Spellstorm (22 page)

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
.

CHAPTER 11

A Little Tumult

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
.

Oh. They’re all wizards, right?

Ye have an overly smart tongue, Luse. It’s going to get you into trouble someday
.

“Going to?” Old man, have you not been paying attention to my, ah, distinguished life?

Elminster chuckled again, by way of reply, and went out.

M
ALCHOR
H
ARPELL STOPPED
and bowed to Lord Halaunt. He looked quiet and distinguished, like someone accustomed to rule. Alusair made the Lord of Oldspires stand and bow in return, indicate the empty chair across the desk, and murmur, “Lord Harpell, please … have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Malchor replied politely, taking it. Alusair stared thoughtfully at the man. The neatest beard she’d ever seen, a razor-straight fringe outlining the man’s jaw and chin, those fierce black eyebrows, and almost black, dark blue eyes. Calm eyes, with a hint of steel in them, and a larger hint of lurking humor. She liked this one.

“So, Lord,” she made Halaunt say briskly, “you want my Lost Spell. Why?”

“To further my mastery of magic, and to keep it out of the hands of the cruel, the tyrannical, and the reckless. I am a man of scruples and self-control, and I fear I cannot extend that same judgment to some of the other mages under this roof.”

Alusair couldn’t keep Halaunt from smiling at that, and didn’t want to.

“Fair enough. It has been my custom at this point to ask folk sitting in that chair the real reason they want to gain the Lost Spell—but as it happens, I believe you.”

Malchor made no clever comment, but merely nodded and waited.

Leaving Alusair more impressed.

“So instead,” she had Halaunt say, “I’d like to hear your offer. What will you give me in return for the Lost Spell?”

“Service—and coin. I expect to pay handsomely for the spell, in coinage and tradebars and gems. Yet more importantly, I want to devote the services of many adventurers I’ve established working relationships with, down the years, to procure for you, Lord Halaunt, whatever you desire from all over Faerûn.”

“Whatever I desire?”

“Whatever things you most want to collect. Art, small decorative sundries, a menagerie—even, perhaps, companions to make your life less lonely. To restore House Halaunt with strong, vigorous heirs, and to show all of them the world and parts they can play in it, so you’ll sit at the heart of a busy, prosperous, happy family, engaged with the world and a major player in it. Respected and listened to in Cormyr and Sembia, and even in fabled Waterdeep.”

“And if this family proves not so happy?” Halaunt grunted. “And my sons and daughters betray me?”

Malchor gave the Lord of Oldspires a wry smile. “As to that,” he replied, “I have experience to spare in handling a fractious family, though it was long ago. I’ll be your guide and your chief defender and weapon.”

“All those? You’ll be a busy man.”

Malchor shrugged. “I am that already. Why not keep busy building and defending something good in the world? Lord Halaunt, your family can be that—a House Halaunt strong and ever-growing, with interests everywhere across Faerûn, and good lives for all your kin. Strong sons and smart daughters standing with you. Your own legion. Think on it.” Lord Halaunt sat back in his chair, blinked once or twice, and promised gruffly to do so.

G
ODS
, E
L
,
THAT
man almost had me crying there. Promising a lonely old man a family. He had me
.

He’s very good at it, isn’t he? He’s had to handle some difficult and strong-willed folk, his kin among them. And he can do what he promised, though if he made it sound as if ye’d be his only concern, he was misleading ye; that man juggles almost as many plots and concerns and projects as I do. So there are some good archmages. Ye might want to cling to that, as ye entertain our next supplicant
.