Страница 8 из 81
"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 himself Khornadar smiled coldly and bent forward, pitching his voice low. So did the others, and Elminster found the circle of plotters rejoined, with himself part of it.
"Well, Nameless," the disguised Red Wizard purred, "folk with wits are backing us. This revel's a master-stroke, making fools and rich alike excited to be part of something secretive and important and bringing them together to shield those really behind it. We get to know each other by sight and forge a few little friendships on the side, so everyone feels they benefit . . . thus far, all good. Dangerous, yes, but all treason's dangerous, no Obarskyr finds welcome here in Marsember, and we outlanders have easy sailing and other reasons to be here."
Head nodded around the circle. "A boy too young to walk or talk wears Cormyr's crown while a rutting bitch of a Regent settles scores in his name, many loyal nobles are angry or afraid, shadow-sorcerers blast things at will up in the Stonelands—Purple Dragons included—while the whole realm tries to rebuild and feed itself. Behold: weakness. The time's right, or better than it's ever been in my lifetime."
Heads nodded around the circle, and Khornadar went on. "Now look around you. One more decadent revel in rotting Marsember, yes, but see who's here: the usual seacaptains, pleasure-lasses, and throne-hating Marsembans, but also exiled nobles like yourself; a few sons of nobility still welcome in the realm who're disgusted at what the Obarskyrs have done and allowed; ambitious merchants; and outlanders like me who see gain in a stronger, fairer Cormyr. Behold both the chance and its willing takers."
The disguised Red Wizard waved his goblet. It was empty, Elminster noticed.
"So why're we all risking our necks to be here? Exiled nobles want their lands, wealth, and influence back and see a way to reclaim it all. Marsembans burn to snatch back their independence. I've seen a few folk from Arabel here who desire the same. Sem-bians ache to seize lands in eastern Cormyr or desire goods they can make quick coin on. That same reason draws most of the merchants of Suzail who are here this night."
Khornadar thrust his face still farther forward and lowered his voice to a mutter. "But what of me? Earlier conspiracies invited hireswords and wizards to work violence for promised rewards, but I've been offered no such clear prize—and therefore fear treachery less from masked and anonymous men who want me to help overthrow the hated Obarskyrs but not live to claim what I've been promised. Why am I here?"
He smiled. "Well, I see Cormyr as a storehouse of magic—War Wizard magic—that I, who am no threat to anyone right now, can use to become powerful without years of toadying to cruel mages in return for spell-scraps reluctantly tossed my way. This room holds quite a few like me. Our very numbers, plus War Wizards scrambling to seize magic for themselves once the Obarskyrs are dead, and the fear and hatred commoners of Cormyr hold for those same oh-so-benevolent War Wizards—a lot of farmers will put daggers or pitchforks through every wizard they see! —will keep us from forming any collective threat. The wise ones will snatch what magic they can and get out."
Elminster frowned. "Were I one of the hidden masters of this Rightful Conspiracy, I wouldn't want any wizard here unless I believed I or my fellow Secret Masters had magic enough to smash them down ... or we'll all be dying to trade a baby king for a ruthless wizard, no?"
The disguised Red Wizard nodded. "Which is why I believe there is a great wizard somewhere behind this, one who intends to make any new king his puppet. He can then rule Cormyr without any of the dangers of reigning—after all, this Caladnei and her bedmate Laspeera very much do so now, strolling along the path old Vangerdahast paved for them. All it costs them is a few spells to keep the Dowager Queen and the Steel Regent in mind-thrall! Why, our hidden mage could even fund a few of the intrepid wayfarers of that Society of Stalwart Adventurers club in Suzail to find him spells and long-lost riches in other lands, too!"
Thay would be your "great wizard," young Thauvas, Elminster thought, and Cormyr would then swiftly become a farflung western tharch—and, just as you say, a base for reaching out to other cities and lands. Keeping any hint of this from his face, El nodded, stroked his chin thoughtfully as he frowned, and said, "Gods, this is why I've never thought about joining any rebellion until now. All this scheming and thinking about what others are thinking hurts my head!"