Elminster Must Die Part 35

"Well, Elminster was was with me, and-" with me, and-"

"I believe you," Glathra said crisply. "If it really was Elminster and not some poser just claiming that infamous name, I'd not have wanted to trade spells with him nose to nose, anyhail. Report!"

Arclath nodded. "Well, he confirmed everything Amarune has told me: He's her great-grandsire; he was waiting for her in her lodgings yestereve to tell her so; and he wants her to save the Realms as he's been doing for centuries. Beginning with stealing some magic items that are apparently here in Suzail, and hold the ghosts of the Nine-you know about the Nine?"

"We do."

"Ah, of course. Well, as it happens, that wasn't all that I came here to tell you."

Glathra leaned forward, for all the world like a hunting dog straining at the leash to be released to pounce. "Yes?"

"I'm...I'm not half as capable a spy as I thought I was. I am am loyal to the Crown, mind, just not...guarding the realm is not half as easy as I thought it would be. Not to mention even less fun." loyal to the Crown, mind, just not...guarding the realm is not half as easy as I thought it would be. Not to mention even less fun."

Glathra's stare was hard and level. "Others before you, Lord Delcastle, have discovered as much. A few of them have even admitted it."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

HUNTING E ELMINSTERS.

Watching G.o.ds Above, was that the time? time?

An exhausted Wizard of War Glathra stumbled out her usual rear door of the palace, intent only on getting home to eat something-cold roast fowl from three nights back would have to do; she was too tired to get busy at her hearth-and soak her aching feet before falling-and this night, it would be be falling-into bed. falling-into bed.

Almost immediately she stopped dead, because someone was standing in her way. Swordcaptain Dralkin.

"Now what?" she snarled, by way of greeting. what?" she snarled, by way of greeting.

Rather stiffly, he replied, "War Wizard Glathra, I've news that might well concern the safety of the realm. I thought you'd want to know."

She closed her eyes wearily, but when she opened them again he was still standing there. "And it is?"

"Three of our younger n.o.ble lords-Windstag, Dawntard, and Sornstern-seem to be turning much of Suzail upside down right now, looking for magical hand axes. They're offering large large coin in the taverns frequented by n.o.bles' servants-the Rose and Dragon, the Servant Exalted, and the Hrelto-for any hand axe brought to them that's magical when they test it, and came from any n.o.ble House. They have this chant about where they want folk to look: 'up on a wall or hidden in a bedchamber or back hall.'" coin in the taverns frequented by n.o.bles' servants-the Rose and Dragon, the Servant Exalted, and the Hrelto-for any hand axe brought to them that's magical when they test it, and came from any n.o.ble House. They have this chant about where they want folk to look: 'up on a wall or hidden in a bedchamber or back hall.'"

Glathra sighed heavily. "There's more, isn't there?"

"More than that," he was already adding-her query just brought a vigorous nod as he went on talking. "There've been thefts and ransackings-by-night seeking things in many n.o.bles' mansions. Bodyguards killed or struck senseless, and many lords and ladies left seething this night at having their chambers looted."

"Farruk," Glathra said crisply. "Farewell, slumber."

She stepped around him and started to stride down the street.

"I know who's behind all this. Take me to the lodgings of the dancer Amarune Whitewave," she snapped back at him, over her shoulder. "We're hunting Elminsters."

The cave was a long, narrow hovel of damp dirt, stones, and sagging old rough-tree furniture, more a hermit's cellar than a druid den. Two small, flickering oil lamps hung from a crossbranch over a rude table, and somewhere behind their glows sat a stout, broad-shouldered old man, blinking at the band of adventurers past a fearsome beak of a nose. He had a long, s.h.a.ggy white beard.

The floor was an uneven, greasy, hard-trodden litter of old bones and empty nutsh.e.l.ls, and roots thrust out of the dirt walls here, there, and everywhere; on many had been hung a pathetic collection of rotting old sc.r.a.ps of tapestry and paintings.

"So ye've found Elminster," wheezed the old man, "ye adventurers, and to earn thy hire would speak with me? Well, speak, then; I've naught to share, I fear, and if ye were expecting great magics or heaped gems, I'm afraid ye've come a century or so too late."

"I am Sir Eskrel Starbridge, highknight of Cormyr," Starbridge replied. "I've come to bring you back to Suzail with me, where your presence is...desired."

"L-leave Shadowdale?" the wizard quavered. "I'm-nay. Impossible."

