Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [195]
"A typical noble son of Cormyr," said the voice that came out of the small, whirling cluster of winking lights.
Immaril shrugged again. "I prefer to see myself as slightly more honest than most. I don't bother to hide the same feelings that drive most of my fellows. We see others enjoying wealth and power in return for things done, or silences kept, for the crown. Why should we not have the same things?"
"Why indeed? If I fill your hand with rubies right now, will you serve me?"
Immaril hesitated. "I need to know just a bit more about you first. Am I hitching myself to a lich righting age-old wrongs? Or a dragon seeking an even more ancient revenge on the realm? Or a Red Wizard seeking to gather an entire kingdom of slaves? Or some other archmage, out to smash a realm for mere entertainment?"
"This is something it would be better if you did not know," the voice told him, "but let us share a few secrets. Tell me who stands with Vangerdahast, and I'll tell you what-not who-I am."
"Fair enough," Immaril said, glancing around. "The Dauntinghorns-most of them-the Rowanmantles, the Rallyhorns, the Skatterhawks, the Immerdusks, The Wintersuns, the Wyvernspurs, the Indimbers… and House Indesm."
"Hmmm," the voice commented, "that certainly seems like a muster of all the far-flung and obscure household names among the nobility."
Immaril shrugged. "Many are country squires and come to the court once a year at most. Most of the city nobles, the true nobles of Cormyr, stand against Vangerdahast. As a group, they are greedy or stupid enough to think that they can trust each other and rule the realm better than an Obarskyr backed by all the war wizards. The recent and sudden demise of Ondrin Dracohorn should be proof enough to even the most stone-headed that they cannot, but a lot of us believe what we want to believe and not what the world shows us to be the truth." He raised his voice a trifle and said, "And I believe it's my turn to be shown some truth now. What are you?"
"A human woman skilled in magic."
"So much is obvious. I expected something more than what has already been established."
"Fair enough," the voice from the lights said. "Know, then, that I once shared King Azoun's bed, and-"
"Had a son by him," Immaril said calmly, "which is why you want all the Obarskyrs slain. Lady, so much is also already apparent. I trust you know that approximately half the Cormyrean noble sons of my age are reputed to have been fathered by our Purple Dragon?"
There was a little silence, and the voice was distinctly colder when it came back to him. "I have heard something of the sort. How many nobles will have to die, then?"
"Lady," Immaril said gravely, "you can't have enough rubies to manage all those killings. Besides, I myself am said to be Az-"
The bolt of roaring white death that snapped from the winking lights then left only drifting white ashes and a sharp burnt smell at the place where the two hallways met. An instant later, the little group of whirling lights flickered, faded, and was gone.
When the Purple Dragon sword captain Lareth Gulur came striding along a minute later, his sword half drawn and peering about for whatever might have caused the roaring sound, all that remained was the reek of fiery death. He stopped, sniffed, frowned, and shook his head. More magic. Someone-or two dueling combatants, perhaps-had died here.
He'd never thought the court in Suzail would become a more dangerous place than the battlefields of the Tuigan Horde. But it had. Perhaps it was time to retire and settle down in one of the quieter dales and brew beer. Gulur sighed and went back to his post. He knew he'd never leave this land, whatever happened. He just hoped his bones wouldn't soon be tossed into some pit in Cormyrean soil. He wanted to see the realm at peace again before he died.
* * * * *
Dauneth Marliir gasped and reeled as his descending sword suddenly came alive with sparks from end to end. He was still trembling helplessly when the young man with