Part 10 (2/2)

Wormling.

As they trotted along a dark pa.s.sageway, a great cras.h.i.+ng clangor of steel striking stone arose, ahead and below, and echoed off vaulted ceilings above them.

”Stormserpent's snakes meeting with more guards?” Storm asked, turning her shoulders and ducking to crash open a door stuck in its frame from long disuse.

It yielded, sending her staggering.

Alusair was waiting for them, glowing like a coldly amused flame.

”You could say that. They blundered into some suits of empty armor set upon pedestals as adornment, and got buried in old cracked plate for their troubles.”

”Cracked?” the Bard of Shadowdale asked, as the ghost led them out onto another balcony.

”We don't waste still-serviceable armor in Cormyr,” Alusair replied. ”Or didn't. Things are different in the palace, these days.”

”A lot of things are different, these days,” Elminster muttered. ”Is yon lordling going to be allowed to wander these halls all night, without challenge? There are are still wizards of war, aren't there? And Purple Dragons, too? Cormyr still has a few of those?” still wizards of war, aren't there? And Purple Dragons, too? Cormyr still has a few of those?”

”They seldom pay much heed to what goes on in the haunted wing, Old Mage,” the ghostly princess replied.

”So who does guard it?”

Alusair turned to face him, striking a pose that mocked the gestures preferred by flamboyantly foppish n.o.bles. ”Me.”

They had been easy coins, but Arclath's deft rain of them was coming to an end; all three men were visibly weary. They'd downed about half a decanter each, followed by bowls of mulled broth, then sweet iced buns; even Arclath was yawning. The other two were sagging in their seats.

Abruptly they all seemed to realize they were more than half asleep and thrust themselves to their feet, clasping arms and parting. Arclath tossed a generous handful of golden lions onto the table-enough to pay for six men to enjoy five such nights, at first glance-and they were heading for the door. The lordling no doubt for his soft silk mansion bed, and the other two, by their murmured converse, back to the palace to write down some of the concerns and ideas they'd thought of across the table regarding this precious council.

Ignored, Amarune stared thoughtfully after them, holding her last pose. Saers, behold, your very own nude statue. Forgotten and discarded, like all statues, which sooner or later only incontinent birds remem- At the door, Arclath turned on his heel and looked back.

As it happened, her pose had her standing with her arms outstretched toward him almost imploringly.

He smiled a tired smile and tossed two golden lions at her, high and hard. A good throw even for a wide-awake man.

Amarune broke her pose at the last possible instant to pluck the coins deftly out of the air. Then she bowed to him, waved thanks with the most fluid grace she could manage, whirled, and ran lightly off the stage.

She knew, without looking, that he'd stood and watched until after the swirling curtains had swallowed her.

”Stormserpent's met with real guards, this time,” Alusair observed with some satisfaction. ”Dead ones-mere bones-but they can ply blades well enough. Hearken to the fray.”

”Aye,” Elminster agreed, ”They'll not last long, but they'd probably destroy a few thieves. They're hacking down yon lordling's boldblades like harbor rain.”

”So what's this war wizard trap that will hurl you skyward?” Storm murmured, peering warily ahead.

Elminster shrugged. ”The feeling grows within me that we'll find it soon enough.”

Amarune yawned again, uncontrollably. Dances as long as tonight's were always tiring, and the hot soaking bath she liked to follow them with, to keep from stiffening up on the walk home, always made her sleepy.

Then there was the walk itself and the long climb up the stairs to her lodgings at the end of it...yes, she was more than ready for sleep.

Yet it was one of those those nights-the times when she found herself prowling wearily around her few cramped, dingy, rented rooms, mind too awake and excited for slumber. The council and all those n.o.bles descending on the city, with their bodyguards and dressers and scores of other servants-what would such visitors who found their ways to the Dragonriders' find most alluring? nights-the times when she found herself prowling wearily around her few cramped, dingy, rented rooms, mind too awake and excited for slumber. The council and all those n.o.bles descending on the city, with their bodyguards and dressers and scores of other servants-what would such visitors who found their ways to the Dragonriders' find most alluring?

Well, the un.o.btainable, of course. If they were n.o.bles, that meant coupling with a willing, hitherto-unknown Obarskyr princess, of course, but she couldn't give them that that.

Or could she?

Hugging her thick, much-patched old nightrobe around herself, Amarune stared at herself in the mirror. Dark eyes stared back in smoldering challenge.

She blew herself a kiss, stone-faced, almost insolent in her inscrutability.

She was-tell truth, la.s.s, and shame the Dragon-the best mask dancer in Suzail.

Yes, it just might work.

She'd fool no one, of course, and it'd be death to even try any sort of Obarskyr-kin claim-but she could tease tease...

The Princess in the Mask, she could be, hungering after the right dragon to warm her her throne. Yes... throne. Yes...

She bent to her littered desk in sudden urgency, s.n.a.t.c.hed a bit of reed-weave paper out of her heap of salvaged sc.r.a.ps, plucked up her quill, and started scribbling. Sometimes ideas came pelting down harder than harbor rain...

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

TEMPTATIONS FOR M MANY.

Elminster gave the undead Steel Regent of Cormyr a long, hard look. ”I thought I knew these halls. Evidently not.”

Not surprisingly, Alusair's answering smile was thin and ghostly. ”Evidently not.”

That was all she said, so after waiting vainly for more, El sighed and asked, ”So just how many whirlbone traps don't I know about?”

Alusair shrugged. ”Six, perhaps seven. I could be more precise if I knew just how many secrets of my family you know about.” She held up a hand to forestall his reply and added, ”I speak now of palace architecture only, not long-hidden heirs, b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, scandals, and proverbial skeletons in wardrobes. We'd be here a tenday or more, I'm sure, if you started in on those.”

Elminster nodded. ”At least. Well, then-”

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