Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [54]
Manshoon shrugged. "If I feared danger or opposition, I would never have come to hold the title I do now, nor to stand in this place."
A rumbling voice broke in on his words then, from overhead. It sounded amused. "How will you succeed, Lord Manshoon, where others have failed? Finding magic that will stand against spellfire will take time you have too little of, and much luck-or both."
Manshoon shrugged again, giving the eye tyrants overhead a thin smile. "The Brotherhood is often guilty of a fault dear to our natures: in trying to outdo each other, we try to be too clever. A far simpler approach than the schemes we've pursued so far will probably be all that is needed-brute force."
Fzoul raised an eyebrow and gestured for Manshoon to continue.
The High Lord of Zhentil Keep turned expressionless eyes on them all and said, "Club the wench into submission with an army of zombies controlled by underlings using items of power. Bury her under undead, no matter how- many she destroys-and bring her down. My magic is strong enough to take care of any Harper or Cult meddling in such a battle."
Manshoon strolled across the room and then turned to look up at the floating body of the Zhentilar.
"Then we take the girl someplace secure," he continued, "and let the lich lord drain her-or use magic to bind tier wits and will ere site recovers. then study her at leisure." He snapped his fingers. "Whatever plans we pursue, a watch must be kept on Elminster from this moment on to ensure he doesn't show up to rescue her or ruin attempts to take her."
He gestured, and a guard at the door went out, returning in a few breaths with a wizard just old enough to master his awe and fear. After a quick glance at the hovering beholders, the young mage kept his eyes on the floor or on Manshoon.
"Heldiir," Manshoon said in a cold, smooth voice, "you are to take twenty of your fellow mages, now, and keep a continuous spellwatch over Shadowdale. Monitor all magic wielded there, keep track of the doings of Elminster and report any major castings or movements on his part to me immediately, whatever the hour. Go, speedily, and do this."
"I-I will," Heldiir managed to croak, then hurried out Manshoon looked up in time to see the beholders drifting back toward the arched windows through which they had first entered the room.
"Your plan has some merit," one said.
"We shall watch-and see," the other added in a deep, neutral rumble, as both eve tyrants drifted from view. Fzoul Chembryl glided to a door, spread his hands, and said simply, " "The risk is yours." Then lie was gone. Manshoon watched the door close behind the priest, smiled without humor, and looked tip at the silent, dripping soldier.
"Mercy, Simron?" he asked mildly. "Mercy is for the dead." He made a small gesture with one hand, and there was a dull, splintering crack from the body overhead.
Its head jerked, and then dangled limply at an angle, tongue protruding. Manshoon strode toward his own door and did not look back as the floating corpse slowly drifted down toward the bowl of blackening blood.
"Watch sharp, now," Mirt warned as they peered into the last gleams of fading sunset over the Storm Horns, far off on the horizon. "There's sure to be at least one snake hereabouts who seeks Shandril and spellfire."
"Is there? By the ever-observant gods, your perception is keen. You surprise me," Delg muttered sarcastically, keeping a hand over his axe blade to shield it from reflecting any of the suns failing glow.
It was growing dark fast here in the trees, evening descending quickly on the rolling farmlands ahead.
"What, again?" Mirt replied teasingly. "What an exciting life ye must lead."
Delg raised an eloquent eyebrow but thought it wiser to make no reply. Somewhere near