Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [119]
Cult mage posing as a merchant of the caravan, but we've not yet identified who. This unknown wizard is probably the only Cult agent left."
"And the Zhents?"
"Reduced to three ambitious but weak magelings, we believe: Deverel, Jalarrak, and Rostol. We don't yet know which of the caravan merchants each is. Dead already are two priests of Bane, Stlarakur and Sabran – the most formidable Zhent, in our judgment – and the wizards Mhegras, Praulgar, and Aumlar."
"The last won himself a not inconsiderable reputation… but such accomplishments usually pave roads to early graves."
"Indeed, Highest. He nearly slew our Pheldred, after Pheldred attacked him; a personal matter, we believe."
"I agree. Anyone else?"
"Y-yes, Highest, there is one other."
The stone-faced man nodded at another mage, who went swiftly to the door, unlocked it, and ushered in a man who was smiling.
The flame above the table danced a handspan or so in his. direction, and seemed to flare a little brighter. "You would be Marlel," said the Highest in a dry voice. "The Dark Blade of Doom."
Marlel sat down in the seat of the man who'd been sent to fetch him, leaving that mage hovering uncertainly, and replied, "Every man in my profession needs a more memorable name than the one given at birth. Just as you are now 'Highest' and less often 'Hulrivior.'
There was a sharp intake of breath around the table, but the voice from the flame seemed almost amused as it said, "You learn what you must, I see. How is it that you became interested in me and found your way to this table?"
"I suspect I'm the most capable survivor of Voldovan's caravan who might be induced to work with… you of Thay. I was personally known to one of your mages here in Triel, from, let us say, 'earlier escapades.' Coin has changed hands, and I fear I've clean forgotten whatever former reason or alliance I may have had for accompanying this particular string of wagons and suddenly come to the conclusion that, for the good of all Faerun, no less a capable mage than a Red Wizard should command spellfire."
"Commendable," the Highest commented. "How, in your incisive, professional view, should we of Thay come to possess spellfire?"
"By using me to strike at the right time and in the right manner," Marlel replied, lowering his voice and leaning forward over the table. Most of the other men seated there did the same, eager to hear whatever secrets he was obviously about to unfold.
"And," he said, opening his hand, "there's this."
Something small and gemlike gleamed in his palm – for the instant before Marlel's smile widened, and he flung the small something right into the flame, hurling himself and his chair over backward in the same motion.
The room exploded in streamers of white fire, and the man called the Dark Blade of Doom rolled away from the table and up to his feet with a wand in his hand while headless bodies were still reeling at the table and other men were screaming and clutching at sightless eyes.
Coolly he used the wand to blast faces and hands wherever he saw them, ridding the room of foes who could do him harm. Patiently he waited for the smoke and the afterimages still dancing before his own eyes to clear.
The flame above the table was gone, and if his little secret had worked as it was supposed to, the Red Wizard Hulrivior, wherever his smoking body might now be, was "Highest" no more.
Marlel smiled softly down at the last two Thayans still living, as they writhed on the floor, staring first at the smoking stumps where their hands had been, then at the man who'd dealt them such maiming.
As their curses faded into weary groans, he announced, "I did forget to warn you of one little matter: I'd already met with a Red Wizard, one who pays rather better than Highest. Please accept my apologies for the misunderstanding, and the mess. I confess I care little about