Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [81]
And so they danced, mother and son, in a slow and endless duel of barbed comments, deployments of servants, and tacit accords.
Manshoon observed all their little ruses and conversational gambits with frequent delight. It was better than a play.
For his part, Marlin dealt with his mother cordially but firmly, and early on obtained her promise to keep out of certain towers of the house, which were to be his alone. Manshoon admired the lordling’s patience over that. For a long time after obtaining that promise, Marlin did nothing at home that Lady Stormserpent would find at all suspicious—so she could, and did, pry and spy in “his” towers many times only to find nothing worth the looking and eventually lose interest.
At long last, Marlin Stormserpent’s long-awaited breaking forth might just be about to happen. He’d returned home in a hurry, and was bustling about getting the Flying Blade and the chalice out of hiding with a distinct air of glee.
Marlin took off his customary sword belt and weapon, replacing it with the enchanted one, then put on an oversized dark jerkin, thrusting into its breast both the chalice and the notes he’d assembled on how to compel and call forth the blueflame ghosts.
Then he went looking around Stormserpent Towers for the two men he trusted most in the world. The bodyguards he’d hired, rewarded well, and worked closely with the past six or seven seasons.
“The two men,” Manshoon murmured as Marlin rushed off down a passage, paying the dark and motionless form of the House servant whose mind Manshoon was riding no heed at all, “who are almost as personally loyal to you as you believe them to be.”
He shook his head. Marlin Stormserpent had thus far been very fortunate in the trust he’d placed in his servants. Far luckier than most nobles.
And just how long would that luck hold out, hmm?
An insistent chiming wrenched Manshoon’s attention away from Stormserpent Towers and back to another of the floating scenes in his cavern. He peered at it for a moment, thrusting his nose forward like the beak of an eager hawk, and slowly smiled.
Well, then.
Mreldrake was close enough … and it was almost better than he could have hoped for.
A battle that should take care of another generous handful of these irritating and meddlesome wizards of war and highknights—and at the end of it, Storm Silverhand would be gone again, leaving the Sage of Shadowdale standing alone.
Just where Manshoon wanted him.
Yes, this should be good …
In midsmile his eye fell upon another glowing scene, and mirth faded into thoughtfulness in an instant.
Then he nodded to himself. It was high time to remove the head wizards from circulation in the palace, before they had a chance to do anything dangerous. Such as waking up enough to provide some organization and leadership for their magelings, once news of the battle with Elminster reached them.
So what were they up to, just then? Kordran was one of his dupes, so it would be simple to eavesdrop.
Manshoon let his mind descend into the quavering pool of fear that was Kordran’s mind at the moment. From there, he would be close enough to leap into Vainrence, probably undetected …
“I—uh—I—Lords, I—we—”
Wizard of War Aumanas Kordran was as white as new-fallen winter snow and quivering with terror under his streaming mask of sweat, his eyes large and staring.
Abruptly those eyes rolled up in his head, and he slumped to the floor like the proverbial sack of potatoes. A large, limp sack of potatoes.
Ganrahast and Vainrence exchanged weary glances. Their shared opinion of the terrified young war wizard was not a high one, and his report had been neither coherent nor conclusive. Moreover, it was the second time he’d responded to their increasingly sharp questioning by collapsing.
“Leave him,” the Mage Royal said curtly.
Vainrence nodded. “Orders?”
Ganrahast said promptly, “Set a guard