Spellstorm (22 page)

“Why?”

“Pardon?”

Lord Halaunt’s face was a gentle picture of momentary puzzlement. Standing behind
his chair like a watchful statue, Elminster’s face was
expressionless. “Why do you want the Lost Spell? What would you do with it?”

“Why, to bring peace to Cormyr, and then between Cormyr and Sembia, fair lands that
could enrich all Faerûn if all strife was settled within and between them, and they
could use this peace to bend their best efforts to prosperity.”

“A grand venture, indeed, but I believe I’d like to hear something else.”

“Something else?”

“The
real
reason, Lord Manshoon. Not what sounds lofty or pretty, but the truth. I understand
plain, unglazed honesty comes hard for many who rule or wield power among merchants,
to say nothing of wizards always suspicious of rivals, but I would hear it from you,
or at least the fruits of your attempts to grapple with it. So, the truth now; why
do you want the Lost Spell, and what for?”

Manshoon’s calm was unruffled. “I have ruled both cities and organizations, large
and small, and one of the lessons I’ve learned is that deceit comes expensive; there
is always a cost, and therefore lies are to be avoided whenever possible, and the
straightforward simplicity of the truth cleaved to. I have just done so, here and
now, with you. The reason I gave is the real one. I foresee not only personal profit
in dwelling in prosperous lands at peace, wherein enterprise and energies can be devoted
to enrichment, but betterment for all. And from that core, hopefully an improvement
that spreads, to make all Faerûn better. Is that not good enough reason?”

“It is. You are to be commended—for your eloquence, if nothing else. Tell me, what
do you see as the role of nobles, in this better, enriched Faerûn of yours?”

“Why, the nobility are both the guides of commoners, fonts of worldly wisdom and judgment—in
many places, they can continue to serve as magisters, adjudicating local disputes—and
best placed to be sponsors and investors, to drive progress and profit from it. In
this corner of Cormyr around us, for instance, Lord Halaunt need not be the lord who
keeps to his house in serene privacy, but the key to mercantile success for many a
hard-working commoner, who will then be beholden to House Halaunt, and look up to
Lord Halaunt as a wise counselor and leader.”

“You paint an attractive picture. So, then, to your offer. You know what the Lost
Spell is, but you alone can establish its worth to you. What are
you prepared to render unto me, if I give the spell—solely and utterly, retaining
no copy of it, nor sharing it with another—to you?”

“Coins almost beyond counting, Zhentish mintings in the measure of seven thousand
thousand
in all, and extensive land holdings in Sembia, consisting of twenty-three city properties
in Saerloon, twelve dockside and two uptown buildings in Selgaunt, and three large
upcountry farms, with all the superior horseflesh reared on them and the crops currently
planted.”

“That would seem a rather ordinary offering, in return for the extraordinary. Generous
in extent, yes, but utterly … mundane.”

“It is but a beginning,” Manshoon replied smoothly, “though I must confess that to
me your reception seems a trifle cold, coming from a lord who I would think would
not be willing to part with the Lost Spell at all, were he not in a state of material
want. What do you seek, beyond coins and land? Valuable city land
and
rural properties, the smallest of them thrice as large as your land here?”

“I confess I’m not entirely sure what I seek,” Lord Halaunt replied. “Until I hear
it.”

“Pardon?”

“You may have it again, Lord Manshoon. The pardon of a bored, jaded old noble who
confesses to something of a gnawing inner emptiness … yet does not know what will
assuage it. Wherefore I shall hear out every offer, before I accept one—or none. So
if I thank you and ask you to withdraw now, do not think you have failed. Not yet.”

“And
are
you thanking and dismissing me?”

“That moment draws close, yet it would seem you have more to say to me. Pray proceed.”

