Part 11 (1/2)
Alusair flung up both her hand and her sword in urgent unison, whirled, and was gone, leaving behind the whisper: ”He's done something. The skeletons are down and done. Our Stormserpent continues to surprise. I must see.”
”Go, then,” Elminster murmured. ”My time for flying and hurrying isn't upon us yet.”
Not for the first time, he spoke to empty air. Much to Alusair's displeasure, Elminster trudged along no more swiftly than before Storm had been at his side.
The two former Chosen walked patiently, trusting in the young n.o.ble's men needing some time to plunder once they found what they were seeking. That did not suit the ghost's patience-or lack of it-at all.
The pa.s.sage they were traversing ran on into unseen gloomy distances, but Elminster suddenly stopped at a stretch that looked the same as the rest of it and flung out one hand to halt Storm. Then he touched a certain stone in the wall beside him with the other.
With the briefest of stony grating sounds, a section of wall slid inward, revealing the edges of a door-sized opening. El shoved on that moving door of stones-and they pivoted aside in unison, to reveal a dark pa.s.sage beyond.
Storm rolled her eyes. ”Are you still still finding them? The early Obarskyrs must have been suspicious of finding them? The early Obarskyrs must have been suspicious of everyone everyone in all the Realms!” in all the Realms!”
”Now, now, la.s.s; they probably told Baerauble to see to the making of some secret pa.s.sages, and he did his usual thoroughly overefficient job of it: thrice as many pa.s.sages as needed, plus a more more secret pa.s.sage for exclusively royal use, not to mention an utterly secret pa.s.sage for his own use-to spy on both the royal pa.s.sage and the secret way that had been ordered for mere palace courtiers to trot along.” secret pa.s.sage for exclusively royal use, not to mention an utterly secret pa.s.sage for his own use-to spy on both the royal pa.s.sage and the secret way that had been ordered for mere palace courtiers to trot along.”
Storm regarded him with some amus.e.m.e.nt. ”So he was as devious as you? I can scarce believe it! Fancy a wizard being sly!”
”Behave, stormy one,” he told her fondly.
Startled, Storm fell silent. He hadn't addressed her by that term for centuries.
They padded along the new pa.s.sage in companionable silence for some time ere once more starting to murmur to each other-low-voiced and often, as was their wont. They rarely mentioned Ala.s.sra. Instead, El spoke of items that held blueflame ghosts, items of real real power, and the possibilities of seizing them to restore shattered minds. Which of course meant just one person who mattered to them both. power, and the possibilities of seizing them to restore shattered minds. Which of course meant just one person who mattered to them both.
When he was done recounting s.n.a.t.c.hes of blueflame ghost lore, El looked to Storm, seeking her willing agreement for such hunts.
She shrugged. ”Why not? We're losing her.”
”Hardly words of ringing eagerness,” he murmured.
Storm sighed. ”We've run out of easily s.n.a.t.c.hed magic items, and those who guard what's left are watching and waiting for us. Our luck can't hold forever, and our skills are failing us.”
”Well, there's always the possibility of recruiting someone suitable to do the s.n.a.t.c.hing for us.”
Storm regarded him soberly, knowing what was coming. ”A blood descendant,” she said flatly. ”And you have at least one young, vigorous, nearby, and quite likely suitable candidate in mind: Amarune Whitewave.”
At his nod, she frowned. ”Just how much does she know of her heritage?”
Elminster spread his hands. ”She's heard that her father's father's mother, Narnra, was said to be the daughter of the notorious Elminster, but she considers such talk mere wild legend. One claim among so many others, in the small army of women reputed to have been fathered by everyone's favorite Old Mage.”
Storm smiled thinly. ”You were were busy, weren't you?” busy, weren't you?”
El sighed. ”So rumor has it. Now, if rumor could just turn its mighty power to making me again a worlds-striding, peerless-in-Art Chosen of Mystra, once more young, hearty-strong, and a dallier with, say, a slim hundredth of the women I'm supposed supposed to have, ah, entertained...” to have, ah, entertained...”
”You'd have that army and several more besides.”
El gave her a wry grin, sighed heavily...and said no more.
In companionable silence, they walked on along lightless pa.s.sages for what seemed a very long time.
Until it was Storm's turn to sigh. ”This Amarune is going to be a temptation for you.”
”Aye,” Elminster muttered. ”Try not to remind me.”
”For one who knows how and has the spell, taking over bodies is so stlarning easy,” easy,” Storm added. Storm added.
El nodded. ”And finding more magic around these halls that Ala.s.sra can subsume is getting harder. Pretending to inspect every crumbling inch of this palace only yields so many forgotten, free-for-the-taking baubles. The Crown of Cormyr quite reasonably wants to keep its crowns and such.”
”So right now...”
”Right now,” Elminster almost snarled, ”our most pressing need is to stop young Stormserpent from getting any of these ghosts of the Nine. Our second need is to get those items ourselves. Our third is to recruit Amarune-without attracting the attention of whomever has been spying on us.” attracting the attention of whomever has been spying on us.”
”The ever-vigilant wizards of war?”
”No, not those particular everpresent annoyances, this time. Someone else. Someone who hides behind Cormyr's spying mages, looking our way only fleetingly. Someone whose magic is much more powerful than theirs.”
Storm stopped abruptly to stare at him.
”Someone whose magic is likely stronger than mine, too,” Elminster added grimly.
She blinked. ”Do-do you have any idea who it is?”
Elminster made a rude sound. ”If I did, d'ye think I'd be chasing around this palace after silly young n.o.bles?”
Whatever reply Storm Silverhand might have made was lost then, as the spell-glow those voices were coming out of flared into wildness.
And fell silent, to hang in midair in the heart of a huge room's chill darkness, flickering fitfully.
”Back into a ward that resists my spells yet, the pair of them,” a cold voice sighed. ”Yet those wards grow steadily fewer. Soon, old foe, there will be none left to you-and the time of my triumph will come at last.”
As if in reply, the glow spat sparks. Then it faded, dwindling swiftly to...nothing.
Hmmph. Strong wards indeed.
”For centuries before I did,” the cold voice added, ”others said Elminster must die. They were right, and more than right. Old foe, you should have been swept from the fair face of Faerun long ago.”
The owner of that cold voice drifted across the vast chamber. ”I should have done it myself, before you served me the same way so often. You thought you'd slain me for good, no doubt-but, as in so many other things, you were wrong. And even clever old archmages who consort with G.o.ddesses pay the price for their errors in the end. As you shall pay mine. Soon.”
A pincer-ended tentacle drew open a door, and the owner of that dark and sleekly deadly appendage drifted through the revealed archway, its eyes turning on agile stalks to peer warily this way and that into the darkness as its other tentacles arched and coiled almost lazily around it.
There were no intruders to be seen. Good.
These ancient spellcasting chambers, deep in the oldest part of the royal palace, were warded more heavily than the mightiest fortress the tentacled one had ever seen or helped enspell. They were never used these days, and no scrying but his own should be able to worm a way through all their interwoven layers of s.h.i.+elding-but Bane take all, the young and incompetent fools who now strutted Cormyr as its wizards of war were apt to blunder into every nook and corner out of sheer doltish curiosity...