Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [111]
Scornubel's muttering mouths were good. They even had a name or two to attach to tales of "Red Wizards skulking hereabouts." Thavaun was one such;
Hulrivior another. It might be interesting to get his new hires slightly drunk around a campfire, drop those two names, and see who stiffened and what was said. 'Twas always nice to know who your loyal employees really worked for.
"Well, let's get started," Voldovan told the room, hoping his words didn't sound quite as sour as he felt.
*******
"Dear, dear," the soft voice behind the lantern said mockingly, "Elvar would have been horrified."
The squeaking, chittering rats paid no heed as they swarmed over the sprawled body on the cellar floor.
They worked fast; Elvar was down to almost bones now, in most places.
"Elvar, Elvar, this is all your fault!" the lanterncarrier chided, stepping around the corpse. "All of these oh-so-secure metal-sheathed bins, and stone fitted so carefully. Starve your rats, and you only keep them at their most dangerous!"
Elvar had been a constant nuisance. It was a wonder one of his exasperated fellow Trielans hadn't brained him with a stool or threshing-flail and brought peace to this backwater long ago.
Such attempted public services would now be perils faced by the lantern-carrier in his new spell-guise of Elvar the Grainlord. Spellfire had brought too many busy rivals into Triel, and if one of them had slain Elvar openly, the uproar would have upset a lot of things. Wherefore bringing Elvar down here and smashing in the back of his head with a handy blandreth – the things were everywhere, filled with cellarcap mushrooms to soak up moisture that might spoil a single grain of Elvar's precious hoard – had at last become the best thing to do.
Elvar was going to mellow in the days ahead, the man with the lantern decided, as he proceeded to the farthest corner of this deepest granary. Settling on fewer gods to circle between, and becoming less of a wild-eyed annoyance to all. Make him respected somehow, as he openly groomed a successor who just might be ready by the time an unfortunate accident took Elvar from the Trielans he guarded so carefully. Yes.
Now it was time to lure away the one called Beldimarr with a false Harper message, so the plot at hand could proceed. Spellfire was too useful to let slip by. The gods don't hand out chances to rule the world all that often.
An eye drew back from a hole in the floor of a dark room sporting many such holes. Its owner rose and stepped through a shimmering of the air where magic made a wall of silence. Beyond was a pleasant upper room where the day could be seen drawing down through large arched windows, and many tallfluted goblets and decanters stood handy on glossy tables nigh high-backed, comfortable chairs.
"Seen enough?" a buttery voice purred, from the depths of one such ornament of furniture.
The reply was equally nonchalant. "My, my. Sit here athwart this muddy wagon road, and all Faerun comes to you. All we need do is close our hands around this prize."
"As Xatholont once said, that's more easily resolved than accomplished," the buttery voice observed. "Of course. Are you ready?"
"Doubt me never," was the reply. "Master Voldovan is about to be very surprised."
"'About to be'?"
"Right about – now."
*******
"Douse that fire!" Arauntar ordered gruffly out of the darkness.
Narm and Shandril came out of their doze flinching, and Shandril's surprise made momentary tongues of flame flare from her fingertips.
"We didn't hear you coming," Narm yelped, as he bent hastily to their fire-bucket.
"Evidently," the guard said in dry tones. " Tis a good thing I'm not a spellfire-seeker with a blade ready in my hand, aye?"
"Aye," Shandril agreed wearily, stirring the ashes with a stick as Narm poured. "We were just finishing eating."
"You