Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [74]
“Well,” Storm replied, “our long-standing palace identities won’t serve us any longer; they know the Rhauligans are Elminster the mage-murderer and the notorious Harper who walks with him, now. Do we burn one of the baubles you took from those three ward-meddlers, to look like two courtiers or palace maids? They probably won’t be too suspicious of two dirty, work-worn lasses!”
“Frightened and suspicious mages usually suspect everyone of everything,” Elminster reminded her darkly, “and everyone of being someone else than they appear to be. They use magic for disguises, so of course they think everyone else does, too.”
“Oh, stop being so cheerful,” Storm said serenely. “If they’re going to pounce on us, they’ll pounce on us. It’s not as if we haven’t spent years being Elgorn and Stornara Rhauligan, repairers and restorers of the ever-crumbling stone, plaster, tapestries, and wood of these great buildings.”
“Descended, moreover,” Elminster joined in, almost chanting, “from the famous highknight hero, Glarasteer Rhauligan.”
They snorted in unison—and the Sage of Shadowdale held up one hand with a grin, drew a ring from his belt pouch, and announced, “Many minds, approaching fast. So we burn a bauble, as ye suggested. Thy typical wizard of war may be darned suspicious when he sees Royal Magician Ganrahast and his trusted Vainrence striding along a passage—but he’ll hesitate before he blasts them, I’ll wager.”
He frowned, there was a flash from inside his fist as the ring vanished, and a brief tingling sensation crept over them both.
Storm held up one of her hands. It had gone hairy. “Hmmph. Not an improvement, I must say,” she commented. “I get to be Vainrence, of course.”
“Of course. I’ll tender ye my apologies later,” El replied, turning back from the door that led into the overly bustling hall beyond, and seeking a passage he knew to be older, moldier, and usually quieter.
It was still all of those things and led them out into a dark and deserted room where disused furniture was shrouded in dust wraps.
“An old tablecloth of Rhigaerd’s, if I’m not mistaken,” Elminster murmured, peering at one of them. “Aye, there’s the stain where—”
“Hold, intruders!”
The shout from behind them was loud and sharp.
“Hold what?” Storm asked mildly, reaching out two rather eager hands—only to find that she was about to embrace several onrushing spear points.
“I thought I heard voices!” one of the Purple Dragons at the other ends of those weapons snarled excitedly.
An entire patrol of Dragons trotted forward, clanking and clanging as they hastily drew daggers or swords and rushed to menace the newly discovered perils to the Crown.
The Royal Magician and his Lord Warder Vainrence stood calmly waiting as a ring of glittering spears swiftly formed around them.
“Halt!” the patrol commander barked at them, unnecessarily.
The two immobile men exchanged glances with each other then turned to reply in laconic unison, “Aye, still halted.”
“Who—oh, by the Dragon!” The swordcaptain knew their faces and was suddenly looking decidedly ill. “M-my apologies, Lords!”
“Accepted,” Elminster replied with dignity. “Now continue your patrol, Swordcaptain. The enemies of Cormyr are, I fear, everywhere.”
“Closer than you think,” an angry voice said sharply. “Arrest them!”
The furious speaker strode into the room. “I’m Wizard of War Rorskryn Mreldrake,” he snapped, “and these two men are impostors, using magic to seem to be the Lords Ganrahast and Vainrence!”
Purple Dragons stared at him then swiftly and frowningly back at the two men standing quietly in the midst of their ring of spears.
“I have just now come straight from converse with those two lords—the real ones,” Mreldrake added, “and as you can all see, these two are dressed as the Royal Magician and Lord Warder were garbed a day back, not as they now are.”
The Purple Dragons stiffened, three of them—who’d evidently seen Ganrahast and Vainrence not long ago—starting to frown and nod.