Laspeera closed the door of the Dragonwing Chamber and turned to give Caladnei an expressionless nod. Narnra had departed, presumably soon to creep about on local balconies and rooftops, listening and peering at certain War Wizards.
Caladnei gave Rhauligan a mirthless smile. "You know your task?"
"Shadow her."
The Mage Royal nodded. "Let yourself be seen only to prevent Crown treason on her part or to save her life. Otherwise . . . just watch. Unless we've been very lax, none of those twelve is a traitor, but they've all met with Rightful Conspirators recently. I want to see how some of them react if they happen to notice a stranger lurking and watching them. If Narnra does spot you, tell her we decided we were unfairly sending her forth without a proper grounding in our politics—and offer to tell and show her more."
"Of course," the Highknight replied, rising.
"Some of those coins bear tracer-spells?" she asked him, nodding at the door Narnra had left by.
He smiled. "All of them." With a wave of his hand to Laspeera and Caladnei that was more of a salute than a farewell, Glarasteer Rhauligan strode to the nearest wall, did something deft to its paneling, and departed through a secret door neither woman had thought he knew anything about.
"There goes a good man," Laspeera murmured.
The Mage Royal nodded. "Let's hope I don't get him killed," she sighed bitterly. "I ... I truly wish Vangerdahast was still irritating half of Cormyr by running things in his usual capable fashion. He'd handle things so much better than I do."
Laspeera smiled and hugged Caladnei. "Keep feeling that way and I'll know you're doing a gods-damned good job of being Mage Royal. It's folk who think they're doing just fine because they're so brilliant and masterly at magecraft who scare the backbone out of me!"
* * * * *
Rauthur blinked in surprise and peered in all directions. By the sunlight and the smells, he was still in Suzail—but in some narrow alleyway in the poorer, westerly part of the city, not in a passage outside the Dragonwing Chamber.
"This isn't the Palace!" he protested.
"Indeed it's not," Harnrim Starangh agreed—in the instant before something boiled up inside the War Wizard and blew apart.
"Such a suspicious War Wizard," he murmured as he surveyed the bloody bones and smoke that had been Huldyl Rauthur a moment earlier. "Gone missing just after so many deaths and disruptions at the sanctum—who would have thought he was a traitor? It just goes to show . . ."
He smiled as the plume of bloody smoke wafted away, leaving only a messy pile of dog-gnaw bones for the next cur—or starving citizen of Suzail looking for something to fill a stewpot—to find.
"I'm so sorry, Rauthur," he addressed them. "I fear I may have neglected to mention a few details of that linking spell. Or this other magic, for that matter."
He made a swift gesture. The skull rose, dripping, from the rest of the tangle and floated in the air facing him, cloaked in the very faint, flickering aura of his magic. The spell he'd just cast would preserve the brain behind those now-eyeless sockets long enough for him to read Rauthur's fading mind.
The wizard best known as Darkspells looked up and down the alley to make sure he was unobserved—he'd chosen this narrow, bending way carefully, noting this stretch between two large heaps of rotting, discarded crates some days ago; there was no one coming now to see—and carefully cast yet another spell.
Rauthur's mind was screaming at him.
"Why why why why why?"
"Never leave witnesses and co-conspirators," he replied softly, "and they can never drag you down with them. Trust, my weak friend Rauthur, is a weakness. A fatal weakness."
He bore down on the dying mind, forcing his way in through the shock and pain and tattered memories, seeking first any contingency magics that might be set to awaken against him. He didn't think Rauthur had the power or skill to craft any such magics, nor access to those Vangerdahast undoubtedly commanded.
As he probed deeper, it seemed he'd been right about contingencies . . . but it also appeared Rauthur had really known nothing of much interest, beyond the nicknames of a few fellow War Wizards that might prove briefly useful as lures.
Oh, and one other thing, glowing here in the most recent 'must remember' elements: One Narnra Shalace, currently a guest of the Mage Royal of Cormyr, is the daughter of ... Elminster of Shadowdale.
Starangh's eyes lit up with excitement. "Well, well," he murmured. "Larger fish frying right in my lap."
* * * * *
The doorguard sneered.
"The Lady Joysil will have nothing to do with street beggars," he said curtly. "Be off with you, or I'll summon the Watch!"
