Ed Greenwood - Swords of Dragonfire

In the back room of the Old Warhound tavern, Andaero Hardtower of the Zhentarim hissed fiercely into the face of the short man in the dark weathercloak, “Ravelo, I don’t care if all the kings of every last Border Kingdom are out in the taproom-and all their jeweled strumpets too! I’m late reporting in and the scrying crystal’s starting to glow and I must be alone! Get gone!”

Scowling, Ravelo whirled around and ducked out-just as the palm-sized crystal ball in front of Hardtower flickered into sudden glowing life, and a cold voice asked, without bothering with any greeting, “Well? What idiocy are you up to now? ”

“N-none, Lord Sarhthor!” Andaero gasped excitedly. “All but a handful of my forces are busy carrying out Lathalance’s orders right now!”

There was a sigh. “And just what orders did Lathalance give?”

“He bade us see this night to the elimination of the Knights of Myth Drannor. They have a pendant we are to seize. Lathalance says slaying them and getting that bauble will shatter and once and for all end the schemes of the Royal Magician and the Blackstaff of Waterdeep and their confounded Harpers, and hand Shadowdale to us. ”

The glowing crystal was showing no image in its depths-and that suddenly seemed like a good thing to Andaero, as it erupted in a stream of snarled curses that ended in an exasperated, “Stop them, fool!”

“T-too late,” Hardtower stammered. “They’re fighting the Knights right now!”

“Do you command a drunken rabble,” Sarhthor inquired icily, “or Zhentilar warriors?”

“A-a drunken rabble, Lord. All the men you trained have been killed fighting the Knights and all the roused Dragons in Arabel, with Baron Thomdor leading them! These we have now are our spies and lazynecks, plus all I could induce with coin to fight for us-or coerce by threat of exposing them to the Dragons-in a day. Neldrar leads them.”

“Then let them die, and Neldrar with them, and get yourself well away from it all,” Sarhthor ordered coldly. “Now.”

As the crystal started to dim, Hardtower heard the fading beginnings of an incantation, and shivered as he recognized it.

The tall, slender double doors of flame-hued, glossy copper parted, and a cloaked half-elf who was also tall and slender stepped through them and drew them firmly closed behind him. Even before they closed in velvet silence, the dwarf who’d been leaning against a curved wall, waiting, stepped forward to block the half-elf’s path, and squinted up to ask gruffly, “And what was all that about, aye?”

“Well met, Raurig,” the half-elf said with a smile that hinted otherwise, but added smoothly, “The High Lady desires closer ties of trade and friendship with the Forest Kingdom, Cormyr.”

“And so?”

“And so will shortly announce the investiture of a new envoy to the Royal Court of King Azoun, in Suzail.”

“Who will be-? Gods above, Laroncel, getting specifics out of ye is like prodding a sullen orc prisoner!”

“Oh? Well, that seems fitting, Raurig. Entertaining your questions always seems much akin to answering an angry orc trying to browbeat replies out of a captive! I have good reason to believe Lady Alustriel still possesses a mouth-”

“Heh! I’ll bet ye do!”

“I see no need at all for low coarseness, Raurig, nor for allusions to matters not now under discussion. As I was saying, the Lady Alustriel still having a mouth permits her to make her own announcement as to the identity of her envoy, as is customary, and I see no reason at all for me to-”

“Ah, I quite see. Just as I see no reason not to inform her Lady Lovehips as to yer little meeting with Jesper of Luskan, a night back, regarding-”

“ Ahem, Raurig, if we could just refrain from mentioning matters so personal, I was about to say that I saw no reason not to inform someone so discreet as yourself as to the identity of the envoy. Yes? Good, I’m glad we so plainly understand each other.”

“I, too, am overwhelmed with gladness. Out with it, Brightears!”

“Raurig, please! Leave me some small shards of dignity! Very well, though I dislike speaking of such delicate matters out here in this very public passage, let it be known to you-and only to you-that Silverymoon’s new envoy to Cormyr will be the Lady Aerilee Hastorna Summerwood.”

“Huh! That loose-skirts! Serve Azoun the Lusty well, won’t she?”

“I believe that opinion was just privately imparted, yes, though not by myself.”

“That fails utterly to surprise me, Laroncel. Same bloodlines as ye, every bit as tall-ye’ll miss her, won’t ye?”

Laroncel Duirwood smiled as if remembering something very pleasant, and murmured, “Yes, but my aim has improved steadily.”

As he strode off down the passage, he decided that the dwarven chuckles from behind him could best be described as “dirty.”

Florin ducked and thrust and sidestepped, fighting furiously just to stay alive. Rather than trying to wound, he used his reach and strength to tumble foe after foe off the roof, and was succeeding-which was a very good thing, because ever-more men were rushing at him from all sides.

One of the largest swordsmen, who’d come stumping cautiously across the slimy roof rather than rushing Florin, reached the ranger at last. He wore a belt bristling with sheathed daggers, but wielded only a huge sword, using both hands to raise his fearsome weapon back and to the side. In a moment, he’d come at Florin and swing it around in a great body-slicing slash, with all of his weight behind it.

Florin feigned a slip, “falling” forward onto the fingertips of his free hand-and as the man chuckled and started his great hacking swing, Florin sprang froglike to his right and rolled over, leading with his blade, scything the man’s ankles out from under him and sending the swordsman toppling with a shriek of startled pain.

Right behind him, another swordsman charged at Florin with his blade drawn back. Florin rolled frantically and came up with his sword lifted. One swift dodge and the man impaled himself on Florin’s blade, solid and heavy and almost hilt-deep.

Then light blossomed in the night, and the swordsmen running across the roofs at Florin faltered, stopped, and turned to stare.

The wizard Florin had pursued up onto the stable roof swayed, startlement clear on his face-a face that all could see clearly in the rainy night because the Zhentarim’s body was starting to glow, hitherto-invisible runes all over his robes burning into scarlet life. The wizard stared down at the runes; a cold voice arose from them, speaking what sounded like an incantation. Except for the one now collapsing over Florin’s blade, the swordsmen were all watching and listening now, like so many dark statues in the night.

The wizard stared past them all at Florin, horror in his eyes, and screamed, “No! Nooooo! ” as the incantation rose to a triumphant end. The runes exploded, the wizard vanishing in a shattering burst of flames that hurled blazing swordsmen in all directions. Florin flung himself toward the edge of the roof.

“Follow me not,” the princess had grandly commanded everyone in the Black Hound, sweeping out into the night with the cloak some fool of a merchant had given her swirling around her. Not wanting to be noticed doing just that by a tavern-full of awed Arabellans, Ravelo Tarltarth had slipped boldly into the servery and out the back door, to become one more alley shadow in the wet night.

It had not been difficult to spot the princess, still waving her sword and dagger around as she turned along a street and headed for grander lanes, where beyond a few stables and warehouses, balconied mansions rose many-windowed into the rain.

Ravelo didn’t have to skulk. He could stroll openly, this royal lass was so careless-and so predictable. Not that he was known to the local Watch, yet. Short, silent, and balding, he looked more like a weary shopkeeper than a Zhent spy. One of the better “eyes” for the Zhentarim in the Forest Kingdom, he judged himself; one who remained unnoticed by the Crown, despite war wizards poking their noses into everything-including everyone’s minds-in Cormyr every second breath or so.