Just as the hawk was flapping now, dazed in the wake of that streaking blade.
Lord Crownsilver rolled his eyes. "Yes, I ordered you to blast him! No, I did not order you to destroy that corner of the building!"
"What does it matter?" The three Sembian mages-for-hire were conscious again bur none too happy. Their healing potions had done their work, but such quaffs were expensive and not easily replaced out here in this wilderland. "It's a ruin."
"It matters because this land swarms with nosy war wizards, and they can hardly help but notice a spellblasted building! Nor can any other Knights who might be lurking all around us!"
The Sembian who'd hurled the spell shrugged. "You think they'll dare do anything aftep-"
The knife that spun through the air to sprout in his throat forever prevented him from finishing his question.
It was the shocked noble who muttered, "That?"
The other two wizards turned in the direction the blade had come from and hurled their best spells. "Time to fell some firewood," one of them snarled, watching full-sized trees hurtle and tumble.
"Never liked forests," the other agreed, watching a racing wave of crackling flame die away into the blackened distance.
Lord Crownsilver blinked in awe and then winced. All that good, coin-worthy timbet…
Manshoon was certain his spellwork was perfect. It wouldn't be his looks that might betray him.
His acting would have to be perfect, too. Not that he was worried.
By Bane and by Symgharyl's waiting, willing body, this was going to be fun.
Targrael's lip curled. Idiot wizards. They'd not last long at home in Sembia if they blasted buildings like that. Even if that fool Crownsilver had mistaken Bareskar for one of the Knights, the thing to do would have been to enthrall him and so lure the rest of rhe adventurers within reach, not blast and burn everything in sight.
As it was, she was safely behind the Stagheart ruin, short one knife-for now-and itching to exact a higher price for Bareskar's death. Surely he was worth at least three foolheaded Sembian wizards.
Woodsmoke drifted past her face. She would have to set about stalking them with a little care, given that these madwits could fell generous stands of trees in an instant, but if Beshaba didn't best Tymora in the next few breaths, she had no doubt she could slay the two surviving wizards. Leaving her with one noble lord ro cow into doing whatever she wanted him to do. For the good of Cormyr, of course.
"Back inside," Lord Crownsilver said. "Being as your fellow left a little of the place standing!"
The two surviving Sembians exchanged glances. Crownsilver's irritation was overwhelming his usual caution, it seemed.
The lord srrode back into the ruined hunting lodge. "They obviously got out somehow. Or one of them did. We must look properly down their end of the cellar, this time, to see how many of them are lying dead there. Then come back up, when all the fire's died, and see how many you cooked yonder. I like to know how many enemies are after me."
The Sembians traded glances again. They needed no words to make it clear to each other that they both thought their employer was mad, gone well beyond reason in his hunger to slay Knights of Myth Drannor-all Knights of Myth Dtannor, everywhere! — but…
The mages traded elaborate shrugs. He was paying…
They followed the seething nobleman, not even bothering to look back.
So they never saw the black leather-clad Highknight retrieve her knife from the throat of the wizard she'd slain, wipe it clean on his robes, and close in behind them.
They tramped down the stairs, preceded by complaints about the lack of a mage to cast any magical light where it was neededOnly to come to an abrupt halt, in common astonishment, to gaze upon Crownsilver's complaints suddenly answered.
An upright oval of glowing air, a portal if they'd ever seen one, appeared in the dark cellar of the ruin. Right at the spot where, in rhe wake of their wandfire, when that end of the cellar ceiling had come down, the Knights of Myth Drannor had been standing.
"Vangerdahast!" Jhessail spat. All of the Knights stared.
The bearded, paunchy old mage in robes stood alone where the passages met. Facing them, he wore an expression they were used to seeing, too-grimly haughty distaste or displeasure as he regarded them. He shook his head and said, "I might have known."
"What is this place?" Semoor said, "And what in all the Nine Hells are you doing here?"
"Kindly speak more quietly, Wolftooth," the Royal Magician replied sourly. "Unless you have some means of besting liches that I lack. We're standing in the Lost Palace of Esparin, and I am here because I was trapped here by a Zhent impostor who means ill for the realm. Whereas you are here because, I suppose, you are adventurers who will do anything other than depart the realm of Cormyr as you were ordered to do."
Pennae gave him a cold look. "So we're somewhere in Cormyr?"
Ignoring her, Vangerdahast asked, "So how did you get here?"
"So we're somewhere in Cormyr?" Islif echoed Pennae.
"Somewhere underground, near Cormyr. Probably north of the realm proper." The wizard turned to cast glances down passages in all directions and then strode toward the Knights. He put his back to a wall. "My turn, I believe. Again, how did you reach this place?"
"Magic!" Pennae said. "Not outs. Something done by Lord Crownsilver or rather his three hired, wand-waving, Sembian mages. In the woods just north off the Ride east of Halfhap, in an old roofless ruin behind a caravan camp. A place I'm sure you can name."
"No doubt," Vangerdahast said. "So-"
"That was not," the thief snapped, "merely an observation. I can tell all too well by your temper and your hesitancy that you're going to ask for our aid, Vangey, so pray do us the little courtesy of telling us what we want to know."
The Royal Magician's bushy eyebrows rose in unison, and he looked straight at Florin. "Haven't learned the cost of overly smart tongues yet? Adventurers usually have quite enough trouble without needlessly borrowing more."
Florin regarded Vangerdahast calmly. "I don't recall our charter saying anything at all about obeying the Royal Magician of Cormyr-nor the Court Wizard, or for that matter any war wizard. I thank you for the advice. In return, here's some for you: Politely answer the lady. You'll live longer that way."
"Growing fangs, Falconhand? Tell me, O Wise Advisor, is this a wise time to do so?" The Royal Magician sighed, moved his hand as if to wave his own words away with the back of it, and said, "Forgive me, Knights. I… am under some strain at the moment. I very much need ro get myself out of here in some haste. Alive, too, and as you see me now, not turned into a bird or boor or some such. I do indeed find myself in need of your assistance just now."
"Does your neediness extend to an appropriate reward?" Pennae said.
"And of what, specifically?" Semoor added.
Vangerdahast smiled wryly, just for an instant. "Ennoblement for you all. Which would mean titles, a small gift of Crown funds, and the removal of any requirement upon you to depart the realm. Moreover, if you do continue to Shadowdale and settle there, I can promise much funding, military aid, and war wizard assistance- under your authority-in securing and transforming the dale into what you want it to be. We can even make it part of Cormyr. Ah, only if that's what you want, of course."
Pennae crooked an eyebrow. "My, you are desperate, aren't you?"
Jhessail frowned. "What assistance do you have in mind?"
"And how do we know you are Vangerdahast," Pennae added, "and not a mad lich playing a little game with us?"
The wizard sighed and waved a hand at Doust and Semoor. "Are there not holy men among you? Simple magics on their part will reveal my undeath-or would, if I happened to be undead. Now, as for aiding me, I need you to do something the spells laid upon me here prevent me from doing myself, of course. It's called the Unbinding, and-I'll not lie to you-there is danger in it."