Around Starbridge, his dozen highknights-and the five war wizards, too-stood as still as stone. Legend insisted-shouted-that this old man blinking at them had spells enough to rend kingdoms, and had done so, more than once. To say nothing of toppling castles, s.n.a.t.c.hing down dragons from the sky and rending them, and transforming charging armies into smears of blood on the earth and a red mist of gore blowing away on the breeze.

Starbridge had said he would try diplomacy first. Not a one of them thought it would succeed, but, well, if there was a time for prayer, this was it.

"Elminster," Starbridge asked gently, "what keeps you here? We have woods as wild as these in Cormyr-the Forest Kingdom-and the farm on the far side of that ridge is fast disappearing beneath new saplings. What makes Shadowdale so special?"

The old man smiled. "All the Realms knows Elminster dwells here, so the fools all come to me. Fools like you."

The walls erupted, the air full of hissing arrows, quarrels, and darts.

All of which struck air that did not quite glow, a foot or so away from every one of the Cormyreans, and shattered against it to fall harmlessly to the floor. The war wizards responded almost lazily, spells lashing the walls in red-orange fire that tore into the pale, struggling forms of howling doppelgangers hiding behind the tapestries, who convulsed in agony in the heart of those flames and died.

"Your...servants?" Starbridge asked, in the silence that followed. "Handmaidens?"

The old man behind the table flung himself out of his chair. A highknight darted after him.

"Narulph, stand where you are!" stand where you are!" Starbridge roared. "Mereld?" Starbridge roared. "Mereld?"

"Too late to hold it in its shape," the war wizard snapped in reply, craning his neck. "Another doppelganger, shifting fast-I'll have to blast it, or it'll get away!"

Starbridge sighed in disgust. "Do it!"

He turned. "Baerengard?"

"Wizard of War Lemmeth was fast enough, sir," came the prompt reply. "The youth-Thal-was a 'ganger too. He has it held."

"Good. We question that one. Though I doubt any of them knew where Elminster is, beyond 'not here.' Stlarn it."

Manshoon smiled into the moving glows and cast a swift spell.

In midgasp the young lords Windstag, Sornstern, and Dawntard all clutched at their heads, reeled, rebounded off the walls, and bit their lips hard enough to draw blood, eyes wide and wild.

Then they shivered, shuddered, and came out of whatever had just smitten them, to blink at each other.

Nodding in grim unison, they rushed with one accord to put their shoulders to the door of the rented rooms of old Lord Murandrake.

And broke it down.

As they came crashing into a lamplit and pleasant room, an elderly man in a nightrobe started up from his chair, dropping his book of derring-do tales and his drink, as he fought to somehow pa.s.s through his seat backward to get away from them and to keep his balance at the same time.

It was a battle he lost, and swiftly. Wherefore Lord Barandror Murandrake ended up on the floor, cowering back in the cave made by his toppled chair, with three bright, sharp swords menacing him.

"An axe-d'you have an axe?" one swordsman snapped.

"A hand axe?" the second spat accusingly.

"An enchanted enchanted hand axe?" the third snarled. hand axe?" the third snarled.

Murandrake's quavering voice failed him, and he gabbled incoherently in his fear, but with wild wavings of his arms managed to indicate that there was something something in the next room. in the next room.

The trio of lordlings charged through the open doorway, found themselves in a luxuriously appointed bedchamber, saw a gleaming helm mounted high on one wall in pride of place with a sword and a hand axe crossed beneath it, s.n.a.t.c.hed all three trophies, and stormed back to the old n.o.ble on the floor.

"These all of them?" Windstag shouted into the terrified face. When Murandrake managed a desperate nod, the young lord spun around and ran for the door.

Dawntard and Sornstern were right behind him. They fled down the stairs together, Windstag waving the axe in wild triumph.

"Another false Elminster?" Mereld muttered.

Starbridge shrugged. "We'll know soon enough. Let's see how he reacts to the moonglow."

Lemmeth nodded, drew his hands slowly apart...and the hollow was suddenly awash in bright, pearly white light.

Eskrel stared down into it, hard-eyed. He had a dozen highknights-aye, one of them that dolt Narulph, but still-and another three war wizards in the trees all around it, but they stayed there, awaiting Starbridge's signal.

In the meantime, they were doing the same thing as Starbridge. Staring down into a hollow where bodies were sprawled around a dead fire, with a lone figure standing over them.

