Ed Greenwood: Elminster's Daughter

"You're older than the other Cormaerils," a different voice observed coldly from behind another sword.

"Easy, now! They said they hoped some of the older branches would make an appearance," a third voice said hastily. "Some Cormaerils were out of the realm long before the order of exile, with no chance to make claims nor set affairs in order. Let him pass-there's only the one of him."

"Have you any magic on you?" the first voice demanded.

"Of course," the scarred newcomer replied icily. "But no spells up my sleeves nor things I can hurl doom with, if that's what you fear."

Reluctantly, the blades drew back, and Elminster was aware of a lot of armed men drifting disappointedly away into the far corners of the room again. There wasn't going to be the fun of watching a little bloodletting after all.

The scarred Cormaeril glanced all around to make sure no covert blades were within reach, gave the grim bladesmen a wordless nod, and stepped out into the revelry.

* * * * *

The Silken Shadow reached into the bodice of her leathers and drew forth the black cloth hood she'd made several seasons ago but so rarely used. It made her look like some child playing at being hangman, with its eyeholes and ragged edge, but it covered the pale flash of her skin in dim light and might hide her femininity for a few moments from an inattentive observer. Which was most folk, really.

Narnra pulled it on, sheathed her knife, and flexed the too-long-clenched fingers that had held it. She stretched like a lazy cat and hunched down to the floor to smell and listen.

Yes, this smelled different than Waterdeep, somehow. More dead things in the water but fewer taints of spilled strange cargoes from afar.

Revels meant servants, or guards, or people peering in at the fun from around the edges-or all three. She'd have to be very careful as she went on from here.

Why, gods bless me, how unusual for a thief. . .

* * * * *

"So which noble family are you part of?" the masked merchant half-shouted through the chattering din, wine sloshing in the warhelm-sized metal goblet he clutched in both hands.

The cold-eyed warrior in worn and much-patched leather armor eyed him sourly and replied, "None of them. The benevolent Obarskyrs have exiled many more folk than our precious nobles. Most of us lowborn were hurled out by personal proclamation- because they couldn't get us with their blades or nooses before we scampered."

"Oh?" the tipsy merchant leaned forward to peer at the warrior more closely. "So what'd you do?"

"Wounded Duke Bhereu for dallying with my sister. Cut him good and proper and gave him a limp that lasted through two seasons of high-coin healers. Id've had his life, too, if he hadn't had a dozen bodyguards within shout. Cursed Obarskyrs can't even go out rutting without help!"

Elminster swayed around the warrior's elbow and edged past in the press of bodies.

"Ho for the conspiracy!" someone bellowed across the crowd- again. Several other someones took up the cry, as they had done on several previous occasions. "The Rightful Conspiracy!"

"A new king, a new hope!" someone else bawled.

"Aye! Let Cormyr rise again!"

Elminster felt like rolling his eyes. How many centuries had he heard these same cries, now? 'Twas as if the Forest Kingdom had a set script all would-be rebels and traitors came and consulted, perhaps under the watchful eyes of the scribes and Master Scroll-keeper at the Royal Court.

"And why are you here?" the warrior asked. Elminster stiffened then turned slowly, his face cold and haughty-to discover that the question had been directed at the merchant and not the tall, scarred noble sidling past.

"Money," the red-faced merchant replied promptly, punctuating this emphatic declaration with a belch. "They want some of mine now to buy blades and hireswords in Westgate and such but promise me contracts and trade-hires enough to make it back ten times over, once their king's on the throne. Haven't said who that'll be yet, 'course"-he belched again-"but I don' really care." He waved a dismissive hand, his goblet spilling a line of wine drops floorward, and added, "All the same anyway, they are. 'S'just that we'll be on the take with the new one, 'stead of shut outside the gates, lookin' in at all the lovely coins and whisper-deals."

The warrior caught Elminster's eye and snapped, "What're you listening to, high'n'mighty?"

"Overloose tongues," Elminster grunted, "if the War Wizards are listening or there're any Highknights lurking amongst us. I'm a little uneasy that this-" He waved at the merriment all around. "-might be a way to gather us all together so we can be slaughtered without them having to take the trouble to chase us all down."

The warrior nodded grimly. "Such thoughts have crossed my mind, too. You're noble, right?"

"Noble by birth, nameless by nature," Elminster told him with a smile. "Call me: Nameless Cormaeril."

The warrior grinned. "Aha! Some of your kin are here." He waved his hand at the thickest part of the crowd. "Over yonder, somewhere."

The merchant swayed toward Elminster. "W-well met, grand sir. I'm Imbur Waendlar, I am, and am … am … delighted to make your acquaintance. Should you ever have need of-ahem-coffins, or strongchests, or splendid greatchests to grace the finest of chambers, I'm your man. Best work and best price in all Suzail, wares to fit the needs of one so noble as yourself! Why, let me-"

Elminster and the warrior exchanged winks and grins. "Drunk as a bear drowning in honey," the duke-whittling warrior muttered, "but still manages his pitch. Gods bless stubborn merchants."

Master Waendlar blinked at him. "I cry: 'stubborn'? I cannot help but know I heard you say 'stubborn,' sir. Know you that you are mistaken, for a stubborn merchant is one who cannot turn with the times, shift with the deals, and so keep his coins about him! Why-"

Elminster and the nameless warrior sidestepped in opposite directions, leaving the merchant turning to continue his converse rather unsteadily. His disagreement was with the warrior, so he clung to that path, leaving Elminster free to move on.

Or rather, as free as two excitedly squealing ladies in very low-cut and well-filled gowns would allow.

"Gods a-mighty," someone growled, from Elminster's left, "but if I had those, I'd be squealing in excitement too."

"Well, have them you can," another voice said slyly. "The price is steep, mind you, but. . ."

Elminster ducked past the luridly displayed flesh and out of hearing more of that particular converse. A knot of men beyond was heatedly discussing the wisdom or lack of same in various "what must be done next" stratagems. Their voices were low but swift and cutting, but their words faltered as Elminster stepped almost into their midst.

"Ho, sir! This talk's private!" one of them snapped.

Elminster shrugged. "Sounds very much like what I've heard in a hundred nobles' chambers across the realm when they thought they were alone. Which leads me to think: when we plotted, we trusted in our hired wizards to keep War Wizard scrying at bay. Is anyone doing the same here, tonight?" He pointed at the goblets most of the men were holding and added, "Or checking those for poisons or concoctions to make us babble?"

The circle of men gave him sharp looks. "Did you not hear the Knight of the Mask's assurances?" the shortest man asked suspiciously. "Where were you then?"

"Yes, yes," Elminster snapped back, "but did you-any of you- actually see spells being cast or anything of the sort? Words are easily said; 'tis deeds I trust in."

"Well said, stranger," put in a tall, slender man whose chin bore a tiny black spike of a beard. "However, know you that I cast a shielding spell, if no one else did. It covers only myself and those close by, but I was not the only one here to do so. As to the rest, this isle was chosen because Purple Dragons will have to fight their way through three guardposts and across two bridges to reach it. My name, by the way, is Khornadar, most recently of Westgate. And you are-?"