Ed Greenwood - Cormyr

Dauneth hurried and, just in time, fetched up at his destination in panting haste. She went out the back way, of course. He watched which way she was heading, keeping low and immobile until she was out of sight, and then moved. He was going to have to be very careful if he hoped to keep her in view and escape being spotted. Whoever this blue-masked mage was, she was certainly no fool.

He’d suspected all along that she was noble-born or connected with nobility or the court itself and that she’d get to the Promenade before long, and he was right. Crouched in the lee of a potted pricklethorn bush that was decorating the steps of some grand townhouse or other, Dauneth saw the lady in blue turn out of the side street he was watching and walk briskly along the Promenade toward Eastgate.

She wasn’t going out of town. No, she’d turn off westward before the gate and head back into the Nobles’ Quarter on the pleasant hedge-lined street that crossed Lake Azoun by that beautiful arched bridge… yes! There she was! Dauneth raced along the top of the ornamental wall that separated the holy ground of Deneir from the meadows of the rich merchants next door, down to the edge of the lake. He just had time to crouch down behind the last sculpted stone book, spread open forever on its wall-top pedestal, when she stopped on the bridge and looked back and down the lake, scanning the gardens… for him?

She looked down at the gentle waters for what seemed like an eternity to Dauneth but was probably only a short time, enjoying the evening stars swimming in Lake Azoun. Then she turned and went on down the far slope of the bridge, heading for-Dauneth squinted, and finally climbed right up onto the stone book to see properly-Wyvernspur House!

Yes, she was glancing up and down the street, up at the sky, and then she went inside. Dauneth clambered hastily down from his perch and almost fell as a calm voice from just below him said, “Yes, a lot of folk seem to find that inscription particularly interesting.”

He stared down into the kindly eyes of an old bald priest, who nodded a grave greeting, and said, “Personally, I think the next one over is more profound, but then, the variance of opinions is born of the strife between the gods that gives us all life and striving. What do you think?”

Dauneth Marliir looked desperately from book to book, seeing that both of them sported-amid spots of bird droppings-long and carefully carved inscriptions, half seen in the moonlight. He didn’t have time for this…

“I think,” he said carefully, looking at the grass of the lawn outside the temple wall and glancing up that long sward, “that the future of the realm depends upon my acting now and thinking later!” And with that grand declaration, he hurled himself backward off the wall, hopefully out of reach of any spell that the priest might use against uninvited night intruders.

He landed running. He heard only a single faint, dry chuckle behind him as he hurried along from dock to garden seat to fence to the next dock, and so on, until he finally reached the rising stone wall, topped with large stone spheres, that joined the bridge parapet. He was gasping by then, but for Dauneth Marliir, there could be no rest until he uncovered one more secret allegiance. Just one more. His feet took him to the crest of the bridge in a rush, and then he slowed, noting that Wyvernspur House seemed to have no guards and to be darkest on the lake side. The imposing edifice of the Cormaerils across the street, however, seemed to bristle with watchful guards, several of whom were already staring his way. He gave them a casual wave of greeting, as if they were old friends he’d expected to see, and turned along the shore beside Wyvernspur House, as if he were strolling along a way he knew well.

As he’d hoped, a footpath wound along the water’s edge. He slipped past a prowling cat, ignoring the brief snarl of greeting it made, and vaulted the low wall that marked the Wyvernspur boundaries, hoping he’d triggered no alarm spells or deadlier guardian magics.

He crouched tensely on a cobbled garden path amid gardens where water chuckled endlessly over stones somewhere nearby, moving only a few quick steps to be away from the place where he’d first intruded… but nothing happened. No guards or seeking spells came his way. After a long time, he relaxed. He was being overly fearful again. It seemed even nobles couldn’t afford to cover every inch of their holdings with defensive magic.

Right, then. Dauneth Marliir took hold of his scabbarded sword to keep it from knocking against anything and glided forward. A window sat invitingly open, framed by garden flowers and occupied by an orange tabby on the sill. He eyed the dark room inside narrowly, looking for guardians. Surely it wasn’t going to be this easy.

But it was. The cat on the sill stretched, yawned, thought for a moment, and then bounded away into the night gloom of the garden, leaving the sill unoccupied. Dauneth was up and over it in an instant, crouching on bare flagstones in the dimness beyond. This was some sort of plant room, leading into.. a servants’ stair. Dark, narrow, and offering a high window with a ledge!

There seemed to be no cat in residence up there just now. Dauneth found the servant’s footholds on the wall, spaced so that someone shorter, older, and grumpier than he could reach the window occasionally to wash it, and used them. He hadn’t even settled down to think of his next move before he heard the voices.

A man and a woman, in the next room, talking with easy familiarity. He knew the female voice: Lady Bluemask. Dauneth became an intently listening statue.

“Cat, the nobles can’t all be base, blackhearted villains. I’m a noble! You’re a noble, too!”

Lady Bluemask-What had he called her? Cat?-sighed. “Giogi, my own, it doesn’t take all of the nobles to hack our country down into war. Almost all of them with any influence, or more money than fear, are up to something right now. Who knows how many quiet little deals are being hatched over wine around this city right this minute?”

“None that I know of,” came the reply. Giogi-Giogi Wyvernspur, of course, the adventurer! One of the country-squire nobles. His voice continued. “And there may be none at all!”

“Say you’re right,” Cat replied, “and there are none at all. That still leaves the two factions we do know of without any chance of mistaking what they’re up to. Agreed?”

Giogi sighed, and Dauneth heard liquid splashing into a glass. “Agreed,” he said. “Anything new with those?”

“Well,” Cat said as glasses clinked together, “the only news out of the palace today is that five nobles grew so impatient that they tried to murder the crown princess this morning, cutting her down at prayer.” Dauneth stiffened and almost cried out in astonishment before Cat’s next words dumbfounded him. “She slaughtered them all.”

“Tanalasta?” Giogi’s voice was a cry of disbelief. Dauneth echoed it silently.

“A Harper and a friend of hers, plus the priestess at the altar, did the killing, I believe. Gwennath spoke to me after all the Purple Dragons had finished huffing and snorting and looking grim all over the place.”

“So, which nobles?”

“Young blades, all of them-Ensrin Emmarask, a Dauntinghorn, a Creth, an Illance, and Red Belorgan.”

“Him-huh! Any chance to kill anything, he’d be in on it,” Giogi said disgustedly.

“They were all carrying huge rubies,” Cat added.

“No! Not the Secret Society of Men Who Carry Huge Rubies!” her mate protested with mock incredulity. “Say it isn’t so!”

“Dolt,” said Cat affectionately. “Rubies or no, they’re dead. That leaves us with all the usual villains.”

“Aunadar Bleth and Gaspar Cormaeril and their nobles’ council. An idea silently supported by at least some members in all the oldest, largest houses and feared by the minor nobles, who know they’ll be left out of all decisions… and profits.”