Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [152]
“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 nobles 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 passages.”
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 AWAY
Alusair had never thought the palace cellars were so big 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 passages 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?”
“Have … to …,” Elminster snarled, ducking his head and shuddering.
“Don’t die on me, Old Mage! Don’t you die on me!”
“Die while a spirited lass has her fingers inside me? No fear! Ahhh, blast ye, that hurts! I’m … I’m too old for this!”
“Hah! Stop me vitals!” she joked.
Elminster smiled a little sadly. “Already happened, remember?”
Alusair took advantage of her spectral state to become long and thin, so she could thrust herself around ahead of him and swing her head back to face his and give him a dark look. “Thank you for farrukin’ reminding me, Old Mage.”
Elminster winced. “You play with sharp claws out.”
“Always did,” she said softly. “Would again, if I had it all to do over again. Folk respect sharp claws and sneer at those who are nice and kindly. Wish it were otherwise, but … ’tis not. Damn the gods.”
“Look,” Arclath told the coldly frowning wizard, “I was meeting with Lady Glathra and the king himself, and—”
“No doubt you were,” the wizard of war replied grimly. “Yet the Lady Glathra has left the palace on … secret Crown business, and my orders are very clear. All nobles are to absent themselves from the palace until invited inside for council. No exceptions, and no excuses accepted. You have a home of your own to go to, and I’m sure you know the way there, Lord Delcastle. Your journey begins yonder.”
His imperiously pointing hand indicated exterior doors that two Purple