Elminster was slowly getting used to the weight and awkwardness of the armor-without its leather underpadding, it shifted loosely at his every movement and seemed to have a great abundance of sharp, jabbing edges-and had long since concluded that King Duar Obarskyr must have been more mighty bull than man.
In his postprandial discomfort, and seeking to avoid unpleasant confrontations with Purple Dragons or officious wizards, he had taken his overfull stomach and copious resulting wind down to the lower levels of the palace. Where he trudged along damper, colder pa.s.sages, correctly believing he was not so likely to be noticed and thought out of place down here and challenged.
"Send no hounds to hunt me down," he muttered, belching sage and eggs.
"Stop daydreaming and attend attend my words!" my words!"
This sort of bark meant Hallowdant was really angry. O Purple Dragon, preserve us all.
The man who called himself Lothrae when he was sitting masked in front of an orb talking to foolish young Stormserpent stifled a sigh and put a pleasantly attentive smile on his face. "Yes, Lord High Steward?"
Rorstil Hallowdant preened visibly. He loved it when someone p.r.o.nounced his full t.i.tle with just just the right hint of reverent awe. the right hint of reverent awe.
Lothrae wished he could enjoy toying with the buffoon, but the man was was in office over him, and- in office over him, and-Great G.o.ds Above!
And, very suddenly-as ice raced down his spine and he felt himself breaking into a sweat-he greatly desired to be elsewhere in the palace, right then.
The ring on the next-to-smallest finger of his left hand had once belonged to the legendary Laspeera, and it had just awakened. For the very first time in all his years of wearing it.
He tried not to stare at its warning glow-silent, but so vivid and so sudden sudden-then turned it on his finger to hide that radiance inside his closed hand, and cursed silently. Its warning meant someone had opened the royal crypt from the outside-but he dared not go to see who just then, with the steward literally jawing in his face, thundering order after order at him.
My, but Hallowdant was in fine form for that time of a morning. An hour at which he was usually nowhere to be seen. Lothrae tried to console himself with the thought that one of the royals must have given him a real blast, to put him in such a state and have him up and about so early...but that musing utterly failed to improve his own mood.
"-and another another thing! The candles in the balcony sconces in Anglond"s Great Hall are half-burnt and need replacing! Now, before the council is upon us and we"re too busy to remember them, but need their light to fail not!" thing! The candles in the balcony sconces in Anglond"s Great Hall are half-burnt and need replacing! Now, before the council is upon us and we"re too busy to remember them, but need their light to fail not!"
"Ah, yes yes, Lord High Steward," he agreed hastily, starting to hasten along the hallway. "If you"ll excuse me, I"ll see to it and report right right back to you for more instructions-" back to you for more instructions-"
"Stand where you are, man!" the palace steward stormed. "You"ll stay still, right here, and listen! I haven"t the palace steward stormed. "You"ll stay still, right here, and listen! I haven"t finished finished yet!" yet!"
"Lord Hallowdant, please," please," Lothrae tried again. "I really Lothrae tried again. "I really must must relieve myself-" relieve myself-"
Palace Steward Rorstil Hallowdant could radiate towering disgust just as devastatingly as the very best n.o.ble matriarchs; it was one of his best talents. Wordlessly he pointed over Lothrae"s shoulder.
At the door of a jakes that was literally four paces away.
It was not one of the few that had secret panels in its rear wall, either, curse the luck.
Lothrae sighed, resigned himself to perhaps never knowing who"d opened the crypt, and took his feigned need to empty his bladder into the jakes.
As the door swung closed behind him, the ring on his finger quivered and shone even more brightly, and he discovered, all of a sudden, that he truly did need to relieve himself. Badly.
In one of her favorite rooms of the palace-the nursery with the high round window she"d always loved watching the moon through-what was left of Alusair Obarskyr felt the activation of the rune, nine or so floors beneath her.
Not to mention the stirring of someone who had long been silent.
"One of Vangey"s old locking runes!" she hissed, alarmed and excited-and rushed through the palace like a ghostly wind, racing to the spot.
The ring"s brief blue glow faded, leaving Storm Silverhand blinking in the chill darkness.
Ah, royal crypts are such cozy places. Suzail"s was no exception. Still, it was one spot in a palace that, elsewhere, must resemble an agitated anthill about then, where she shouldn"t have to worry about being interrupted while- There came a faint clank and rasping of sliding metal about four paces in front of her-and then the louder sound of a heavy stone door grating open. In the dim rectangle of resulting light, Storm found herself staring at a menacing figure in full armor.
Who stumbled toward her with a m.u.f.fled curse, fumbling with its skirting plates.
Thankfully, that pleasantry was uttered in a voice she recognized.
"Well met, El," she greeted her armored visitor cheerfully, sidestepping deftly in case she startled him. Archwizards-hah, all all wizards-were...dangerous. Like unsheathed carving knives forgotten in a dark drawer, they could imperil all who blundered too near. wizards-were...dangerous. Like unsheathed carving knives forgotten in a dark drawer, they could imperil all who blundered too near.
"Urrah? Storm?" Storm?" The Sage of Shadowdale sounded astonished. "When did ye return?" The Sage of Shadowdale sounded astonished. "When did ye return?"
"Now," she replied simply, stepping around him to close the door. "Whence this sudden thirst for wearing armor?"
"Stops idiot wizards of war hurling spells before they stop to ask who I am," came the m.u.f.fled reply. He produced something from under the skirts and thrust it at her. A tray, wobbling more than a little. "Here, hold this-and, ah, help thyself. Must get this blasted helm off."
