Elminster Must Die Part 13

Still smiling, he bent his mind once more upon hers, in firm command, and felt her heed and obey.

Back to your tomb, Lady Dark Armor. Until just the right moment to take care of the Lords Ganrahast and Vainrence.

It would not be long in coming.

In the meantime, there were two other minds to ride and their pairs of eyes to spy through. Being a manipulative mastermind was busy work.

Work that he loved-every sinister moment of it.

The former Night King of Westgate and incipient Emperor of Cormyr-and Sembia, and the Dales, and wherever else he could conquer, once he mustered the might of the Forest Kingdom for real battle-turned to his floating, conjured scrying-scenes.

Back to the beloved work at hand. First the stirge, and then Talane...

They were thankfully deep in Stormserpent Towers now, and Thirsty had obediently soared up into the darkness of the room's vaulted ceiling a short while before, unseen by his two hireswords.

Just a few more deeds to do, and he could relax.

Marlin stood a good many paces back from the sellswords, lounging against a doorpost. They were both keeping wary eyes on him as they obeyed his latest orders, tossing the sacks of severed heads down into the roaring flames of the main tower's furnace.

They expected to be shoved in after the heads, of course, but he smiled sardonically at them and displayed empty hands whenever they whirled around from the flames to give him hard and suspicious glares.

His smile broadened when one of them did something to his belt that made a ward rise with the usual faint singing sound. Its glow, before it faded into invisibility, was flat gray; a steelshield ward. Stretching like a wall right across the room between Marlin and his two hirelings, it would prevent the pa.s.sage of any crossbow bolts, spears, or hurled darts or axes.

"Don't you trust trust me?" he asked them in his best guise of wide-eyed innocence. me?" he asked them in his best guise of wide-eyed innocence.

"No," one of them replied bluntly.

"Wise of you," Marlin commented before he gave the warbling whistle that brought Thirsty swooping down to sting them both.

The paralysis. .h.i.t them before they could finish cursing, but not before they both crashed to a Stormserpent rug that had seen much better days.

Marlin strolled to a handy table, leisurely divested himself of the chalice and his sword belt, then removed a few rings from his fingers, and daggers from various sheaths up his sleeves and down one boot. Kicking off the boots, he unbuckled his waist belt and let his breeches fall.

Thus metal-free, he strolled through the ward and proceeded to kick the two helpless, paralyzed men into the furnace, one after the other.

Then he turned his back on the cloud of sparks swirling up, walked back through the ward, and took up the chalice to gaze at it admiringly.

Thirsty returned to his shoulder, rubbing affectionately against his cheek and neck, and he stroked it as he smiled at the chalice.

He must remember to let the stirge drink deep before the night was out. That fat she-dumpling of a cook he'd seen helping out in the kitchens, perhaps? Or should he hire someone and quell fears about the household for a while?

Ah, decisions, decisions...

He gazed at the Wyverntongue Chalice and let himself gloat. Yes, the night had been a triumph, to be sure.

So inside this large and elegant old metal cup was all that was left of an adventurer who'd once been among the most powerful in all the Realms. A hundred and fifty summers earlier, more or less, it had all come to a sudden end for the Nine, when Laeral Silverhand-later the Lady Mage of Waterdeep, alongside the infamous Blackstaff, Khelben Arunsun-had been possessed by the Crown of Horns. A G.o.d, or what was left of one.

And the Flying Blade held another of the Nine.

Thanks to much coin spent on various adventuring bands far less accomplished than the Nine-adventurers who were all since dead, thanks to more more Stormserpent coin-Marlin knew how to command a blueflame ghost. Stormserpent coin-Marlin knew how to command a blueflame ghost.

And knew where there was a warded spellcasting chamber in which he could test his control over said ghosts, without even Ganrahast detecting what he was up to.

Moreover, until Lothrae produced two ghosts of his own, a certain Marlin Stormserpent was free to proceed with his own, ahem ahem, "dastardly plots."

He chuckled, watching the ward-visible again, as it died-flicker and start to fail as the belt that it was grounded in started to melt. Hot places, furnaces.

Then he turned, hefting the chalice lovingly in his hand, and started the long walk through Stormserpent Towers to get the Flying Blade.

