“But the weather has been fine all week,” Lucia said, a question in her voice.
“All the better! The wizard weather will be blamed on the archmage, and when Shieldmeet begins, the people will be ready to listen to your suggestion.”
“My suggestion?” Lucia hedged.
“Oh, yes. Shieldmeet begins at sunset with a vast meeting open to all the citizens of Waterdeep. At this time the Lords of Waterdeep are reaffirmed by popular acclamation. When the meeting begins, you will reveal yourself as one of the Lords, argue that the city’s woes are due to the ambitions of Khelben Arunsun, and demand that he resign from the Council of Lords.”
Lucia paled.
“You are well connected with the guilds, popular with the nobility, and beloved of the tradespeople. The only major faction in Waterdeep that is not in your pocket is the collective clergy.” Garnet paused for a hard smile. “How fortunate for us that Waterdeep is not a deeply devout city.”
Lucia Thione stared at the sorceress, her eyes enormous with shock. She licked her lips nervously and tried to speak, but the words would not come.
The half-elf noted this with growing suspicion. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes! That is, you realize of course that Lord Piergeiron will deny that I am one of the Lords of Waterdeep. This is standard practice whenever a Lord is unmasked, much as the Knights of the Shield disavow any of our members who are caught.”
Garnet did not look convinced. “I wonder,” she said softly, her sapphire eyes searching the noblewoman’s pale face. She smiled suddenly. “You know, I have always been curious about the magical properties of those helms that you Lords of Waterdeep wear in public. Might I examine yours?”
Lucia’s heart thudded painfully, and she struggled to keep her panic from her face. “I do not keep it in my Sea Ward villa. It is safely locked away, but I will be happy to retrieve it for you later in the day.”
“You do that,” Garnet said, pushing past Lucia and making her way up the stairs. “I will be staying here until Shieldmeet is past. Kindly send some of your servants to attend me,” she called over her shoulder.
The noblewoman slumped against the wall. Her worse fears had come to fruition. Garnet’s demands had placed her in an impossible situation. She could not openly claim to be a Lord of Waterdeep, for the penalty for impersonating a Lord was death. Yet if she refused, Garnet would make sure that the Knights of the Shield learned of Lucia’s deception. The best she could do was stall for time and hope that a solution would come to her. Always before, Lucia had been able to untie the Gordian knots that came with her life of intrigue, but this time there seemed to be no way out.
“Lady Thione? Are you ill, madame?”
The question snapped her back into the present. She recognized the deep, charmingly accented voice of Bergand, a merchant lord of the faraway island of Nimbral. A possible solution presented itself to Lucia. Nimbral lay southwest of the Jungle of Chult, and it was far beyond the reach of the Knights of the Shield. The land was rich, and trade was busy and diverse. Bergand himself had vast holdings and a thriving business, and he was not immune to her charm.
Lucia turned to her client and gave him her most dazzling smile.
Fourteen
“If’n I knowed yer friend would be late abed, I’d’ve had me another mug of that ale,” Morgalla said wistfully.
Danilo grinned, not taking the dwarf at all seriously. They’d been waiting for Caladorn at the Field of Triumph for well over an hour, and Danilo noticed that Morgalla watched the morning’s practice with an interested and critical eye. A fighter to the core, she was having a fine time appraising the styles and skills displayed on the practice fields.
The Harper also made good use of the time. He noted the poor turnout, the dispirited air of the contestants, and the number of clerics on hand to heal injuries. The horses in the arena’s stables—supposedly the best horses in all the Northlands—looked dull and lethargic. A number of them had suffered injuries, and for the price of a silver coin one of the grooms confided that several horses had been hurt so badly that they’d been put down.
Danilo also learned that many of the renowned fighters who’d expected to be in the contests had suffered injury or met with troubles of one sort or another. Most of the contestants who trained this morning were youths and visitors, eager for the fame that victory at the Midsummer Games would bring them and willing to take the all-too-apparent risks involved.
“If this be the best fighters you got in Waterdeep, I can’t figger out why the city ain’t overrun with trolls,” Morgalla commented. With the jester-head of her staff, she pointed toward two young men battling with staffs. Even to Danilo, it seemed a clumsy and halfhearted meet
“Jarun hurt his shoulder yesterday,” explained a deep voice behind them. “He’s favoring one side too much.”
Morgalla snorted, not bothering to turn around. “He’d do both sides a favor if’n he put down his staff and took up tapestry.”
Danilo turned at the familiar, hearty laughter that the dwarf’s comment evoked. Behind them stood Caladorn, dressed for the practice field in leggings and a linen shirt, which was unlaced nearly to the waist The short red curls on his head and on his well-muscled chest glistened in the bright midday sun.
“Sweet Sune!” Danilo exclaimed, casting an arch glance at Caladorn’s state of half-dress. “What sort of events are you preparing for, and where can I sign up?”
Caladorn laughed again and patted the sword at his hip. “It’s hot work, Dan, swinging seven pounds of steel in the midday sun.”
When Danilo responded with a delicate shudder, the swordsman chuckled and clapped him on the back. “You’ll not take me in with that act, lad! If I recall aright, you had the same swordmaster as did your brother Randor, and he’s a fine hand with a sword. Would you care for a match? I could use a bit of a challenge.”
“If you would for one moment consider me a challenge, things here must be in a sorry state,” Danilo said lightly.
Caladorn’s handsome face turned grim, and he raised a hand in the gesture of a fencer acknowledging a hit “I’ll tell you all about it some time over a few tankards.”
“How about now?”
“I wish I could, but I had to stop by the palace on tournament business, and I can’t afford to take any more time from the training. The games are tomorrow, and there remains much to do. I’ve got to put these boys and girls through their paces,” Caladorn said, eyeing the field with a resigned expression.
The firm manner in which Caladorn spoke, not to mention the indisputable evidence in the contestants around them, gave Danilo little hope of changing the fighter’s mind. He was about to take his leave when Caladorn spoke again.
“The stableboy said you’ve been waiting for me an hour and more. I’m sorry for that, Dan, but I ran into Khelben on my way to the field, and he kept me talking for some time. You know how the good archmage can run on.”
“Only too well,” Danilo replied with a rueful grin. In truth, he thought Caladorn’s comment rather odd. His Uncle Khelben was not given to idle, social chitchat. The Harper decided to probe for a bit more information. “Don’t tell me, Caladorn: you tried to talk the archmage into giving you a love potion to slip into Lady Thione’s wine!”
The fighter good-naturedly shrugged away Danilo’s teasing.
“I knew it!” Danilo crowed. “I’ve been wondering how a pitiful specimen such as yourself managed to hold the lovely lady’s interest”
A wistful expression crossed Caladorn’s face. “To tell you the truth, there is little I wouldn’t do to win the lady’s heart, barring that,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “I have asked Lucia for her hand, but she is not yet ready to entrust it. When that day comes, I am determined to be worthy of the honor.”