Elminster's Daughter

TO WAR

So it comes down to what it always does, when men swagger and dragons fly: red war, and much death, and a lot of things ruined and cast down broken. Little decided, much lost, many left to weep. Yet for the rest of us, it seems to entertain.

Amundreth, Sage of Secomber

Thoughts on the Folly of Kings

Year of the Highmantle

Halfway along the passage, Ondreth stopped still.

"By the Dragon Throne," he gasped, putting out a hand to Telarantra's arm, "what's that?"

His fellow duty-guard War Wizard followed his gaze down the longest passage in the sanctum to what was traversing a cross-passage in the distance and murmured in her usual deadpan ma

"No, no," Ondreth said excitedly, "I saw her change, in the battle! That's the dragon that did us so much damage!"

"Is it indeed?" Telarantra asked softly.

The spell that clutched Ondreth Malkrivyn in an icy grip was as sudden as it was unexpected. It was draining his life-force before he could speak or even lift a hand.

The last thing he saw as the world dimmed for him was Telar-antra's triumphantly smiling face above him, as she gently lowered his withering body to the floor.

"Farewell, fool," she told him almost affectionately. "Know that the Rightful Conspiracy values your sacrifice. My next spell will break the stasis on yon song dragon—and we'll see how old Lord Windy Royal Magician fares in battle without the risen defenses of the sanctum ready in his hands."

She turned and did something, but Ondreth Malkrivyn was too dead to see it—or feel the mighty blast that followed. It hurled the husk of his body at the ceiling as the entire passage rocked, ceiling-tiles fell like rain, and the sanctum tried to leap upward and join the sky.

* * * * *

Though he stood like a statue, Rhauligan was inwardly almost dancing in impatience, but one did not interrupt the Dowager Queen of Cormyr in mid-word . . . not when the Steel Regent was by her side, glaring pointedly at impatient Harpers. Alusair even put an imperious finger to her lips as Filfaeril bade Laspeera answer.

"The evidence of Amnian and Sembian backing is now clear," the most senior War Wizard began, "and the nobles of this 'Rightful Conspiracy' grow ever bolder. We would have seen swords out openly long ago, I think, were it not for the wits of the wisest along them. One of our Highknights died to inform us of this much: An elaborate scheme is building, to slay all Obarskyrs in an orchestrated ma

"We're doing all we can," Caladnei took over smoothly. "Of course." She sighed, spread her hands as if to clear an imaginary table—or her mind—and added, "One of the bolder moves Speera just referred to was a clever attempt to snatch the young Azoun— an attempt aided by hired wizards. It was foiled by some alert knights and by our most trusted mages, who constantly spell-scry the King from afar, 'watching the watchers' who protect the king, for signs of treachery."

She sighed again. "If all that truly protected Azoun was his visible bodyguard, that attack could hardly have failed."

The Mage Royal turned to look at Laspeera, and—gasped and reeled in pain.

Laspeera was similarly stricken, an involuntary moan of anguish bursting from her lips as she stumbled forward. From across the room, among the handful of War Wizards and Highknights guarding the inside of the doors, came more outbursts of pain. One mage toppled to the tiles in a dead faint.

Rhauligan and the two royals reached out to steady the two, Alusair the swiftest to speak. "What's happened?" she snapped.

"The sanctum," Caladnei gasped, clutching at her temples. "A violent—very large—release of magic! We're attuned to its defenses. They must have . . ."

"Gone down," Laspeera said, from her knees. She struggled to her feet, pale and sweating, and added, "We must—"

The door-gong rang. Alusair and Filfaeril spun around and assumed regal poses and expressions in an instant, and Rhauligan moved quickly to take Caladnei's arm and turn her. The gong signified that the guards outside had intercepted someone having a rightful need to enter.

Raised shield-spells flickered as the Highknights and War Wizards guarding the inside of the doors opened one of them a trifle. The most senior mage of that guard then murmured a message that his magic took straight to Caladnei, for everyone standing with her to hear: A herald. Alone. We've stripped and spell-read him. He wears only a tabard of our proffering.

Alusair put a hand on the hilt of her sword. "Bid him enter," she ordered curtly.

The herald came barefoot, obviously naked under his tabard. He was tight-lipped and pale, though whether his pallor was born of fear or anger those in the room could not tell.

Only Caladnei did not recognize him. The man was a professional Sembian herald-for-hire of long career and exacting correctness.

Stopping a careful six paces away, he bowed deeply to the Dowager Queen and then to the Steel Regent before raising his hand in the "cupping empty air" gesture that requests peaceful parley.

"Speak," Alusair said.

"I am asked," the grand voice rolled out in response, "to request the presence of Queen Filfaeril Obarskyr of Cormyr and Regent Princess Alusair Nacacia Obarskyr at Thundaerlyn Hall in Marsember on the morrow, at First Candlelight, to discuss the bright future of this kingdom with certain noble-born Cormyre-ans loyal to the realm who are concerned about Cormyr—and represent those who are now the careful hosts of both the infant King Azoun and the retired Royal Magician."

Filfaeril and Alusair both cast swift glances at Caladnei, who shook her head to tell them that the claim—about Vangey, at least—must be a lie.

She mindspoke the two royals: I believe we can protect you if you accept.

"It shall be our pleasure to attend in Thundaerlyn Hall, at the time proposed," the Dowager Queen replied serenely, adding a nod of dismissal.

The herald seemed about to say something else, just for a moment, but instead nodded, made his bows again, and departed. The Obarskyr women stood watching him like grave statues until the doors closed behind him.

Caladnei turned her head. "Speera?"

Laspeera was still pale, but her mind-probe had been as deft as ever. "He knows nothing but the words he memorized and cares for their implications accordingly. He was given that message in writing in Saerloon by someone unfamiliar to him—a hired Sembian intermediary, by his looks in the herald's memory—and paid very well to hasten here to deliver it."

"It's a trap," Alusair snapped.

"Of course," Filfaeril agreed quietly.

"So we send some spell-disguised War Wizards in your places?" Rhauligan suggested.

Alusair shook her head. "No. We attend. In person. I'm more than weary of perils unfolding in Cormyr behind my back or when I'm busy dealing with something else—I'm never going to cling to the title of Regent whilst sending others to sweat or die in my place. If the realm means anything to me, I must be there."

Filfaeril nodded. "Well said. All of your well-chosen words apply equally to me."