Through one of the many tall windows that he pa.s.sed, the first glimmerings of dawn were lightening the last failing gloom of the night.

A new day was coming, and it was high time for the fun to begin.

"Ambition has felled so many, young Stormserpent," Manshoon purred. "It has even humbled Fzoul of the Too Many G.o.ds and the strutting, preening Chosen of Mystra, Elminster of Shadowdale not least among them. I've tripped over my own ambitions a time or two, myself. Have a care now, King Marlin, Secret Lord of Westgate or whatever you strive to first become, that ambition not cause your your swift and premature fall. Oh, no. I need you to last until swift and premature fall. Oh, no. I need you to last until I I deem you expendable." deem you expendable."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

NOTHING TO L LAUGH A AT, AT A ALL.

Amarune came awake quickly, her mind singing with alarm. There it was again, and definitely not in her dreams. Another stealthy sound. Nearby.

She'd fallen asleep at her scribbling, head down on the litter of papers on her desk. No ink all over her cheek this time; that was one good thing. All was dark. Her little candle lamp-only a stub to begin with-had guttered out.

So where-?

Ah, there it was yet again. That time, despite the pitch darkness all around, she knew where it was coming from and what it was.

Someone was using the blade of a knife to try to force open her shutters.

Very quietly.

"That won't work," she announced calmly, moving as soundlessly as she could from where she'd spoken to stand at one side of the closed shutters, the spear from under her bed ready in her hand.

"Got you awake, didn't it?" a rough and familiar voice replied calmly from the night outside the window. "I've work for you, Rune. It's Ruthgul, if you haven't marked my dulcet tones yet. I'm alone."

"What sort sort of work?" of work?"

Thieves in the city who weren't careful didn't live long enough to acc.u.mulate hard-bitten pasts.

Not that thievery didn't run in her blood, if skill at thievery could could run in the blood. Most tales insisted she'd been the daughter of the legendary Old Mage of Shadowdale, Elminster. run in the blood. Most tales insisted she'd been the daughter of the legendary Old Mage of Shadowdale, Elminster.

"Need a false contract signed," Ruthgul growled, breaking into her thoughts-and just why had she been thinking about that that, anyway? Ye G.o.ds, what nex- "Copy a signing I've brought, onto it," he added. "Match the ink close, if you can."

Amarune made a sound that was half a sigh and half a chuckle, undid the catches on her shutters, and unhooded the faint, cracked glowstone fragment that lived on the table beside the window. Its light was barely brighter than the darkness, and no wonder; it had been broken when she'd stolen it, and that had been long, long before.

In the days when she'd had far more coins than she did at the moment, but cared nothing for how many days more she might live to spend them in.

She shook that thought aside and lifted the iron bars that held the shutters closed.

"In," she commanded, the pull cords of her two ready crossbows in her hand. Ruthgul had always been honest with her, but his first lie might well be her last surprise, as the saying went.

The scarred and grizzled old man outside handed her his knife, hilt first, then held out empty hands for her inspection. She caught hold of one and hauled him half into the room, then stopped, pinning him across the sill, to make sure he was alone and not readying some hidden weapon.

The knotted cord he'd climbed swung freely in the night air outside; she could see there was no other weight on it. Nor, so far as she could see, was anyone lurking above-and Ruthgul always worked alone. Nearby rooftops seemed empty of lurking figures, and every window she could see was dark and tightly shuttered, as was both prudent and usual.

Under her firm hand, Ruthgul kept still. There was a satchel covered with short planks strapped to his back, to protect the doc.u.ments he'd told her about, and though he almost certainly had a blade in either boot and probably a strangling cord somewhere, she could see nothing ready to menace her.

"In," she commanded tersely, and plucked up one shutter bar, holding it ready to brain him with. Ruthgul landed on the floor, grunted, then got up and took hold of the other shutter bar, moving slowly to rea.s.sure her.

He turned, drew her shutters closed, put the bar in its place, and did up the catches. Then he held out his hand for the other bar.

Amarune gave it to him, holding the spear steady at his throat. He sighed, mumbled something about trust being rarer and rarer these days, and finished bolting her shutters.

Then he kneeled down, spreading his hands again to show he wasn't reaching for any weapon. Slowly worming his way out of the satchel straps, he slid his burden off his back.

