Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [167]
A courtier hesitated, and then followed, drawing his own belt knife. Elminster spoke a soft word, and the man froze in midstep. Overbalanced, the motionless man fell over on his face. A second and third courtier, who'd also reached for their blades, stepped back, suddenly losing interest in defending their king.
Elminster sat down again on the Stag Throne to watch his angry uncle come for him. It seemed a fitting place to wait.
King Belaur was furious, but not so rash as to rush right onto the unwavering point of Elminster's waiting sword. He advanced with menacing care, his own blade held high, ready to sweep down and smash aside Elminster's steel. "Who are you?" he snarled. "Get off my throne!"
"I am Elminster, son of Elthryn-whom you had that caged snake over there murder," Elminster replied crisply, "and this seat is as much mine as yours." He sprang down the steps, sword flashing, and went to meet Belaur.
Eighteen
THE PRICE OF A THRONE
How much does a throne cost? Sometimes but one life, when sickness, old age, or a lucky blade takes the life of a king in a strong kingdom. Sometimes a throne costs the life of everyone in a kingdom. Most often, it takes the life of a few ambitious, grasping men, and the more of those the Realms is rid of, the better.
Thaldeth Faerossdar
The Way of the Gods
Year of Moonfall
Their swords crashed together, ringing loudly. Both men reeled back from the numbing impact, and Elminster carefully declaimed words that echoed and rolled around the room. The two men were suddenly encircled by a wall of white radiance that seemed to be a whirlwind of flashing phantom swords.
Belaur sneered. "More magic?"
"It's the last I'll unleash in Faerun until ye're dead," Elminster told him calmly, and strode forward.
They met in a whirling clash of steel. Sparks flew as king and prince tried to hack through each other's guard, teeth set and shoulders swinging. Belaur was a heavy-shouldered warrior of long years, run to fat but wary as a wolf. His challenger was younger, smaller, lighter, and quickly on the defensive, as Belaur used his weight to smash through Elminster's parries. Only the young prince's swiftness kept him alive, ducking, dodging, and diving aside from thirsty steel as the furious king rained a flurry of sword-blows on his foe.
When Elminster's arms grew too numb to take the onslaught, he was forced to give way. He stepped back and circled to the right. Belaur turned to press him, grinning savagely, but Elminster spun away and ran, heading behind the throne,
"Hah!" Belaur shouted triumphantly, striding forward. He was only a few steps away when Elminster stepped out from behind the throne to hurl a dagger at the king.
Belaur's blade flashed up to smash whirling death aside. The unharmed king did not even slow his rush. He sneered in triumph as he charged in to cut his enemy down.
Elminster parried desperately, dodging around in front of the throne again. The king leapt after him and lunged, but his swifter foe slid out from under the blade. The king snarled, bent to his boot, plucked a dagger from it, and threw it all in one swift flurry and grunt. Elminster ducked away-too slowly. The dagger burned across his cheek and spun on its way… and Belaur was at him again, blade flashing.
El's parry was almost too late. The impact jarred his hand, and he shook it to banish numbness and then hastily put both hands to his blade, thrusting it up just in time to smash aside the king's next attack. Belaur's leaping steel seemed to be everywhere.
The Sword of the Stag, Elminster had heard it called-a new-forged blade said to be enchanted by magelords. El was beginning to believe that. Their weapons crashed together again. Sparks flew as steel shrieked and then