The standing one was human in size and shape, and wore a battered old war-helm and motley clothing taken from the fallen, who might or might not be dead.

The figure stood still, silent, waiting for them. Gaunt and tall but stooped over as if weary or old.

"Elminster?" Starbridge asked. "Will you come with us, or be slain?"

The figure slowly spread empty hands in a gesture of surrender-or despair-and sat down on a log beside the remains of the fire.

Starbridge whistled, and the ring of men emerged from the trees and started to close in.

"You are are Elminster?" Starbridge asked. "We'd like a word or two." Elminster?" Starbridge asked. "We'd like a word or two."

A deep growl from within the helm replied, "Oh? I'm about done with dispensing words to armed men who menace me and make demands."

It was about then that Lemmeth's conjured light showed them the menacing row of rough twigs-wands!-at the old wizard's belt. Clenching their teeth against their fear, the highknights pounced.

Hard, swift hands clawed at the wands, grabbed the seated man's arms, clawed at his garments to have off any amulets or hidden weapons, tore helm, wands, belt, and jerkin away-and the Cormyreans found themselves staring at a pair of round, firm, and very unmasculine b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Who...?" Starbridge and Narulph snarled in unison, but in far different tones of voice.

Blue eyes looked fearlessly up at them, and the lips beneath them said calmly, "You, gentle gentlesirs, have captured Storm."

"There!" Wizard of War Glathra roared as loudly as any man, pointing. "There! Take them!"

Then she, Dralkin, and the Purple Dragon patrol with them were all shouting and charging down a dark Suzail street toward the three fleeing men in the distance.

Who, it rapidly became apparent, were too winded and weary to stay ahead of the pursuit for long.

"Halt! Halt in the name of the king!" Dralkin bellowed, as the sprinting lawkeepers closed in on the running trio.

He was answered by a sudden crackling in the air, a surge of energy that brought with it the overwhelming impression of someone smiling maliciously over a glow in a vast, dark cavern. The energy rushed down on the three fleeing men-and they were gone, the street ahead of the rushing patrol empty.

"Dung," Glathra snapped. "Magic! I hate hate magic!" magic!"

Swordcaptain Dralkin swung his head to look at her in surprise. A wizard of war who hated magic?

Seeing the expression on her face, he decided to wait for a better time to ask her about that. On his deathbed, perhaps.

"Nice, aren't they?" Storm asked crisply, locking eyes with Highknight Narulph. Who turned a rich shade of crimson and looked away, wincing.

"Lady, they are," Mereld said swiftly, offering her his own overrobe. "Pray accept our apologies for this...rude handling we've given you. I'm afraid we're going to have to cast a spell or two on you, to learn the truth about what befell all these men around you, but-"

"I'll save you the trouble," Storm told him firmly. "I rang their heads for them. 'Twasn't quite a fair fight, I'll grant you-there were only eight against me, but sometimes the needs of all the Realms outweigh courtesies. Now, I've a question for you: who's in charge here? I see highknights, so you're from Cormyr-"

"We'll ask the questions, woman," Narulph started to growl from behind her, but an older man loomed up over the many who were still holding Storm down and said heavily, "I command here, Lady. Sir Eskrel Starbridge, now the ranking highknight of Cormyr. And you are-?" ask the questions, woman," Narulph started to growl from behind her, but an older man loomed up over the many who were still holding Storm down and said heavily, "I command here, Lady. Sir Eskrel Starbridge, now the ranking highknight of Cormyr. And you are-?"

"Storm Silverhand," came her reply. "Named Lady Highknight Protector of the Realm by Queen Filfaeril, and confirmed in that office by her husband, the fourth Azoun-which would seem to make me me the ranking highknight of Cormyr, Starbridge-and before that enn.o.bled as Marchioness of Immer-dusk by Baerovus, when he was king. I was also Lady Envoy of the Dales to the second Palaghard, and Lady Envoy of Cormyr the ranking highknight of Cormyr, Starbridge-and before that enn.o.bled as Marchioness of Immer-dusk by Baerovus, when he was king. I was also Lady Envoy of the Dales to the second Palaghard, and Lady Envoy of Cormyr to to the Dales to the second Rhigaerd." She arched her neck to look up and back behind her, and added in a murmur to Narulph, "So if I were you, sir, I'd phrase my questions rather carefully." the Dales to the second Rhigaerd." She arched her neck to look up and back behind her, and added in a murmur to Narulph, "So if I were you, sir, I'd phrase my questions rather carefully."