What was making Boarblade so worried was the "why" of that disappearance and its implications. He quickened his scuttling pace, wanting to be out of this disguise-and the Royal Court, too-as quickly as possible.
Without coming face to false face with the wizard Vangerdahast.
Wizard of War Maraertha Dalewood knew very well that Royal Magician Vangerdahast keenly scrutinized every word of the house wizards' reports. Even so, he was in the habit of oh-so-casually asking anyone bringing him such a report if there was anything of "importance" his attention should be drawn to. She also knew that Old Thunderspells asked such questions far more as a test of her and rhe other report-runners than out of any concern over missing a fact, hint, or nuance.
Wherefore-as someone young, quiet, and fairly plain of looks, but ambirious-she'd taken care to pay close attention to the reports coming in from noble houses across the realm, to be ready for Vangey's questions.
She took care to keep the slightest hint of triumph or pride out of her voice, "I believe so, Lord Vangerdahast, though I fully understand I may merely be unaware of orders you've given to others. I have noticed a pattern in the reports. Many house wizards say War Wizard Torst Khalaeto visited the noble households, unheralded, to ask if their heirs had recently been visited by a war wizard. He further inquired as to the identity of the visitor."
Vangerdahast looked up at her sharply and frowned. "And do the reports mention what answer they gave?"
Maraertha's heart started to thud. Unless Old Thunderspells was a better actor than she gave him credit for, this was important.
"Every one," she said carefully, "stresses that Khalaeto was told the truth. That the visitor had been either yourself or Wizard of War Lorbryn Deltalon."
"Good, good," Vangerdahast replied almost absently, rising and striding for the door. "Leave the reports there on my desk, lass-and say nothing of this to anyone. If anyone should ask you about this, remember well for me who they are."
"Yes, Lord," Maraertha said to his dwindling back.
The Royal Magician raised his hand in a curt wave of acknowledgment ere he vanished down the passage outside.
Very carefully, squaring the papers just so, she set the reports on his desk, taking great care not to so much as glance at anything else on it.
Lord Manshoon of Zhentil Keep smiled to himself, out of long habit taking care that no trace of his mood reached his face.
These Knights might ably serve his currenr purposes.
He dare not work the Unbinding himself. Certain parts of the ritual would be fatal to those performing them, so he needed several capable persons, working together, who would press on with the Unbinding even after more than one of them died rather than abandoning it out of fear or grief.
In short, he needed adventurers. Adventurers such as these, eager to serve Cormyr and take pride in doing so, despite the apparent disapproval and suspicions of Royal Magician Vangerdahast and the usual generous supply of malicious, noble rabble.
That in turn would make the irony all the more delicious, when the Unbinding freed all the mad liches in the Lost Palace and poured them in a murderous, capering flood into the heart of the Royal Palace in Suzail, dooming most in that city to the proverbial "horrible magical deaths." Working the Unbinding would be seen as an act of treachery few would forget, even centuries hence. A fitting reward for zealous loyalty to the Purple Dragon, and a warning to all meddlesome adventuters.
Yes, my simple dupes. You will serve Cormyr very well.
Vangerdahast strode through the Royal Court, his robes billowing behind him. Where was Deltalon, anyhail, and why was Khalaeto-Khalaeto, who never concerned himself with anything that wasn't a document-seeking him?
His spell-summons to Lorbryn Deltalon, whose mind he read lightly but often these last few seasons, and whose loyalty he'd never once suspected, were met with only silence. Torst Khalaeto, however, responded instantly, from near at hand in another wing of the Royal Court.
Vangerdahast stopped, ignoring several impassive doorjacks standing stiffly at attention at their posts. He bore down into Khalaeto's mind more harshly than was his wont.
He found honest bewilderment and blossoming apprehension- not for Torst himself, because the timid mage truly knew of nothing wrong, evil, or disloyal on his own part, but for some unknown calamity facing the realm. Vangerdahast also found a turmoil of facts and mental "must check this, then that" notes about a certain lost, centuries-old, Crown-to-commoner-family property agreement.
Mindspeaking to Khalaeto with an apology for the intrusion, and even adding warm thanks for the assistance, Vangerdahast ended his magic and stood shaking his head.
That visitor to the nobles had not been Khalaeto but someone wearing his shape. Which meant it could be every last damned shapeshifter or spellhurler in Faerun. That left Deltalon as his only lead in trying ro find out what was going on.
"Suspicions aroused," Vangerdahast muttered, then gave the nearest doorjack a baleful "You listening to someone?" glare and strode away, heading he knew not where.
He had to find Lorbryn Deltalon and get a good long look into his mind. Was this something small and pranksome or another conspiracy within the ranks of his war wizards?
"Lady," Telsword Bareskar of the Palace Guard asked unhappily, as he peered cautiously into the gloom of the ruined mansion, "what is-er, was this place?"
"Once it was part of the country mansion of the Staghearts, who were stripped of their nobility and exiled long ago," Highknight Lady Ismra Targrael replied. "This was their hunting lodge. The mansion proper stood yonder, where all those trees are now. Duar had it razed. They knew the right way to handle things in those days. Mercy is the besetting weakness of kings."
"Uh, yes, Lady Tar-"
"My name," the Highknight reminded him icily, the point of her sword at his throat, "is not to be used."
"S-s-sorry, Lady, uh, Sir, uh…" Telsword Bareskar was a long way from the Royal Palace of Suzail and less than happy about being so. He liked shifts of mundane boredom, filled with simple, clear-cut rules and a lack of any need to think. To say nothing of being relatively free of danger, not" Yes, take the stair down," Targrael said in his ear, "and as a special favor to me, try not to sound as if you're a charger in full barding, stumbling down steps in the dark."
"Y-yes," Bareskar replied, starting down the stair with his sword held out in front of him, feeling his way along an unseen railing and fervently wishing he had a lantern.
He'd gone down six steps into what smelled and felt like a' damp stone cellar when Targrael said from behind him, "Stop. There's no one here. They've gone. So back up and out around the back. We'll have to do what I was hoping to avoid. Look behind every stlarned rree in the forest."
When Bareskar got to the top of the stairs again, Targrael was standing and staring thoughtfully down at the great hole in the floor that presumably opened into the cellar from which he'd just come up. Without looking at him, she pointed with her sword at the square of light where there had once been a pair of back doors, and Bareskar obediently went where he was directed, peering cautiously out into the forest and seeing nothing but trees, trees, gloom, and more trees.
He stepped outside, looking right and left, and on an impulse chose the left and stalked along the back wall so as to peer around" Now!" someone commanded from the forest to his right, and that was the last thing Telsword Bareskar ever heard.
The circling hawk didn't even have time to blink, let alone squawk or shriek in alarm.
The sword, faster than any arrow, was simply there one moment- and gone the next, streaking through the air, point-first and glittering. South and west, from Zhentil Keep to a spot in the forest just north off the Moonsea Ride, where of old the Stagheart banner had flapped.