“Which means,” El agreed, “that we’d best be finding the next anchor. She remembers where they all are. I … recall a few. Luse, Laer, ’tis done like thi-”
Laeral gave him a withering look, and pointed through the trees.
“Ah,” Elminster said hastily, “my apologies.”
“Accepted, Old Mage,” she replied pointedly, leading the way.
Which meant the Shadovar warriors who burst out of the next thicket came at her first, thrusting bills and glaives that she easily turned aside with her hair.
Alustriel’s swarm of a dozen racing blue-white bolts arced and swooped into as many faces-and Elminster contributed an echo spell that followed up the magic missiles with stunning lightning.
Most of the mercenaries fell, but a few snarled in pain and kept coming, swinging swords and axes rather unsteadily.
The three Chosen met them blade to blade.
“After this anchor, we need only take care of forty-two more, remember,” Elminster panted, amid the clang and clash of steel. “That should be enough to collapse the mythal at our bidding.”
“Only?” Alustriel asked archly, as her tresses dashed two helms together hard enough to crumple metal. “Your words delight me.”
“We must all find our delights where we can these days,” Laeral commented, ducking under a vicious axe swing and slamming the pommel of her blade hard into the ear of her would-be butcher. Who reeled right into Elminster’s backswing.
Laeral sprang away from the gory result. “Don’t get blood on this, you! It never all comes out!”
A mercenary was startled enough by her complaint to turn and gape at her, just for an instant-and that was all Elminster needed.
“Back in brawling form?” Alustriel grinned at him, as he rose from downing that last man and saw that there were no more mercenaries left to fight.
El smiled and shrugged. “Got my wind back, at least. Help me remember, you two; if we see the coronal, we must tell her where the portal that brought us here is located. When the city falls, it and the other portals nearby will be the only ways she’ll be able to get any Tel’Quess out.”
Laeral laid a hand on his arm. “You think any of us will get out, El?” she asked softly.
El shrugged. “Acting as if I know we all will is always best.”
Laeral gave him a wry smile. “So you’re always bluffing, no matter the danger?”
Elminster drew himself up and made a dignified reply. “Manipulating, please. ‘Bluffing’ is such a crass word. Merely bending others to do as I’d like them to do, by means of a little acting. Ye learn these things, when ye’ve lived through as many falls of cities and utter Realms-rending disasters as I have …”
Luse and Laer stared at him, then burst into wild, helpless laughter.
The Wizard of War and the six Purple Dragons with him came to a stop in the dingy back street in Suzail, all of them wearing deepening frowns.
“So just where is this treason you speak of?” The young mage’s tone was openly suspicious. “This looks like all too good a place for an ambush, if you ask-”
“I didn’t,” the fat and wheezing man in the well-worn and food-stained clothing and the flopping wrecks of old seaboots interrupted, “and you needn’t worry. I’ll be going first.” And he flung open the nearest door.
“Yes,” the wizard snapped, “but how do we know you aren’t working with some miscreants, and leading us right into their clutches?”
Mirt caught hold of a good fistful of the young war wizard’s splendid doublet and dragged him down until they were nose to nose.
“You can come with me, young fearfulguts,” he growled, “because I’ll be needing you. But mind this: no casting spells, and no yelling at enemies of the Crown, until I say so, hear? You may have standing orders and the shiny authority of the Dragon Throne-but I’ve managed to keep myself alive for more years than you’ve seen, without having spells down both arms and stuffed up my backside to resort to! So, do we have an agreement?”
“W-we do,” Narancel replied, with as much dignity as he could muster. He made a little show of brushing the breast of his doublet smooth again with apparent unconcern.
“Good.” Mirt grinned at him. “Then follow me up these stairs quietly.”
“But-but this building’s been cleared out for a tenday, after two clerks came down with blacktongue! We-”
Mirt’s withering look reduced the protesting mage to silence, and he followed the rotund and wheezing merchant up the narrow and dim back stairs as quietly as possible. As he did, Narancel wondered why they didn’t just go in the front way, but he took care to wonder it mutely.
Two flights up, he heard voices. Mens’ voices where there should be none. Mirt turned with a warning finger held straight up against his lips, then went on. The wizard followed, taking great care to be as quiet as he could.
They were close enough, now, to hear what was being said.
“So you see, I’m prepared to pay you this handsomely just to do your duty. Nothing beyond the rules, nothing that can get you in trouble. You are supposed to inspect noble estates-and their city properties too-from time to time, without warning, to make sure what they tell the Crown tax clerks to be so is, in fact, so. Oh, the particular nobles on my little list, here … ah, your little list, yes? … will be less than pleased, but then, they always are, aren’t they?”
“It’s-if anyone higher finds out-” That voice was anxious, and was echoed by the wordless murmurs of others. Worried others.
“Ah, but they won’t, if none of you talk. See how short that list is? All you have to do is remember one name each from it-just one-and it becomes your choice, and I destroy the list, and-behold! — there’s no evidence left, at all! Now, what say you?”
“I–I-oh, I don’t know …,” the worried voice mumbled, sounding very unhappy.
Which was when Mirt laid a firm hand on the war wizard’s arm, tugged meaningfully, and let go to lurch and wheeze his way through the door and around the corner to give the room of startled men-six palace courtiers and one Manshoon-a nod of greeting and a lopsided grin.
“Well done, men of Cormyr! Well done!” he told them heartily. “You passed this little test as Cormyreans staunch and true! Proving yer honesty and loyalty to the Crown as boldly as any battle-tested Purple Dragon! The Forest Kingdom is proud of you!”
Clasping his hands behind his back, he started to stroll. Mainly to make sure the tremulous young fool of a war wizard had indeed dared to follow him into the room-aye, he had, thank all the gods for small beneficences-but also to put one or two courtiers between him and any little magic an annoyed Manshoon might hurl.
“You rightly saw through the stratagem our peerless actor here”-he waved at the glowering Manshoon-“was so smoothly attempting to recruit you into abetting. It would create dissent among certain noble families whose support the Dragon Throne sorely needs right now. You didn’t know it, but more than a dozen Wizards of War have been watching and listening to it all! Worry not; every last one of you has impressed them. Young Narancel here will escort you back to your offices now, and will echo my praise. Cormyr’s future is bright in your hands!”
Mirt swung around to give Narancel a look. Damned if the young pup wasn’t shaking like a sapling in a fall wind, but at least he knew his cue, and nodded, waving to the courtiers to come with him.
They bolted, almost upsetting their chairs in their relieved haste, and were gone in a door-banging trice. Leaving Mirt alone with a seething Manshoon. The onetime ruler of Zhentil Keep and of Westgate, founder and longtime leader of the Zhentarim-and a vampire, to boot.