The man in dusty, filthy leathers who stood facing him, an obviously false moustache askew on his upper lip, gave him a rather cold glare and said, "Joysil and I have done business together before and parted quite amicably, I might add. Quite amicably. I'd not be here now if I didn't have something urgent and of the gravest importance to impart to her, and I'm not leaving until she's heard it—in private and from my lips alone!"
The doorguard used the bracer on his wrist to rap a small, unseen gong inside the doorframe, and stood his ground.
"And I am not allowing some stranger at this gate who could be any sort of murderer, kidnapper, blackmailer, or common thief to reach the Lady Ambrur alone! I'm paid to see to the safety of her person and property, not allow any swift-tongued rogue in from the streets to wreak whatever havoc whim moves him to!"
"So call the Watch," the man in dusty leathers said softly, "and we'll all go in to see her together. I'll lay you a large wager that she'll be most displeased, when she hears my news, that she has any sort of audience to see her reaction."
The doorguard raised his eyebrows. "That makes me even more determined not to let you pass. News of that sort should not be—"
"Yes, Melarvyn? What's the trouble here?"
The steward of Haelithtorntowers was a brusque and efficient man. He was not disposed to look kindly on any wastage of his time, trivial matters, or unnecessary distractions. The doorguard knew this well and stepped back with a tight smile as he indicated the dusty man standing on the threshold.
"This—ruffian—is demanding an audience with the Lady Ambrur. He won't go away, even when threatened with the Watch, and insists that his business is urgent and that he has a personal relationship of some sort with the Lady. I believe him not, but in fairness—"
"Fairness? Melarvyn, since when did fairness play any part in life, beyond nursery tales? Since when have I allowed any hint of 'fairness' into the daily governance of Haelithtorntowers?"
Without waiting for a reply, the steward looked coldly down his nose at the aforementioned ruffian on the threshold and began, "As for you, sir—"
The dusty man peeled off his mustache and said quietly, "Enough foolery, Elward. Take me to Joysil now or I'll inform the Watch of the fate of Iliskar Northwind. And the matter of the missing Selgauntan crab shipment last month. To say nothing of your part in the disagreement between the Seven Traders and the port tax-takers here two months before that. Or the new Marsemban trade-agent of the slaver Ooaurtann of Westgate who goes by the name 'Varsoond.' But then, Elward Varsoond Emmellero Daunthi-deir would know nothing about a buyer of slaves, would he not?"
The steward had gone the hue of old cracked ivory during the stranger's soft little speech, and he'd begun to swallow repeatedly, his left eye twitching as if there was something in it.
The doorguard had slowly stepped back from Steward Elward Daunthideir as his own face had slid from annoyance to rage to astonishment to dumbfoundedness. His facial expression was now veering toward something akin to amazement.
"Uh, wha ... whuh .. . ahem," the Steward began then suddenly smiled, stepped forward to offer the stranger his hand and asked brightly, "Why, Lord sir! Whyever didn't you mention all of this before? Of course the Lady Ambrur will be happy to see you—immediately, I might add, and it would give me the greatest pleasure, it would indeed, to escort you to see her myself!"
He ushered the dusty stranger across the threshold and in through the thick outer wall of Haelithtorntowers with swift, florid gestures, almost sweeping him along the short, curving path to the nearest grand door of the mansion. The doorguard stared after them with an amazed whistle on his lips and wonderment in his mind.
He broke off whistling to remark, "I'll bet it would, I do indeed— and I'll bet yon stranger had best look sharp, or he'll never reach the Lady alive." His face darkened. "Whereupon my hide will be next, as old Elward knows I heard all of that, too. Wherefore I'd best confide in the Lady myself, and soon, too. Hmmm . . . what if she knows about all of these matters? What if he fronts for her in them? Oh, gods . . ."
The Lady Joysil Ambrur was in her retiring-room, reclining in a vast couch strewn with a waterfall of pillows. Her gown was of a rose-pink silk, her feet bare, and her hair unbound to spill and swirl across the pillows.
Tomes were piled all around her, some of them larger than the tops of her small, ornate side-tables. It was a wonder how her slender, languid limbs could lift them—but perhaps servants assisted with the larger ones. Some of them looked magical and dangerous.
One such was spread open on her lap as she looked up, more surprise than annoyance in her gaze. The servants knew she was not to be disturbed when . . .
Her steward bowed lower than she'd ever seen him do before and raised pleading eyes to her. "Ah, Lady, a very special guest has come to us in some urgency, with a private message for your ears alone! He says you know him well."