In his wake, staff bolted in all directions, some seeking weapons, others a place to hide, and a few the portal, to report to their masters and plead for much armed aid-and swiftly.
Lord Yellander and Lord Eldroon strongly favored teamwork and plentiful reinforcements.
On her hurried trip through the Palace to Ghoruld Applethorn’s chambers, Laspeera ordered the two Purple Dragons back to their duties and collected a trio of on-duty war wizards. Her words brought stern excitement to their faces and the wands at their belts into their hands. She set a brisk pace, and let them scramble to keep up with her.
Applethorn’s office door was closed, and she smiled wryly at the words on the card in its placard-slide: “All inquiries to Laspeera of the Wizards of War.”
It was written in Ghoruld’s hand, right enough. She raised her left hand, calling up the powers of the ring on her middle finger-and then stopped and frowned, throwing up her other hand in a quelling warning to the younger mages behind her.
The door bore the usual spell-lock, and the trap magic that would hold immobile anyone passing through the doorway without the lock spell being properly ended. Both usual war wizard practice. Yet there was something more…
The ring winked in warning as she attuned it to ignore the lock and the hold, and seek that additional magic. Behind her, the other three war wizards waited patiently.
It was… something hostile, of course, but why the emptiness? Laspeera wondered The… oh, Mystra! It must be a feeblemind trap! Very dangerous to all mages, and so very much non-usual war wizard practice.
“By all Nine of the Hells,” she murmured. “That it should come to this…”
And then she shook back her sleeves and began to cast counter-spells with her usual unhurried, cautious care.
Jhessail yawned, groaned in sleepy protest, and turned over in the bed for perhaps the twentieth time, kicking at the linens that enshrouded her.
“Can’t sleep?” Islif asked from beside her, throwing out a long arm to gather her close. “Try remembering all the things we did together in Espar, dreaming of being adventurers. That’ll have you snoring soon enough.”
“I’ll try. Can’t you sleep, either?”
“Not until Pennae here stops waiting for us both to nod off, so she can get up and go creeping around the inn. I don’t want to have to spend far too much time, later, searching for her body.”
“You,” Pennae murmured in the darkness, “worry too much. They have to catch me first.”
“It won’t take them long if you haven’t figured out by now that this place is one big waiting trap for the likes of us.”
“You hayteeth backlanders persist in using the wrong words when you speak. Say not ‘trap,’ but rather ‘challenge.’ ”
“Right. One big waiting challenge. I’m still staying awake.”
“Mother hen.”
“Black sheep.”
Silence fell again, until Jhessail filled it with a sudden snore.
Chapter 11
I know of more than a few strings of words that shine with excitement, but should be treated with the darkest of suspicion.
One of these is any variation on the phrase
‘These very cellars hold a treasure yet unfound!’
T ouch nothing, ” Laspeera said, “and stay together, here with me.”
Cautiously they peered around Ghoruld Applethorn’s offices.
The man himself was missing. On his desk lay a scroll-tube labelled “Map: Halfhap.” Its end cap was off, and it was-Laspeers bent and peered inside-empty. The entire desk glowed faintly, as if reflecting the flames of a distant fire.
“What spell is that?” Roruld asked from behind her, waving at it.
“No spell,” Laspeera told him. “ ’Tis wildsnarl powder. Very rare, and priced to match. Used to defeat most divination magic.” Her eyes narrowed. This was all just a trifle overdone. “Go get Vangerdahast,” she ordered.
“Well met,” said the Royal Magician of Cormyr dryly, from just behind them.
As they stiffened, blinked, and whirled to face him, he snapped, “Roruld, go now in haste and seek Ghoruld Applethorn in the Garden Wing. Alais, the same search; Palace staterooms. Morlurn, likewise, but ’tis the Royal Court for you-and mind you don’t miss the cellars!”
The three war wizards nodded, still blinking, and hurried out. Leaving Vangerdahast and Laspeera facing each other in the empty office.
“Odd, indeed,” Vangey said. “I’m beginning to think I should collect those unicorn-head rings. Baerauble made them just a bit too useful.”
Laspeera nodded. “Applethorn’s will prevent us magically tracking, farscrying, and detecting him, but what about mind-prying; will it stop your spells?”
“Yes. Everyone’s,” the head of the war wizards said shortly, turning away. “And Ghoruld knows that. The question is: Who else does? Are we chasing Applethorn, or someone working with him-or someone who put a dagger through his ribs and took his likeness?”
He strolled across the room, one hand raised and the rings on it winking restlessly, before shaking his head and adding, “No one’s scrying us right now, at least.”
“I know of a dozen unicorn rings, all worn by alarphons,” Laspeera said quietly. “Are there more I should know about?”
Vangey turned. “In case I go missing on the morrow? No, just twelve. That I know of. And no master ring to control them or overcome their protections, though Baerauble may have enspelled them in a way that let him shut them down by means he kept secret, that died with him. There’d be no point in using them at all, to try to keep their minds hidden and protected from all magic, if a way to defeat them could be seized and worn by just anybody.”
“Of course. I-”
Running feet made a brief thunder in the passage outside, and two war wizards burst breathlessly through the door, gabbling about Emmaera Dragonfire and swords and inns and treasure, long-lost magic and adventurers converging on Halfhap.
Vangerdahast and Laspeera listened until Corlyn and Armandras ran out of excited things to say. They then politely thanked and dismissed the pair, who went out again peering at the two highest-ranked war wizards a little doubtfully, evidently wondering if the Royal Magician of Cormyr and the Court Underwizard of the Realm had heard them correctly.
When they were well out of sight and hearing, Vangerdahast turned to Laspeera. “Just a bit obvious, isn’t it?”
Laspeera nodded.
“Well, take a dozen or more of our best with you-and have them conduct themselves with caution. Even when you know what you’re striding into, a trap’s a trap.”
The rapping on the door was insistent, and Florin came awake reaching for his sword.
When he opened the door, blade at the ready, the man on the other side of it also held a drawn sword. And a worried, wary, but not hostile expression.
“What news?” Florin asked quietly, as Doust and Semoor sleepily joined him.
“Grave news,” the man replied, a distinct whiff of horse coming from him as he grounded his blade. The innkeeper Maelrin and a serving-jack stood behind the stablemaster, facing in either direction down the passage. They, too, had drawn swords in their hands.
“Item the first. There’s a killer on the loose. Here in the Oldcoats Inn.”
“Oh?”
“A trained Zhentarim slayer, a sword and spell man. He’s in his room now, but he killed two of us-of the inn staff-while all of you were sleeping, and neither poison nor being hewn to the bone with a sword seems to have stopped him. He is, in fact, walled in with us.”