It was a very large room, and lofty. This was almost certainly the central hall of Haelithtorntowers, and he'd probably be stepping out onto a promenade balcony part way up its walls.
Torchlight flickered below, all along the front of the balcony. Across a vast ring of empty space he could see the far sweep of them, beneath an archway that matched the one he was standing in. They gave light enough to show the Harper the walls of this huge room rising up out of sight and curving inward, probably to a vaulted spire far overhead.
Painted coats of arms—wooden plaques as large as a stable door, each of them, and these were the old, fully-gilded sort with real helms and crossed spears affixed to them, not the simply carved false adornments more in favor, for some inexplicable reason, these days—adorned the walls above the balcony, and there were many tall, dark, closed doors between them. If Narnra didn't want to stay on display in this hall, she'd probably creep to one of them and try to open it.
For his part—he ducked low again, so as to be close to the floor when he thrust his head out to peer along the balcony in both directions, seeking guards—Rhauligan hoped she'd find them all locked. All but one that opened into a dead-end chamber where he could pounce on her, truss her up, and go and announce himself to the Lady Ambrur and request that he be allowed to remove his captive into the keeping of the Mage Royal. Enough of this chasing about through laundries and cookshops.
Even before the Harper had finished making sure there were no guards or servants within sight on this balcony, nor any signs that anyone often came up here, he caught sight of Narnra. Keeping low and out of sight below the balcony rail, she'd worked her way around the balcony to the far side, obviously intending to depart through that matching archway—but had now stopped to listen to the voices floating up from below.
And leaned daringly forward to hear everything.
Rhauligan frowned. He could hear only a few people engaged in private converse—with no link of cutlery nor bustle of servants. Out of long habit he cocked his head to listen, too.
A sentence or two later, he'd put aside all thoughts of trying to capture Narnra Shalace.
"You're in no pressing hurry, my Lord Starangh?" "Not as yet, though I reserve the full disclosure of my desired pace through the rest of this unfolding day until I learn the reason you ask such a thing," the Red Wizard replied calmly, inspecting the fingers of his own right hand as if he'd never quite noticed them before.
"Well, if we've the time and you've no objections on the grounds of, say, prudence considering our present company," the Lady Am -brur responded, "I'd prefer to unfold the information you seek in an ordered, chronological fashion—to tell it as a story, to use plain words. A brief tale, not deep history."
The Thayan raised his eyes to hers. "Why don't you begin that way? If things become overlong or drift far from what most interests us all, we can always cry warning and agree upon another manner of discourse, can we not?"
"Indeed, sir," his hostess agreed smoothly. "Let us begin, then, with the recent retirement of the Royal Magician."
Malakar Surth had been displaying some signs of irritation throughout the preceding discussion—his mouth drawing into a thin, disgusted line, his gaze beginning to wander around the hall, beginning with a glance at what her gown displayed to the watching world of the Lady Noumea Cardellith's bosom—and so had his partner Bezrar, who'd slumped in his chair into a more sullen pose of boredom. Both leaned forward with renewed interest when the Lady Ambrur looked down into her empty tallglass for a moment then spoke to it gently.
"Vangerdahast ruled this kingdom for years. Azoun reigned, yes, dispensed justice, and rode to war when the need arose .. . but by his control of the Court, through manipulations of almost all of its officials, the Obarskyrs themselves, and many of the nobles who had dealings at Court, the Mage Royal held the day-to-day rule of this realm. Cormyr was ordered very much as he wanted it to be— until the coming of what most folk call 'the Devil Dragon.' We all know what befell Azoun and Tanalasta, but I also happen to know that Vangerdahast had some very trying adventures—alone—and almost met his death, too."
The Lady of Haelithtorntowers looked up from the depths of her tallglass to find the eyes of Harnrim Starangh dark and intent upon her. She looked into them and added, "Not a few folk at Court remarked that the Royal Magician looked more old and exhausted at Azoun's funeral than they'd ever seen him before. Most put it down to grief—for the friendship between the Mage Royal and the Purple Dragon was legendary—and the stresses of battle, but among the most senior Wizards of War there were murmurs of ... deeper failings."
"Say more, Lady," the Red Wizard purred, leaning forward with his nonchalance forgotten.
"I believe it's safe to say that the death of Azoun forcibly reminded Vangerdahast that no man lives forever and that he hadn't much time left, He was growing steadily more frail. Yet we've all seen men enfeebled with age cling to what little they have left like a withering vine, hanging on grimly past all reason—until the hanging on prolongs existence past all enjoyment or a natural end. Faerun knows legions of liches because of wizards who fiercely desire not to let go of life."
The Lady Ambrur rose and took an idle pace away from her seat. Out of habit all three of her male guests marked where she walked and laid hands to the hilts of daggers or wands, but their hostess took only one more idle step before turning about to face them again. "Vangerdahast feared one thing more than his failing body: his failing mind. Increasing forgetfulness is a deadly failure in any mage, the Mage Royal of Cormyr in particular, and his had become bad enough in matters large and small that War Wizards were noticing daily. The Mage Royal could no longer juggle dozens of intrigues and managed rumors and timings of events without dropping some of them—and could no longer deny this from himself. He hated it, but he feared for Cormyr with someone else at the helm—given the plentiful supply of traitor nobles, the headstrong Princess Alusair, and the defenseless babe that the fifth Azoun was and remains."
Lady Ambrur turned again to look at Lady Cardellith and said gravely to Noumea, "Finding his replacement could have been an impossible job. He could well have died still looking—but for the first time in his life, Vangerdahast was truly lucky, or Mystra smiled upon him: He found his Caladnei, and though she's no wise old Vangerdahast, she'll do. She has youth, vigor, and the ability to work as well with Alusair as Vangey did with Alusair's father. That left Vangerdahast free to retire before he mishandled something into a real disaster and let half the realm know that weakness now walked the Royal Court. So he hastened to do so, seizing on his long-held desire to be free of the petty, time-wasting intrigues and demands of Court etiquette and routine, and do something important ere he died."
Lady Joysil Ambrur spun around to face the wizard Darkspells and the two Marsemban merchants. "That is what drives Vangerdahast. gentlesirs. That is what has driven him for some years, ever since he judged himself successful in schooling and guiding the great Azoun. He saw himself as a successful guide, teacher, manipulator, and helmsman of the realm . . . but other Royal Wizards of Cormyr have been that. Vangerdahast wants more. He wants to leave his mark in lore, so that men in centuries to come will say, 'Baerauble was the founding High Wizard of the realm, aye, but Vangerdahast . . . Vangerdahast was probably the greatest of them all.' It's not a hunger rare among mages, I'm afraid."
Harnrim "Darkspells" Starangh did not smile at that observation, but Lady Ambrur was carefully looking now into the round and startled eyes of the importer Aumun Bezrar and no longer meeting the gaze of the Red Wizard.