Only after they were both seated did he ask, “Who is this mage you believe imperils you?”
“He’s… Elminster. Elminster of Shadowdale. The Elminster.”
Dardulkyn snorted, sending an icy look down the table. “Lord Delcastle, you’ll have to do better than that.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
No,” Arclath said patiently, “I am neither mad nor-I believe-mistaken. I do mean Elminster.”
“Did he call himself that?”
“He did, and others did, too. Including the Lady Glathra, a silver-haired woman who calls herself Storm Silverhand and certainly looks like the Storm Silverhand of legend, and-”
Dardulkyn waved a dismissive hand. “Tall, imperious or rude, strikingly beautiful, long silver hair that moves by itself? I can make you look like that, or myself, for that matter, with a simple spell. You have been deceived, young lord. Threats to invade the mind are usually just that: threats. The magic is simple enough, but there are dangers to the caster that far outweigh any benefits. Competent workers of Art don’t splash in such waters.”
“Saer Dardulkyn,” Arclath said carefully, “I find myself not caring much if I am imperiled by an incompetent madwits or a competent archmage of peerless power. I have heard his voice come out of my beloved’s throat, have had conversations with him-her, that is, but with him in her head-that I could not have had with… my lady were he not present, and he has pressed me to let him into my mind. After what I’ve seen and heard, I know he can do this, whether he is truly Elminster or not. I also care not if he’s taken the name Elminster to impress me or half Faerun-it’s what I’ve seen him do that impresses me, not the name he uses.”
Dardulkyn leaned forward. “And just what have you seen him do?”
“Well,” Arclath began, “I… uh…”
Dardulkyn made a grimace that might have been meant as a smile. “Precisely. Lord Delcastle, it seems to me that you are wasting my time. Yet, you are determined to try to hire me?”
Arclath sighed. “Yes. I must say you hardly seem eager to take my coin!”
“I’m not.” Dardulkyn turned one of the rings adorning his fingers, and there was a sudden singing in the air between them. “Come no closer to me, or you will be harmed.”
“What? Saer mage, I assure you-”
“No, Lord Delcastle, I will assure you of something, now. You are my prisoner and will remain so until it suits my purposes to let you go.”
“Whaaat?”
Arclath sprang to his feet, the chair toppling, and snatched out his sword.
“Behold the usual response of arrogant nobility to anything they dislike. Hence the shielding magic I just raised.”
“But-but why are you doing this? Are you in league with Elminster?”
“There is no such person, anymore. The real Elminster is long dead, with his goddess. Oh, there may well be any number of lackspell charlatans using that name, trusting in the Elminster of legend to frighten those they fleece. I’m not interested in such buffoons. I am, however, interested in you, Lord Delcastle.”
“Why?” Arclath snapped. “Am I an attractive prisoner?”
Dardulkyn tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully as a small, wintry smile rose onto his face. It hovered there for a moment, as if uncomfortable to find itself in such an unaccustomed spot, and swiftly faded away again.
“Not in yourself, no. Don’t flatter yourself, Delcastle-though I know most of you younger lordlings do nothing else.”
The wizard rose and strolled across the room. Arclath felt a sudden pressure in front of him, shoving him back. Dardulkyn’s shield moved with its caster.
“No,” the wizard drawled, gazing idly around at the symbols painted on the black walls, “I believe you are the leading envoy of one more faction of scheming nobles, of the various factions circling like vultures around the fading days of old Foril’s reign. This ‘Elminster’ business is just your less-than-candid way of hiring me and so binding my services to your faction. Which in turn means you can be a valuable captive in any bargains I may need or want to make with your faction. If they deem you disposable, I’ll at least have weakened your little cabal by the resources of one member-a wealthy one, at that.”
“Wizard,” Arclath asked sharply, “are you mad?”
“All wizards are mad, nobleman. Or seem so to thick-skulled clods like yourself, who see the world as a place of coins and willing wenches, swords and threats, and can never know the glories of the Art.”
“I see.” Arclath backed away. “And just whom do you work for? Yourself, I know, but what faction counts you as a member?”
“None of them. I stand apart from all this tiresome thronestrife. If representatives of other cabals visit in the days ahead, I may well capture them, too, and assemble a collection.”
“To what end? Do you think you can bargain with every noble House in the land? All of whom have House wizards and can hire more mages, so you’ll end up battling many spellhurlers at once?”
“Ah, spoken like a true noble. Power is something to be fought for and used to fight with, is it not?”
Arclath frowned. “Power is the art of getting what you want without the use of brute force.”
Dardulkyn smiled again. It looked no healthier than the first time he’d tried it. “You surprise me. That’s quite correct. I intend to fight for no one and against no one-unless someone is foolish enough to assault my home.”
He strolled forward until his shield forced Arclath to retreat again. “I’ve decided to take no sides in the increasing chaos and strife, until the time comes when all surviving factions are eager to bid huge sums and concessions for my services.” He spread his hands.
“I’ll then accept the best deal, settling for no less than a peerage and court rank, and ideally, a position of real power behind the throne comparable to that enjoyed of old by Vangerdahast. Yet, without any of the responsibilities or need to obey royalty that accompanies the title of royal magician or court wizard.”
He looked Arclath up and down and sneered. “I’ll be a lord then, Delcastle-and, I suppose, on my way to being as low and brutish as you.”
“I suppose I’m meant to feel insulted,” Arclath replied, “but I find, rather, that I feel ill, Saer Dardulkyn. I came to find aid against Elminster and was prepared to pay well for it, but it now seems Elminster is a lesser evil than I’d thought him to be.”
“Well, we all have to start learning about the world sometime.” The archwizard sneered, taking another step forward.
Arclath gave ground then suddenly turned, vaulted over the table, and rushed along the wall toward the door he’d come in by.
The wizard sprinted across the room with astonishing speed to thrust Arclath back from that exit-when Arclath was a mere stride away.
“That,” Dardulkyn said severely, breathing heavily, “was not wise. I will summon some of my guards to take you elsewhere.”
“They’re helmed horrors, aren’t they?”
“Indeed. Of my own crafting. It would be very unwise to dispute with them.”
Arclath nodded. So the door was unreachable-until the helmed horrors came through it, whereupon the wizard would step back, taking his shield with him, and leave the realm’s favorite Delcastle sharing a wedge of the room with them. The panel Dardulkyn had come in by was likewise unreachable.
But what of the other panels? He turned and dashed across the room again, vaulting the table and slamming hard into one of the panels on what he’d thought might be an outside wall.
It gave a little, so he sprang at it again, putting his shoulder into it. The panel thundered, yielding more than a little this time.
Dardulkyn was raising his hands to cast something, an angry frown on his face, by the third time Arclath struck the panel.
It gave a groan and rebounded open like a sprung door-revealing a window beyond!
A large, clear window of bubble-free glass, of the most expensive sort that it took too many golden lions to buy. Framed by frilly, feminine draperies and a matching valence!