"Savory tarts?" Storm asked, her stomach suddenly rumbling. When When had she last eaten, anyh- had she last eaten, anyh- The world erupted with a white-hot roar.
The scrying exploded in his face, but Manshoon never flinched. He let the tears stream as he smiled.
Lothrae and Mreldrake might be drooling idiots for days, but he"d managed it.
Yes.
Strike hard and fast enough, and you can fell even the mighty. Storm Silverhand should be a broken thing spattered across the back wall of the crypt, and Elminster sorely wounded.
That armor would have saved his life, but he"d be in great pain. And alone once more, as Manshoon wanted him to be.
Aye, this was much better. He busied himself casting another scrying spell to look into that crypt again as soon as possible. Spending days tainting its wards to let him through had been worth every irritating moment, after all.
"Storm?" he gasped when he knew he was Elminster again. He was lying sprawled on stone, afire with pain.
Silence was the only reply offered by the darkness.
"Oh, la.s.s," he whispered. "Oh, no. Not like this..."
Mystra be with me.
Or...will I join her?
Elminster swam back to consciousness again. The pain was even worse, this time.
The armor was torn and crumpled where it wasn"t missing. He was burned in all those bare places, yet shivering. He lay on the cold hard smoothness, feeling life run out of him...slow, sticky, and inexorable.
The faint glows of the tombs were gone...or was his sight merely dimming as he started to die?
No, there was new light.
Fey witchlight.
Alusair had arrived, and her ghostly glow with her.
"Hail, fair princess," he murmured, trying to smile.
Metal clinked and tinkled; Alusair was fighting to pluck away shards of Duar"s shattered armor that kept falling through her fingers.
"d.a.m.ned magic!" she hissed. "Once I could command this entire palace-and now I can"t farruking pick up a stlarning plate of armor!" plate of armor!"
"How...mighty...fallen," Elminster offered, choking on welling blood.
"Hey, now, Old Mage," the ghostly Steel Princess replied tenderly, her face floating perhaps a hand"s length away from his, "rest easy. If you"re fated to die here, at least you"ll die clowning around in stolen armor-and if we kiss and cuddle as much as I can manage, you"ll go in the arms of a la.s.s trying to make love to you. Isn"t that what most men want?"
"Not...dead...yet," Elminster managed. "But so d.a.m.ned...weak..."
Which was when a feeble whisper rose from the open door in front of them both, and something dark slithered into view. A wraith, a dark cloud barely able to lift itself far enough off the flagstones to drift, creeping like smoke toward them.
"And how d"you think I I feel?" it asked testily. feel?" it asked testily.
It was a voice they both knew.
Vangerdahast.
The whisper was coming from all that was left of him. He was obviously a Dragon no longer. And just as obviously barely alive-or barely undead-too.
"Elminster," Alusair said insistently, "use the codpiece! Heal yourself, before it"s too late!"
Elminster blinked at her, nodded almost absently, obeyed-a glow that brought some measure of relief promptly washing over him-and went back to staring at the dark wraith-thing on the floor. It was looking back at him with what seemed to be a lopsided grin.
"Again," the ghostly princess commanded, and Elminster obeyed, the pain ebbing still more.
"Vangerdahast?" he asked in disbelief, peering hard.
"Aye," came the growled reply. "There"d be a lot less of me if Myrmeen hadn"t loved me enough to force the last of her life into me. Yet she did, so this is all that"s left of Vangerdahast, once Royal Magician and Court Wizard of Cormyr. Ruler of a dark and empty closet of a crypt, these last few years. Ever since that snake who stole my ring sealed me in."
"Who?" Elminster demanded weakly. "Who did it?"
"His name," Vangerdahast hissed, "I know not. Nor did I see his face. Yet he works here at the palace-I feel the ring near too often for his station to be anything else-and schemes to bring down the Obarskyrs, and fartalks Sembians who send him coin and give him commands, and orders foolheaded young n.o.bles to do the butchery. Which will befall at a council of some sort, by his recent talk."
Alusair and Elminster exchanged glances. "And what else did you overhear?"
"Nothing useful. I can hear only through the ring, and only for moments ere I collapse into wisps, exhausted, and must spend agonizingly long gathering myself together again."
"Is..." Elminster realized how helpless he felt. "Can I help ye, somehow?"
"Leave me the codpiece. I can feed on that and gather myself to carry it. I"ll scare a few guards when they see a disembodied codpiece floating feebly along the pa.s.sages."
Alusair chuckled. "I can carry small things, briefly; I could carry your cod."
"Then let"s be going places," Vangerdahast said faintly. "How soon"s this council?"
"Highsun on the morrow," El and Alusair chorused grimly.
The dark, wispy cloud that was Vangerdahast somehow managed to look disgusted.
"Always charging in at the last instant, aren"t you?" he asked Elminster. "When it comes to my Cormyr, couldn"t you dispense with the dramatics, for once? Just once?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.
RUNE, RUNE, GONE A AWAY.
Alusair had never thought the palace cellars were so big big before. She had very little strength and solidity left to call on, to try to drag the crawling, badly wounded Elminster along. before. She had very little strength and solidity left to call on, to try to drag the crawling, badly wounded Elminster along.
The chill of her touch was obviously causing him pain; he was gasping as well as shivering, his face twisted. They"d left Vangerdahast behind a long time before, or so it seemed, but, were only-what?-three pa.s.sages along.
As they turned into a fourth, Alusair sighed at what they"d all been reduced to. "Are you going to last as far as where the healing magics are cached?"