Manshoon leaned forward in his chair. “Lord Halaunt, I am a favored of Mystra—I enjoy
the respect of the goddess of magic herself. Of all the wizards who will seek to persuade
you to place the Lost Spell in their hands, I am the only one you can trust to use
the Lost Spell wisely, to bring peace to Cormyr and then between Cormyr and Sembia.
I shall swear to pursue that noble aim, upon the secret names of Mystra and my own,
sworn for years upon her altars—so that if I stray, or say false in this, she shall
destroy me utterly. I alone you can trust.”

“I shall bear your words in mind, but be advised that I shall be less than surprised
if the rival seekers of the Lost Spell make different claims as to their trustworthiness,”
Lord Halaunt said mildly. “I thank you for your most generous offer, Lord Manshoon.”

It was a clear dismissal, underscored by Lord Halaunt starting to rise from his chair
and Elminster gliding forward to stand by Manshoon’s seat.

The vampire rose, anger gleaming in his eyes for the first time, but he bowed and
said as smoothly as ever, “Lord Halaunt, please remember: I am the only candidate
who will use the Lost Spell responsibly. To give it to any of the others is to court
disaster—perhaps swift and personal disaster. I myself am the only one who can handle
the spell.”

“I shall remember,” Lord Halaunt promised, meeting Manshoon’s smoldering gaze calmly.
“I seldom forget things, as it happens.”

And he stood behind his desk and watched Manshoon go out. Only after Elminster turned
in the doorway to give him a wink did he add softly, “Though perhaps the Halaunt memory
was better before a certain uncaring blackguard had a large and wantonly destructive
hand in burning my mind out.”

Oh, well said
, El commented, as he turned and went out into the passage to fetch the next supplicant.

Gods, he’s annoying
, Alusair replied, letting her exasperation flare. A moment later she staggered, her
face going tight, and Elminster rushed back in the door.

In time to see her smile, wave one arm dismissively, and sit back down again.
It would seem Mystra is still on the job, the ghost princess thought. And Manshoon
is hopefully now nursing another pounding headache
.

He’s certainly persistent
, El thought cheerfully, and went out again.

He left their minds in contact, in case Manshoon’s just-rebuffed mental charge was
followed by a stealthier invasion, and so heard Alusair’s next thoughts as clearly
as if she’d directed them at him, rather than to herself.

Favored of Mystra? Why, I wonder? What’s he working on for her? Was this peace in
Cormyr and Sembia part of it, or is he up to something darker? That puts him on another
throne somewhere, perhaps?

El nodded to himself. What was the old Manyfaced up to, indeed?

And was merrily slaughtering archmages who came within reach, here at Oldspires, for
example, part of it?

S
HAAAN
’
S SMILE AT
Elminster, as he led her along the passage, held more than a little challenge. She
was as beautiful as ever, long gowned and serene this morning. Ready for battle.

More vicious than Manshoon and more powerful
, El warned Alusair,
through their mind touch. She’s part serpent, she goes her own way and gets her own
way, and her hauteur is a cover for a cold, calculating mind that sees and plans years
ahead. She doesn’t want to rule all Toril, just be obeyed utterly in every corner
of it she happens to set boot in
.

Charming
, the false Lord Halaunt thought back sarcastically.
I loathe her more than ever—and with good reason, it seems
.

Shaaan strode into the room, stopped, and struck a pose, obviously expecting Elminster
to announce her. When he held silence and merely glided around the desk to take up
his station behind Lord Halaunt’s chair, the tall, scaled woman announced herself.

“I am Shaaan the Serpent Queen. I have no equal in mastery of magic. I could have
forced every realm to kneel before me, and now be ruling an empire that takes in all
Faerûn and beyond—yet I have not done so, for tyranny over others does not interest
me.”

It was a clear invitation to a particular question, so Alusair—quelling an inner sigh—asked
it.

“Well met, Lady! Tell me, in light of what you’ve just said, what
does
interest you?”

“The beauty and elegance of magic, and what can be done with it. New things that can
be accomplished through the Art. The Lost Spell is an opportunity to experience and
explore something new to me, and I ache to have it.”