"The contract," he muttered, "is an agreement-"

"I don't don't want to know." want to know."

Their usual phrases. Ruthgul uncovered just the signature of one doc.u.ment and let her look at it long and hard. An ordinary ink, as far as she could tell. She lit her last precious candle to check its hue closely.

"Four lions," she decreed flatly.

Ruthgul knew better than to haggle. He fished out a purse from somewhere amid his filthy rags and leathers-it wasn't the one riding his belt-and slowly set forth four gold coins in an arc around her candle lamp, each one sticking to his middle finger until he set it down soundlessly and twisted firmly.

Then he used the purse and her glowstone to hold open the doc.u.ment bearing the signature, and uncovered the contract for her to sign.

Or rather, to peer closely at the rush paper it was written on. Then again at the signature.

Amarune fetched several bottles of ink, the right quills, and some sc.r.a.ps of paper, to practice a few swashes. Ruthgul waited in patient silence. His hands had once been young and strong and unsmashed enough to do such work himself; he knew what was necessary, and he knew the true measure of her skill, too.

She caught up the edge of her robe and wiped her forehead. She'd be sweating before she was done.

Then she sat back to breathe slowly, as if falling asleep in her chair, and let her hand mimic the signature again and again, until it flowed flowed.

Ruthgul nodded approvingly and waited.

She signed it with a smooth, swift flourish, then sat back to mop away sweat again.

Perfect, or so it seemed to her eye-and she judged such things as critically as any miser of a coinlender.

The grizzled old man sat still as stone, waiting for the ink to dry. He let Amarune decide when the contract was ready to be covered again, and let her restore both doc.u.ments to the wrappings he'd brought them in, too, and return them to the satchel.

"Thanks, la.s.s," he said, sitting back and away from her.

"You are welcome," she said firmly.

"Better I go," Ruthgul said. "I'll be needing the rest of my falcons..."

The blade that thrust into the room through the shutters at that moment was much longer than Ruthgul's knife, and gleamed very brightly.

"Not this night, thank you," Amarune said firmly in its direction, raising her voice a trifle. "I have business unfolding in here already."

"Will it have unfolded completely and be done, if I return in two hours?" The speaker was female, sharp-tongued, and unfamiliar.

Amarune rolled her eyes. "What price my slumber, this night?"

"I'll pay double. Just a little copying."

"Two hours," Amarune agreed and heard the voice outside echo those words in confirmation, already sounding fainter and more distant.

Only then did she notice that Ruthgul was cowering on the floor, both hands over his mouth.

She joined him down there, close enough to whisper in his ear, "What?"

"'Tis her her!" he said fiercely, eyes wide with fear.

"Which her? She and I aren't the only females in Suzail this night, look you." her? She and I aren't the only females in Suzail this night, look you."

"She whose name you just..." Ruthgul gestured frantically at the satchel then looked wildly around what little he could see of her dimly lit room. "I've got to get out and away-!"

"Oh, Ruthgul," Ruthgul," Amarune sighed into his ear, her exasperation as quiet as she could make it. "Let me get some boots on and lead you out through the cellars. It links up behind the cobbler's, with Tathlin's-the message runner's-two doors down. He'll probably charge you a lion, though, to wear one of his caps and capes and go out with one of his lads. So you Amarune sighed into his ear, her exasperation as quiet as she could make it. "Let me get some boots on and lead you out through the cellars. It links up behind the cobbler's, with Tathlin's-the message runner's-two doors down. He'll probably charge you a lion, though, to wear one of his caps and capes and go out with one of his lads. So you will will be needing the rest of your falcons." be needing the rest of your falcons."

"Farruk," he snarled.

"No, you haven't brought enough for that," she replied brightly, crawling quickly out of his reach.

He glared at her. Then, slowly, face twisting as wry humor won out over angry fear, he managed a grin.

A grin that wavered into confused disbelief as Amarune calmly took off the cloth belt of her robe and let the garment fall open.

"I'm going to blindfold you," she murmured, stepping past him, and did so, tying her worn and raveled belt securely over his eyes. He offered no resistance as she gently guided him up to his knees.

"Try to remove that, and die," she added, as softly as any lover.

The grizzled old man nodded carefully.