"Specific butchery."
"Indeed. You will slay the spies Vangerdahast sent after the Knights. You will also kill Myrmeen Lhal, in Arabel, then anyone the war wizards and the Dragon Throne send to look into her demise and the disappearances of the pendant, the Knights, and their spies. Cormyr will thus be weakened and infuriated at the same time as the most ambitious Zhents seek to take advantage of this weakness."
"You again."
"Targon again, suggesting and advising and 'discovering' where it will do the most good. I'll see to it that Brotherhood milirary strength in Shadowdale is built up and commanded by someone recklessly ambitious-we have a lot of Zhentilar like that-and goad them into taking Tilverton and Halfhap and threatening Arabel. The Zhentilar are to do battle with Purple Dragons wherever they see them. That will soon bring Cormyr riding this way with fire and sword-and that, if conquering Tilver's Gap hasn't done it already, will inevitably draw the rest of the Brotherhood into the conflict."
Horaundoon's mind had darkened, eagerness giving way to apprehension. "But what if Cormyr is too strong and shatters the Brotherhood, menacing Zhentil Keep itself?"
Old Ghost's satisfaction could be felt even more strongly than Targon's face could express. "As ro that," he said, "we need never fear Cormyr's strength. The Lost Palace is bulging with mad liches, all of them deranged but very powerful spell-slayers. All we need do is work the Unbinding that frees them all, and it will thrust them through an old portal right into the heart of the Royal Palace in Suzail-dooming that city. Its citizens will die horribly, twisted or blasted by ruthless magic, before the liches start to roam."
"And we'll then stop these rampaging liches how?"
"It matters not if they wreak havoc in other lands. In fact, we would do well to goad or steer some of them into dealing much death in Thay. If they do turn on us, who is better equipped than the Brotherhood to destroy them?"
"A Zhentarim empire… Thay brought low…" Horaundoon's thrilled mind was bright with eager, growing hunger.
"Once the elder wizards of the Brotherhood are out of their fortresses and active, we can select victims at will."
"Manshoon and the most debauched wizards."
"When they are eliminated, Fzoul and the beholders are certain to seek command of the Zhentarim. When that bloodbath is done, one side or both will be gone, leaving just the hardened survivors and the weakest of magelings."
"Whom we can control."
Targon nodded. "Whereupon the Brotherhood will be back on the path to greatness-an empire-at last. Which we safeguard, watching and continuing to prune away anyone who reveals himself as the same sort of power-hungry fool that Manshoon has become."
The brightness in Horaundoon's mind suddenly clouded over with fear again. "What about Hesperdan?"
Old Ghost made his host body shrug. "He's always been a mystery, that one-and far more powerful than he has any right to be. Yet even if he steps forward to seize all, he has never seemed as reckless as Manshoon. Yes, Hesperdan just might be the greatest tyrant mage Faerun has ever known."
Princess Alusair's heart was pounding so thunderously, she thought it might awaken the maids dozing in the outer robing room. She rolled over in flash and by the faint, familiar glow of her moonstone bracelet on her bedside table could just see that there was a dark figure in bed beside her. A man-sized figure.
"Who are you?" she whispered, clutching the silken sheets up to her chin. She was suddenly very aware that the nearest knife was hidden behind a panel inside one of the four soaring bedposts on the far side of the intruder-and that all she was wearing was a black ribbon choker around her neck.
"Dalonder Ree, Harper, here in answer to your summons," he said.
Alusair let out a great sigh of relief then said, "I need you to help me!"
Dalonder gazed at the young princess, briefly marveling at the way her eyes almost blazed with excitement and anger. "Help you how, Princess?" he whispered.
"Vangerdahast senr away my personal champion, an ornrion everyone calls Dauntless, though his real name-"
"I know him. You want him brought back here?"
"Yes!"
"And what's to stop Vangerdahast from just sending him away somewhere worse?" "I… don't know."
Dalonder plucked something from a belt pouch, deftly captured a royal hand in the datkness, and pressed the item into her palm.
"What-?"
" Tis just a black leather button. Nothing magical. If someone takes it from you, find another. Think about how you can protect Dauntless if he does return here. When you've thought of something, drop this out yout window into the garden bed below-and I'll come back, probably in this manner. Until then, be aware that Harpers are already watching over Dauntless and the Knights of Myth Drannor."
"The Knights?"
"Yes. Your ornrion was sent to see them out of the realm. Old Thunderspells neglected to tell you that, I see. He neglects rather too much, these days."
Whatever Alusair was going to say vanished when the man in bed with her deftly captured her other hand, dropped a genrle kiss into her palm-and was gone through the bed curtains, leaving her alone with her heart pounding hard again.
After a long, tense time of listening to nothing, Alusair relaxed, rolled onto her back, and smiled into the darkness.
She was caught up in Palace intrigue at last. Men slipping into her bed in the proverbial cat-hours of the night. Her bed.
She mattered.
Chapter 13
Drowning and dismembering curses
So, laughing man, hear you now my curse:
If you speak not truth, plain and fair,
If this deed does not victory prepare,
May you be drowned, dismembered, and worse.
The war wizard who was no war wizard at all scuttled quietly along a back passage in one of the dustier wings of the sprawling Royal Court, looking thoughtful. His identity was counterfeit, but his "thinking hard" mien was all too real.
Boarblade had spent some time practicing the real Torst Khalaeto's scuttling gait, the pitch of the timid war wizard's voice, and Khalaeto's favorite phrases, because he needed to fool quire a few people. Not so much nobles, who were apt to be uncaring, barely noticing anything that wasn't all about them, but folk who knew Khalaeto. War wizards and courtiers he might well meet in these very halls and chambers.
Thankfully, this dangerous little imposture seemed about done. A few drinks with Torst in Khalaeto's favorite tavern and the skill of the hargaunt had given Boarblade a perfect copy of the face of timid, bespectacled War Wizard Torst Khalaeto, and fate-in the form of a land ownership dispute between two old families of Immersea-had promptly taken the real Khalaeto off into some of the dustiest chambers of Crown records for some days. When Boarblade thought of war wizards, he never pictured anything like a hesitant, peering-at-life, fussy old clerk, but… well, as the old saying put it, the gods daily taught a noticing man something new.
Khalaeto with his recording scroll, scrollboard, and little collection of quills had been the perfect questioner ro leave nobility unsuspicious. He went to several of the noble families in whose sons the Lady Narantha Crownsilver had planted mindworms, to ask them just which war wizard had later visited them.
Their, answers had all been the same: either Royal Magician Vangerdahast or Wizard of War Lorbryn Deltalon.
Telgarth Boarblade may have been many things, but fool was not one of them. Wherefore he knew better than to try to speak with Vangerdahast. Yet there might well be a way to, ah, worm the secrets out of the lesser war wizard of using mindworms to control those nobles.
So he'd gone seeking Lorbryn Deltalon, only to discover that the man seemed to have gone absent from the Palace.