Elminster's Daughter - Ed Greenwood [32]
Narnra kept to her crouch on the cold cellar floor, wondering what fresh rending chaos of magic was going to erupt precisely where and when. Soon, very soon. Gods above, her hair is silver. Truly silver-and alive, moving like a bucket of bait-worms!
"As this is the admirably law-abiding realm of Cormyr," the Queen of Aglarond observed calmly, the risen power of her magic carrying her voice through every dark and distant chamber of the cellars as her upright form drifted higher into the air, "my deeds are sure to bring protest from those whose duty includes keeping order here-despite my saving their hides. Again. May we, for once, begin these protests and remonstrations in a civilized manner, please?"
The half-ring of Harpers and War Wizards stared at her in grim, wary confusion, blades and bows and wands raised. In the far reaches of the cellars, behind them, new radiances blossomed as more mages arrived. Stalwarts of Cormyr cast quick glances at each other, stirred, and seemed about to speak… but for long, tense moments, as their Mage Royal winced, stretched, and found her feet, weakly waving away Elminster's proffered hand… no protests nor remonstrations were offered.
Then a lone man strolled almost nonchalantly forward from the line of tense Cormyreans, toward the Queen of Aglarond. He was stout and weatherbeaten of appearance, with sun-bronzed skin, shaggy sideburns, and the neatest trace of a beard squaring his chin. His eyes were either butter-hued or brown, and both his wintry brows and the copious white hair curling out at the world from the open front of his florid silk shirt-a fine garment that contrasted oddly with his worn and much-patched leather breeches and mud-spattered boots-told all eyes that he was not young and not likely to soon become any younger. His smile, however, was bright.
"Though I'm but a humble dealer in turret tops and spires, Glarasteer Rhauligan by name," he said, coming to a stop to peer up at the Simbul, "perhaps that makes me a more fitting ambassador for the Forest Kingdom than some. In the name of Cormyr, great Queen, I bid you welcome-so long as you work no violent magic against us. A few villainous and uninvited Red Wizards are one thing, but those sworn to uphold the laws of this realm are quite another. In the name of Mystra, if I may be so bold, I'd ask you not to bar passage to our Mage Royal, that she be returned safely to us." He swept one large-fingered hand out to indicate Caladnei.
The Simbul looked down at him, her silver tresses stirring and curling around her shoulders like the idly lashing tails of a lazy legion of displeased cats, and replied politely, "Very civil speech, Highknight and Harper Rhauligan, and yet plain. I thank you, and make reply: of course the Mage Royal is free to walk as she wills. Her writ holds in this place, so far as 'tis prudent to follow it."
"Ah," Rhauligan said quickly, eyeing Caladnei's slow and limping progress around the Simbul toward the cellar-mouth, "and what, in your experienced and worldly view, great Chosen and Queen, are the limits prudence places upon such obedience?"
The Witch-Queen half-smiled. "The commandments of Mystra regarding tyranny of all who work magic, which binds Chosen such as the Lord Elminster and myself; and the expectations of all good and loyal folk of Cormyr that the laws of the realm and the even-handed dispensation of justice shall be afforded to all, equally, and not misused by anyone in authority."
She lifted a hand. "I am not saying that your Royal Magician has thus far shown signs of arbitrary rulings, favoritism, or corruption-merely noting that should she do so or act in such a way as to seriously imperil the realm, it will be the duty of all staunch citizens