Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [116]
"What is this all about, lord wizard?" Cat demanded, hands on hips now. "You come here and attack my Giogi right on his own front steps…"
Vangerdahast held up a hand to halt her angry torrent. "Please desist. Accept my apologies. You have every right to be furious. The Lord High Wizard of the realm humbles himself before you."
"But not too much," Giogi added, managing a smile. The old wizard's face split in an answering grin-his first real one that day, as it happened-as he clapped the noble on his shoulder and urged him up the steps to the waiting, still-angry Cat.
"If you'll protect me against your good wife," Vangerdahast said gravely, "I'll have the chance I need to talk to you both-for the good of the realm."
"Trying to convince us you'll make a good regent?" Giogi asked grimly, but he did not slow their climb up the steps together.
Vangerdahast shook his head. "You have made your choice, while most of your fellow nobles of Cormyr are still sizing up the contenders. You have queried, while others have gladly grasped. We must talk, young Wyvernspur."
"You're not going to try to keep me out of this?" Cat asked in a dangerously soft voice.
"Lady," the Royal Magician replied in solemn tones as the three retired to the halls of Redstone Castle, "I'd not dare to."
* * * * *
Elsewhere, a man fidgeted nervously in a hidden room, waiting for his assignation, rubbing his hands nervously as he paced. He couldn't spend all afternoon in some broom closet! Where was she?
The broom closet in question was a small secret chamber, unused for years. The dust lay heavy on the low stone bench and polished duskwood table that were its only ornament. A pair of narrow passages, so narrow that only a child could move easily through them, led off to either side.
The man's candle flickered, and he was aware she was coming. The air over the table thickened and curdled, turning into a ball of serpentine smoke. At the center of the ball lay a pair of eyes, the color of flaming jets-black with red pips dancing at their centers.
"Hail, Cormyrean," said the eyes in a soft, purring voice.
"Brantarra," snapped the man in response. He was sure that name was no more her true appellation than the writhing mass was her true form.
"I trust that everything has gone smoothly."
"Not smoothly enough," said the man, "The king still lives, and one of his damnable cousins as well. Your clockwork toy did not work as well as hoped."
"Not my toy," said the swirling mist calmly. "Only my venom, carrying its deadly disease. The golden creature is known to Cormyr, if not to its current rulers. I think that an extremely amusing jest. How fares the king?"
"Badly," said the man. "There is little hope for him, though for now there is no way to get near him. He is surrounded by guards and priests and other nobles at all times."
"If you are to kill a king, you must strike surely with the first blow," said the soft feminine voice.
"Your venom was supposed do the job at once," hissed the man.
"A poor workman blames his tools," said the voice, and the man was sure there was a smile on the lips that spoke those words.
"Regardless," said the man, "Azoun lingering on his deathbed does not help our cause. The king's wizard is already meddling and dabbling. Can you not do something?"
Now the voice laughed. "Do something? Like magically teleport myself into that sickroom, flinging fireballs and loosing lightning bolts? If I had the power to destroy Vangerdahast and his war wizards, do you not think I would use it? Nay. Patience is the better course here."
"Brantarra-" began the man, but the voice made an urgent, shushing noise.
"Patience," it said. "We will both get what we wish. In the meantime, I have another toy for you." A tendril of mist extruded from the smokey mass and touched the table. When it withdrew, there was a large ruby glittering on the duskwood surface.
"When you first activated the abraxus, you sacrificed one