“And is that really the reason you want the Lost Spell?” Lord Halaunt asked, gesturing
to the empty chair across the desk from him.

Shaaan ignored it, instead turning to one side, to stride across the room toward the
map on that wall.

“But of course! Lies and deceptions are the tools of the petty, of those who lack
the might of the Art and strength of morals to be bold and open and forthright! Why
should I say anything to you that is not the truth? What do I gain by that, save to
sow mistrust and waste time that is precious to both of us?”

“I quite see. Well, then, in the interest of wasting no more time, what is your offer
to me?”

Shaaan whirled around from the map, drew herself up, and flung her arms wide. “Lord
Halaunt, you shall be ruler over
all
of Cormyr—with every coin of its
considerable
wealth, from taxes and fees to the gems of
the Crystal Grot itself—if you yield up to me the Lost Spell! For I shall use it to
conquer Cormyr, Sembia, and all the lands of the Moonsea, the Dragonreach, and the
Dragon Coast—and then whatever other lands take my fancy.”

Lord Halaunt blinked. “I say, that sounds—”

The Serpent Queen swept on. “I shall unleash my
peerless
magical power to bring about a burgeoning empire in which strife shall be curbed,
and a new age of peace and prosperity brought to all!” She spun around in a flourish
of her gown, and almost raced to the chair, seating herself with another grand flourish.
“My own magic is so mighty,” she said fiercely, “that I can do this whatever the opposition;
I just need the Lost Spell to make me unstoppable!”

Lord Halaunt blinked again, his jaw dropping. Alusair couldn’t help herself.

Shaaan smiled triumphantly and rose like a great ocean wave ascending to smash down
a shoreline tower, adding, “And I
will
transform and rescue Faerûn—or else! You, sirrah, can stand with me, and benefit—or
against me, and be destroyed!”

And with those dramatic words, the Serpent Queen turned and swept out, flinging the
door wide in her wake.

And leaving Alusair to turn and stare at Elminster, who was struggling to keep a straight
face.

I had
no idea
Shaaan was such an overly dramatic bad actress, the ghost princess thought. Does she
really get her own way through such histrionics? I thought she’d be all cool, oh-so-superior
menace
.

So
, El agreed,
did I. Perhaps this making an offer business really bores her
.

Lord Halaunt sighed loudly, then slumped in his chair and growled, “Bring on the next
one.”

And Alusair added silently, into Elminster’s mind,
I shall never understand archmages. Present company included. For all those years
I thought Vangey was a royal pain in our collective behinds, but now I see what a
gentle, reasonable, simple fellow he was. By comparison, you understand
.

Oh, I do
, El thought back at her.
If it makes ye feel any better, I’ve never understood most archmages, either. And
I’ve been one for centuries and tutored hundreds of them. The Art … does things to
minds that wield it
.

You don’t say
. Alusair’s mind voice was caustic.
You don’t bloody say
.

D
O YE NEED A BREAK, BEFORE THE NEXT SUPPLICANT?
” E
LMINSTER
murmured, leaning over the desk. “I know ye’re past drinking, but …”

“Your kindness is noted and appreciated,” Lord Halaunt rasped, “but no. I am man enough
in my own house to sit through the blus-terings of—what is it?
Two
more wizards?”

“Ye’re keeping count?”

“I’m wondering if Calathlarra, having freed herself from the room we locked her in,
will have the gall to make an appearance at
this
door, to say her piece.”

El chuckled. “Our minds stroll down similar paths. I doubt it, somehow, but I, too,
have been wondering.”

He straightened up and made for the door.
Malchor Harpell next. The closest thing to a ‘good man’ among our still living guests.
Yet a shrewd man, a veteran adventurer, and although there’s a dark mark in his past,
he was once the patriarch of a family that makes ye Obarskyrs look like staid, stay-at-home
say-nothings. The Harpells have interesting minds
.