Elminster's Daughter - Ed Greenwood [13]
Elminster and the nameless warrior sidestepped in opposite directions, leaving the merchant turning to continue his converse rather unsteadily. His disagreement was with the warrior, so he clung to that path, leaving Elminster free to move on.
Or rather, as free as two excitedly squealing ladies in very low-cut and well-filled gowns would allow.
"Gods a-mighty," someone growled, from Elminster's left, "but if I had those, I'd be squealing in excitement too."
"Well, have them you can," another voice said slyly. "The price is steep, mind you, but…"
Elminster ducked past the luridly displayed flesh and out of hearing more of that particular converse. A knot of men beyond was heatedly discussing the wisdom or lack of same in various "what must be done next" stratagems. Their voices were low but swift and cutting, but their words faltered as Elminster stepped almost into their midst.
"Ho, sir! This talk's private!" one of them snapped.
Elminster shrugged. "Sounds very much like what I've heard in a hundred nobles' chambers across the realm when they thought they were alone. Which leads me to think: when we plotted, we trusted in our hired wizards to keep War Wizard scrying at bay. Is anyone doing the same here, tonight?" He pointed at the goblets most of the men were holding and added, "Or checking those for poisons or concoctions to make us babble?"
The circle of men gave him sharp looks. "Did you not hear the Knight of the Mask's assurances?" the shortest man asked suspiciously. "Where were you then?"
"Yes, yes," Elminster snapped back, "but did you-any of you- actually see spells being cast or anything of the sort? Words are easily said; 'tis deeds I trust in."
"Well said, stranger," put in a tall, slender man whose chin bore a tiny black spike of a beard. "However, know you that I cast a shielding spell, if no one else did. It covers only myself and those close by, but I was not the only one here to do so. As to the rest, this isle was chosen because Purple Dragons will have to fight their way through three guardposts and across two bridges to reach it. My name, by the way, is Khornadar, most recently of Westgate. And you are-?"
"Nameless," Elminster said firmly, his gaze locked with the tall man's eyes. Familiar eyes. The semblance he'd never seen before, but the man wearing it he'd met in what was presumably his real shape a few summers back. "Nameless Cormaeril."
There were dark chuckles, and someone said, "Be welcome, then-as long as you're not like young Thorntower yonder, who spent too long a heated time telling us that only the nobility understand Cormyr and so only nobles-the right nobles, mind, such as, well, surprise: himself-could take the throne or command any effort to remove the Obarskyrs from it. He even cited as proof of this the superb job our rightful betters have done guiding the realm thus far!"
Elminster snorted. "Who is this puppy?"
"The one with his nose buried in Tharmoraera's bosom," another man in the circle said in dry tones, pointing. "You'll notice he finds lowborn flesh quite suitable for his purposes."
"Well, that's the definition of a noble, isn't it?" someone else grunted then added hastily, "Ah, no offense meant, lord."
Elminster chuckled. "None taken. Living by wits and the sword in back streets across Faerun strips away any arrogance of birth right swiftly… or such has been my experience, anyway." He looked back at the tall man-the minor Red Wizard Thauvas Zlorn, he was sure, in quite a good magical disguise-and asked, "So why now? This 'Rightful Conspiracy,' I mean? There've been exiles and others who hated the Obarskyrs for centuries and plenty of Sem-bians happy to toss coin to all malcontents in Cormyr, in hopes of gaining something in return, but: Westgate? I've met others here, from farther afield, too. Why now?"
The man calling