Ed Greenwood: Elminster Enraged

“I’m sure the herald’s visit was a surprise, Mother,” he said politely, pouring more wine for everyone before she could. “You’ll be wanting to hear something of what we’ve seen and heard, out and about in the city, yes?”

“Indeed,” Lady Delcastle said gratefully. “I’m … less than patient in my desires to know whatever gossip may have reached your ears as to which nobles are obeying and supporting the king, which factions are crying open defiance, who’s posturing, and in what ways? Has the king made warning examples of anyone, yet? Has any jack or lass been sent to a very public bad end? I-”

She abruptly clamped her mouth shut, shook her head fiercely, and relaxed into another smile. “Forgive me; I was starting to babble.” She shot her son a look, and added dryly, “Yes, dear, I was about to erupt. Your mounting fear was all too apparent.”

“Your glemmeraeve,” Storm murmured, spoon in hand, “is marvelous .”

“Thank you,” Marantine Delcastle said in genuine pleasure, taking up her own spoon. “You like the hint of mustard?”

“Mustard and … daeradorn wine, in the snails … well simmered before you added in the garanth gravy,” Storm said slowly, savoring the last of a spoonful. “Beautifully done.”

“Best soup I’ve ever had,” Amarune echoed softly. “I wish I could cook like this.”

Lady Delcastle beamed. “You shall, Rune, you shall. I sport in my kitchens all too rarely these days, I’ll admit, but-” She interrupted herself with a slice of her hand through the air like an executioner’s axe. “Later. Gossip first!”

Storm almost managed to quell a snort of amusement, which made Arclath say hastily, “Well, Mother-not that this will come as fresh news-the realm is still astir. The wiser and more loyal lords, such as Spurbright and Wyvernspur, are soothing and calming in all directions-and trying to get the most flame-tempered lords out of Suzail and back to their country keeps before more trouble erupts. While the likes of Lady Harvendur and Lady Dawningdown are working their usual verbal poison, spreading malicious rumors and setting as many lords and ladies at each other’s throats as they can. The entire city garrison of Purple Dragons is patrolling the streets in endless overlapping shifts-”

“In crowds, not patrols,” Storm murmured.

“In crowds, yes, to keep nobles’ bodyguards from fighting with each other. If a punch is thrown in a tavern, the Dragons flood in even before the shouting begins. The Crown is trying to keep trouble firmly sheathed.”

“Amid an ever-increasing flood of noble complaints about the high-handed misuse of the soldiery against loyal and innocent citizens, I suspect,” Lady Delcastle said dryly.

“Indeed. Some legitimate complaints, too.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“Well, for one, the Crown’s inability to ah, ‘eliminate or at least curb’ increasingly bold outlaw bands raiding in the northeastern reaches of the realm.”

“The usual orcs and lawless blades, north of Hullack? Taking advantage of all the shouting and the lords all gathered in Suzail for the council?”

“Some of that, but there have been some bolder raids than usual. Broadshield’s Beasts, for one, have been going right into towns, and not just by night, to-”

He broke off as Storm tensed beside him, and his mother’s face changed. Following her gaze, Arclath cast a swift glance back over his shoulder.

Unannounced and unescorted by servants, three silent visitors walked into the room, anonymous in long, dark nightcloaks. Their hoods were up, hiding their faces, and their hands-and any short weapons they might be holding-were unseen inside flared, long-hanging sleeves.

“Purple Dragon forfend!” Lady Delcastle burst out, more astonished than afraid. “We are invaded!”

She twisted a ring on her left hand, which obediently began to glow, ere springing to her feet to thunder, “Halt! Halt and reveal yourselves!”

Arclath was already out of his chair, his sword sliding out.

“Stay your steel,” the shortest, burliest-and nearest-of the three dark-robed guests snapped at him, “in the presence of the king!”

Arclath knew that voice, even before its owner threw back her cowl: Wizard of War Lady Glathra Barcantle. The other two unhooded themselves more slowly, revealing themselves as Royal Magician Ganrahast, and … King Foril Obarskyr, the Dragon of Cormyr.

Arclath bowed deeply to the king, and Amarune hastily bobbed to her feet to thrust back her chair and give herself space to kneel. Storm kept her seat but smiled and nodded a friendly wordless greeting to the aging monarch-and Marantine Delcastle went right on giving him her best glare.

Ignoring the wand in Glathra’s hand that rose to aim right at her, the matriarch of Delcastle Manor spat, “Is there a reason for this unwarranted, unwanted invasion of my home? Has Cormyr fallen so far that we no longer ask admittance, sending heralds ahead to request the honor of a meeting? Is the realm at war? Or have you just utterly forgotten due courtesy and the rights of citizens-those same rights you daily trumpet and hurl in every highborn face?”

“Mother,” Arclath murmured.

Lady Delcastle rounded on him. “Don’t ‘mother’ me, whelp! I bore and raised you, and expect your loyal support! I-”

“Merely desired to point out,” Arclath interrupted her smoothly, “that you’ve asked His Majesty enough questions and that you owe him a breath or two to provide answers before you bury him under the next part of your tirade. As a man, I know when I’m reaching my limits of queries-and my mind is far less burdened than that of our Dragon.”

“That’s for certain,” his mother replied with tart triumph. “Coherent thoughts all too seldom-”

“Cormyr is not at war,” King Foril put in gently, his voice bringing instant silence. He added a wry smile. “Yet.”

He took a step forward. “I apologize unreservedly for the invasion of your home and, ah, family peace, Marantine. I’d not have done this were matters not grave. I appeal to your love of Cormyr to give us of your patience, and I assure you that none of your people have been harmed in our intrusion. Is your friend and colleague Elminster here?”

“What?” Lady Delcastle asked, at the same moment as Arclath and Amarune both replied, “No.”

“Why do you seek him?” Storm asked calmly.

“And why here ?” Arclath asked sharply, earning his mother’s approval. She nodded vigorously at his question, still favoring her unexpected guests with a stern frown. “Has Elminster been seen at Delcastle Manor?”

“No, no,” Ganrahast said in a soothing voice. “We, ah, traced Lord Delcastle to this place.”

“ How ?” Amarune snapped with sudden fire, surprising everyone. “Are you keeping watch over Arclath?”

“Ah, no, no,” Ganrahast replied hastily, with all the uneasy smoothness of a temple priest unused to blunt challenges, “we merely hoped to find Lady Storm”-he favored Storm with a bow-“and Lord Elminster in his company.”

“Evade not the question,” Lady Delcastle snapped. “You traced my son magically, I take it? How, exactly? This high house and most others have wards to prevent such pryings, wards that I assure you will be renewed and redoubled on the morrow, but I demand to know by what means, as well as by what right, you presume to-”

“The means,” Glathra said flatly, “are a state secret.”

In the suddenly silent wake of her words, she realized everyone in the room was regarding her with a sour expression. Even Ganrahast.

“I’m permitted to say more?” she asked him, dubiously. “Is this wise?”