“Behead him?” thundered Pryntaler, smiling broadly. “The old spider has accomplished in one fell swoop what we’ve been trying to do for the past three days. I may give him a medal!”
Chapter 25: Lies, Spies, and Assassins
Year of the Gauntlet (1369 DR)
“We’re almost ready, you know… almost. Just a few more little details, and then we’ll have to move very swiftly indeed.” Ondrin Dracohorn glanced around the chamber once more and added apologetically, “One can’t be too careful, you know. The war wizards have spies everywhere, and who knows just whom they’re working for?”
The other noble, one of the middle-aged Dauntinghorns, curled his lips. “Vangerdahast, of course.”
Ondrin’s watery blue eyes blinked up at him. “Well, some of them, of course, but I’ve reason to believe that a lot of them are working for other masters… noble masters. Trust me in this, my spies are everywhere, too.”
His nose almost twitched with excitement. “As to why I counsel haste, have you heard what happened to Ohlmer Cormaeril and Sorgar Illance? Both old family patriarchs were found dead in their beds, and on the very same morning!”
The other noble nodded knowingly. “Just a little housecleaning for those two families. I’m always surprised those serpents didn’t father thrice as many daughters as they did, to sell them into slavery-‘guaranteed gently born noble bluebloods,’ and all that.”
Ondrin’s eyes lit up. “Now, there’s a chance for a handsome profit! Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll have to hire myself some lasses to breed with.”
The older, taller noble shook his head. “No. No, you’ve got to free Cormyr first! And by the time you’re finished accomplishing that high and splendid calling-and how many rich merchants can say they did that, toppling kings and setting new ones on thrones, eh?-other nobles’ll have their broods well on the way. In a dozen years or so, after all the expense of rearing them and training them, you’ll be ready to sell and find the market glutted.”
“I suppose.” Ondrin sighed, visibly crestfallen, and then said with a rush, “But I almost forgot to tell you! I’ve heard that the same men slew both old Ohlmer and the head of House Illance! Men working for the same patron, somewhere in House Cormaeril!”
The other noble’s eyebrows went up, encouraged, Ondrin rushed on. “They’re saying the war wizards were furious. They thought a few spells would find out who was behind it all, once they got hold of one of the assassins, but when they started fishing them out of the harbor, they were headless and positively aglow with dead-magic fields!”
The eyebrows went up again. “Dead magic? That sounds like the work of someone a little more powerful than your average war wizard!”
Ondrin seemed to purr with satisfaction. “And you know there’s only one man in Cormyr who fits this little scenario! As it happens, I was talking with our esteemed Royal Magician just the other day-a few private matters, you know…”
The gong by the bath’s door sounded faintly, as if a discreet fingernail had tapped it.
Gaspar Cormaeril lifted his mouth from the stunningly beautiful woman and smiled coldly. “Approach!” he called, rolling her aside in the warm, languid waters with a firm hand and reaching for a glass of smoking blue wine, a rare and expensive import from a very distant place indeed, with the other.
Sensibly the lass settled deeper into the waters and nestled into the crook of the noble’s arm. The scented waters were still roiling from her movements when the man in dark leathers padded to the edge of the pool, knelt, and murmured, “News you should hear, lord. Ondrin Dracohorn’s been heard talking of the deaths and tracing them to House Cormaeril!”
Gaspar sipped at his wine. “Has he, now? Well done, Tuthtar! Send Elios to watch over our talkative little noble for the rest of the day, and then get yourself something to eat. I’ll have something important for you later.” He gave the man his serpent smile, nodded in dismissal, and turned back to the willing lass, sliding down into the deeper waters of the pooi again.
She began to murmur softly, Gaspar let her do so for a very short time before he rolled over again and pressed a button that flanked the marble lip of the pool. A message gong sounded in the distance, and it had barely fallen silent before another man entered the room and knelt in smooth, practiced haste. “Lord, command me,” he said.
Gaspar smiled coldly. “It has become necessary to remove Ondrin Dracohorn. Someone is bound to take him seriously, eventually. And see to poor Tuthtar as well. Ensure to his everlasting silence forthwith, before he has a chance to gossip in the kitchens.”
“At once, lord,” said the man and turned with a grin.
“A pity,” Gaspar murmured, taking the willing lass into his arms again, “but I can’t have folk around who know too much about two fates. Every mouth that can talk of such things is a peril House Cormaeril cannot afford.”
He looked down at the woman, as her emerald eyes met his, they widened in sudden fear.
“Another pity,” Gaspar said with a smile, as he pressed another button to summon a second assassin.
The man in robes strode past, looking grim. The two guards nodded in salute. When the man was safely gone and a stout door closed behind him, one of the Purple Dragons muttered, “That’s the first time I’ve seen Lord Alaphondar in days now. Where’s he been, I wonder?”
The other guard shrugged. “Best not to wonder, I’ve found. He’s in there with Dimswart now, though, and by the looks of things, he’s bringing along grim news with him.” He frowned. “I wonder what…”
Not far away, a dark figure peeled itself away from a pillar and stroked her chin. What indeed? And just where had the sage been? It was high time to get some answers. A black-gloved hand fell to the hilt of a ready dagger.
The Crown Princess of Cormyr buried her face in the pillow and sobbed as she had never sobbed before, until she strained for breath and her ribs ached. The handkerchief held beneath her cheeks was sodden, and her hair was everywhere, and she felt sick, yet still she could not stop weeping.
“Oh, gods!” she wailed in frustration.
“My lady!” Aunadar’s voice came to her, and a moment later his soothing hands touched her shoulders. Tanalasta shuddered under him, wracked by fresh sobs of grief.
“Princess,” Aunadar said gently, “I have just now come from where the king lay abed and found him gone from the chamber, but the priests there said he yet lived! High Lady, there is still hope!”
“My father is dying,” Tanalasta sobbed. “Dying! He lies so near death that they’ve moved him to somewhere secret, and they’ve forbidden me-me, his only family present!-from seeing him. Only our Lord High and Mighty Wizard and his two cronies, the bloody-minded sages, can see my father! They’ll not let me in to see him until all that’s left is a cold corpse!”
She rose bolt upright on her bed and hurled the sodden pillow across the room. The heavy, waterlogged cushion struck an oval mirror as tall as the princess herself and shattered it into a spiderweb of cracks.
“Princess-” Aunadar said helplessly, and she answered him with a snarl of rage that rose into a scream, then thrust her fingers into the next pillow like claws, ripping and tearing.
Aunadar put firm arms around her and endured a few frantic moments of struggling and clawing before his lips found hers, and he began to stroke and soothe and rock her gently.
It seemed a long time before she broke free of his kiss, trembling, and said quietly, “I’m all right now, Aunadar. Let me go. Thank you.”
Aunadar Bleth released her and sat back, concern darkening his eyes, and she managed a wan smile. “I’m not handling this very well, am I?”
“Lady,” he said gravely, “I don’t think anyone faces the loss of her father very well. We do what we can, as the gods made us, and that is all we can expect and hope for.” He smiled faintly. “Right now, what I hope for is your smile. I haven’t see you smile in days!”