Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [159]
“Hah. They wanted us well gone, remember?”
“Their spells are still your best chance at safety. If you stand arguing with them and those two come to take you, the wizards’ll blast them out of fear for their own hides.”
Mirt gave Arclath a thoughtful frown then backed away. “It rubs me wrong to let someone else fight for me, but aye, ye speak wisdom. I’ll do that. May ye taste victory!”
As more patrol horns roared from where the flaming ghosts were confined, he lurched off in the direction of the palace, looking back warily several times.
Amarune and Arclath exchanged glances.
“I begin to admire you, Lord Delcastle,” the mask dancer told him quietly. “Don’t spoil it by daring to suggest I remain behind.”
Arclath grinned and spread his hands. “I’d not dream of it!”
Alusair heard the scuff of swiftly moving boots behind her, and turned.
Elminster was looking grim. “Young Delcastle—ye know him?”
“Yes. You cast a tracer on him?”
“I used one of your Obarskyr baubles to let me spy on him. He’s just passed through the wards of Stormserpent Towers. Young Rune is with him.”
“You want to be there,” the ghost said softly. “Right now. Why not cast a teleport?”
“Because I go raving mad when I work magic, that’s why,” El snarled.
Alusair made a sound that might have been a giggle. “And the rest of us would notice the difference in you how, exactly?”
Elminster gave her a baleful glare.
“Tarry a moment,” she whispered, sliding past him like a chill wind.
A few moments later she returned, leading a bewildered, half-dressed Raereene—with a scared-looking Kreane right behind them.
“Teleport this man into the forehall of Stormserpent Towers,” the Ghost Regent commanded crisply. “Just as carefully as you know how.”
Raereene frowned. “Wh—”
“Wizards of war no longer obey royal commands?” Alusair hissed, her eyes suddenly two cold flames.
“Or mine?” quavered a thin voice from the floor below.
Raereene looked down—and recoiled.
“What ails you?” the dark spiderlike thing in front of her feet demanded. “Haven’t you ever seen a Royal Magician before?”
Silently Whelandrin showed a tall, dark, and buxom woman into Marlin Stormserpent’s private chambers. She wore a nightcloak over high boots and a silken gown, and—
Marlin frowned. There was a taller, darker, cloaked and cowled figure right behind her, who’d just slipped something to Whelandrin; Marlin caught a glimpse of gleaming gold before his trusty was gone.
“Who are you?” he demanded, waving the girl aside with one hand while drawing his sword with the other and sweeping it up to menace his mysterious visitor.
Who threw back the cowl to reveal a sardonically smiling face. It belonged to Lord Arclath Delcastle, who was suddenly taking a swift sidestep to put a solid stone wall at his back.
“Well met,” he greeted Marlin pleasantly. “You look much more handsome here, in proper light, than skulking around in shadows by night in the royal palace.”
Stormserpent stiffened. “What’re you talking about?”
“I speak of a certain chalice,” Arclath murmured. “Sadly missing from its longtime hiding place. Sadly missed by some.”
“War wizards?”
“Ah, I knew Marlin Stormserpent wasn’t slow-witted. I was certain he’d grasp at once what I was speaking of, even at such an hour.”
“What’re you doing here?” Marlin snapped, hefting his sword meaningfully as he took a step forward.
Arclath waved an airily dismissive hand. “Merely seeking an answer or two, not a duel. Which is why I came protected by magic that will end any duel before it begins. So, no swordplay, just a few words between us, and I’ll leave you to your pleasure.”
He glanced at the playpretty, who was standing to one side listening to them rather fearfully.
“A few carefully chosen words, on my part,” Arclath hinted.
“Well?” Marlin asked curtly.
“Why? Why all the secret meetings, the hunts for hand axes, the men in flames?”
“I … I seek a better Cormyr. I deserve a better Cormyr.”
Arclath nodded. “As do I. Unfortunately for friendly accord between us now, that does not mean we agree on what