
Wards blazed as bright as the sun-but when that brilliance faded, she was still striding on, unaffected.
As she went past the doorway where the king stood, she raised her hands, a thin and ruthless smile rising onto her face, and started to cast a spell.
Ganrahast, Starbridge, Winter, and the ghost of Alusair all stepped in front of the king to shield him, but that merely changed her smile into a sneer, as she went on spellweaving.
Yet, the air shimmered right behind her and became the archwizard Dardulkyn, his hands reaching out in the last, triumphant gesture of a swift spell.
Before Cymmarra’s casting was done, Dardulkyn’s spell struck. Its bolt of sizzling force smashed the Lady of Ghosts off her feet and hurled her far down the passage, snarling eerily as it fought with the wardings that armored her against being scorched, melted, and broken. There came crash after hurtling crash as her warded body punched holes in wall after stone wall, until she vanished from view in the echoing distance.
Ganrahast readied a spell to use on Dardulkyn if need be, but everyone else-Dardulkyn included-turned to stare into the scrying eye.
And see the dagger-transfixed woman come to a stop at last, right outside the Room of the Watchful Sentinel.
A bare spear’s length behind her, five blueflame ghosts, as they hurried into the room.
Just in time to see Storm Silverhand plunge through the Dalestride Portal, with Amarune and Arclath right behind her.
Cymmarra staggered to her feet, looking a little dazed, and imperiously waved at her ghosts to obey her. Silently and swiftly they surrounded her.
“Elminster,” she said with a wry smile. “The heart of all trouble-as always. Get to you, and I’ll find Manshoon and all the blueflame I seek. Two deaths within my reach, which I’ve hungered after for so long. Just a little hunting left now. Come, slaves!”
Ringed by her flaming slayers, the Lady of Ghosts vanished through the portal.
“Lord Delcastle and the two women have gone to Shadowdale, to heal a mad queen-and destroy us all,” Ganrahast muttered. “The Simbul, who obliterated the loyal Crown mages we sent against her, just as the tales all say she destroyed every Red Wizard she met. If she’s restored, she’ll surely come here to blast every mage in Cormyr, and all who stand with them.”
“I hope you’re wrong,” Starbridge muttered.
“As do we all,” said King Foril Obarskyr. And sighed.
“Nay, don’t get up,” Mirt growled, forcing Glathra back down onto the warehouse floor with one hairy hand. “If ye try again, I may just sit on ye. An’ I warn ye, I’m both heavy an’ full of wind.”
“If you don’t let me up,” the wizard of war hissed, “I’ll see you chained in a deep dungeon for the rest of your miserable life!”
“Ah, lass, that’s the spirit! Foreplay! I like that sort of spit an’ fire! We could use a lass like ye in Waterdeep, ye know? Why don’t ye kiss all these gloomy Cormyrean courtiers farewell and come to where the fresh sea breezes invigorate, coin is king, an’ we know how to laugh an’ drink an’ feast an’ wench-well, harrum, that last one may not hold the same attraction for ye as it does for me, but…”
“Oh, shut up,” Glathra told him weakly.
Mirt grinned down at her. “Want some cheese while ye’re down there? Wine? We traders know where to get the best…”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I don’t like this,” Storm muttered, peering into the trees all around. “They’ve got to be lurking near, watching us.”
“If we tarry, they’re sure to arrive. Go in and bring Alassra out,” Elminster told her, his grim voice sounding odd coming out of Arclath’s mouth. “We dare not try using the blueflame on her in there, with the chain and the wards. I’ll guard Rune out here.”
Storm nodded, handed him the buckle-it wasn’t glowing at all, now-and went into the cave.
“Arclath-I mean El!” Amarune said warningly.
“I see them, lass. Expect me to be hurling spells soon.”
Quite suddenly, three warriors had stepped silently out of the nearby trees, blue flames flowing endlessly around their bodies. They held ready swords and daggers and wore wide, tireless smiles.
“Before I get to that,” the Sage of Shadowdale murmured, “I’m going to move the cavern’s wards over and out past us, at yon ghosts. The ward-magic will roil at a fixed distance before me. I might be past controlling it-if I bark or drool or stagger about and say strange things that don’t sound like spells, reach out and grab me from behind, then hold me where I stand to keep the magic in one spot.”
Rune nodded. He stroked her arm reassuringly-Arclath’s gesture, showing her that her lord was sharing his body with El rather than being a silenced slave-and added, “There are at least two more ghosts out there. And she who sent them, a woman with a dagger protruding from her chest. If I don’t seem to notice them, keep hold of me and haul me about to move the wards so as to intercept them.”
He sank into a crouch, like a knife fighter about to rush the advancing ghosts. “If yon flaming ones come here but emerge not, eventually their commander will be conquered by her curiosity and come looking to see what befell them. Storm can bring me back to my senses; retreat to her if ye must.”
He handed Amarune the blueflame buckle. “Take this. If I fall, get it to The Simbul as fast as ye can!”
Rune nodded, unable to keep her mounting fear off her face. The trio of ghosts was advancing in a silent, menacing line, like wary warriors. El retreated before them, putting out an arm to sweep Amarune back with him.
Back they went into the cool gloom of the cave, and the ghosts came on.
The moment the flaming trio was fully in the cavern, El ducked down, hauling Rune with him-and something half-seen that hissed and thundered in the air swept over their heads in a silent, heavy flood.
