"Ah," Rhauligan said quickly, eyeing Caladnei's slow and limping progress around the Simbul toward the cellar-mouth, "and what, in your experienced and worldly view, great Chosen and Queen, are the limits prudence places upon such obedience?"
The Witch-Queen half-smiled. "The commandments of Mystra regarding tyranny of all who work magic, which binds Chosen such as the Lord Elminster and myself; and the expectations of all good and loyal folk of Cormyr that the laws of the realm and the even-handed dispensation of justice shall be afforded to all, equally, and not misused by anyone in authority."
She lifted a hand. "I am not saying that your Royal Magician has thus far shown signs of arbitrary rulings, favoritism, or corruption-merely noting that should she do so or act in such a way as to seriously imperil the realm, it will be the duty of all staunch citizens of Cormyr to resist her, rather than to obey."
"And to disagree with you, most honored queen, would be to imperil the realm?"
The Simbul's smile grew a little. "Disagree, no; attack me, yes. To lose so many loyal War Wizards and Harpers at one stroke would seriously weaken Cormyr's ability to deal with hostile wizards-from Thay, or Sembian-hired, or hailing from any elsewhere-and with other conspiracies against the Crown better led than this so-called 'Rightful' one."
"Forgive me, great lady, but this sounds very much like the 'as long as I get my own way, things will be fine' argument of many tyrants," Rhauligan observed, in the gentlest of voices.
"So it does, sir, yet consider: we Chosen have magic enough to shatter kingdoms and the minds of all folk in them, wreaking cataclysm at will-yet we do not. We possess two things most tyrants do not: Mystra's leash upon us, and learned wisdom as to when to smite and when to bide in peace. Which is why you're yet standing and debating with me now, rather than lying dead here alongside all your fellows. If I was Szass Tarn and you'd dared to query me, even politely, rest assured that you would be."
At that moment Caladnei reached Rhauligan and put a hand on his shoulder in thanks and support. Behind them both, the line of Harpers and War Wizards took a step or so closer.
In the same casual silence, Elminster strolled closer to the floating queen.
* * * * *
"They're hunting us down like hares all over the harbor right now, lord! It's ruin for us, unless you turn it to glorious victory by hurling some spell or other down into that cellar and collapsing it to crush the lot of them. Why, there're more War Wizards gathered together there-and more of Those Who Harp, too, gods take them!-than I've ever seen all in one place since the last battle against the Devil Dragon!"
"There's no need to shout and so draw attention to yourself, good Narvo," the unseen man who held the other speaking stone replied, almost gently. "Have you used the mindlink spell to talk with Englar?"
Narvo breathed deeply, as if trying to calm himself by sheer will, and said more quietly, "No, lord. I cast it, but… it failed. He's either well away from Cormyr, or . . ."
"Dead. Most likely dead," was the calm reply. "I ordered him and some others to find and bring back Zlorn, so he was probably down in that cellar not long ago. What of Sanbreean? How fares he?"
"D-dead, lord, in the fighting on the docks. I saw him hurl a spell at a War Wizard and have his face blasted off in return. So I'm the only one of us left. These nobles and merchants are useless! All greed and chortling and nasty threats among themselves-and they turn and run like shrieking rabbits the moment things go wrong!"
"Ah, well," the voice from the speaking stone in Narvo's hands said faintly-so softly that the Red Wizard bent hastily forward over it to hear, his nose almost touching its cold, glossy-polished surface-"these things happen. As must-most regrettably-one more thing. This."
The speaking stone exploded with a roar, beheading Narvo in an instant. The Red Wizard's corpse arched upright, clawing the air spasmodically, then staggered back and sideways a few unsteady steps. Only a few, but enough. . . .
The peat-hued, reeking waters of Marsember harbor were home to a sizable collection of small, floating dead things already, but they accepted a larger addition with an almost welcoming splash.
The events of this evening had already afforded them much practice in such swift acceptances.
And in a dark and distant chamber, an orphaned speaking-stone was set gently down on a tabletop whose glossy polish rivaled its own. The man who'd put it there toyed idly with a black gem pendant at his throat and turned away to stroll to the window, hum softly up at the winking stars, and think. It was clearly time to consider his second, and far more subtle, plan.
* * * * *
In the tense, crowded cellar in Marsember, the Mage Royal of Cormyr turned to face the Simbul, keeping her balance by resting her fingertips on Rhauligan's shoulder. Lifting her pain-lined face, she locked eyes with the fabled Scourge of Thay.
Against her wild and towering beauty, Caladnei seemed young and of little account-just one more leather-clad Harper among many more menacing veterans. Long-limbed and slender, her dark brown skin almost the hue of the leathers she wore, she regarded the Witch-Queen of Aglarond with large, dark eyes-deep brown, rather than the ruby-red they became when she was angry-and said calmly, "I echo Rhauligan's welcome, but I must respectfully remind both of you, Elminster and Queen Alassra, that in this place, in the absence of Crown Princess and Regent Alusair and Dowager Queen Filfaeril, I am the royal law and voice of Cormyr."
"No dispute there, lass," Elminster murmured, spreading his hands-a movement that made several Harpers nervously raise handbows. Caladnei saw something of this out of the corner of one eye and whirled to give the tense line of Cormyreans a quelling 'down arms' gesture.
Turning back to the two Chosen once more, she drew herself up and said, "And in that wise, in the interests of the realm, I demand the immediate surrender of Narnra Shalace into my keeping-and the as-swift departure of you both from our land, honored Chosen, until times are more settled in Cormyr."
Gods watching over us, woman, but you have backbone and balls both, Rhauligan thought savagely, eyeing the two mighty Chosen in what might be his last moments of life. Your reckless idiocy leaves me despairing but proud of you.
Why, THANK you, most loyal dealer in turret tops and spires, Caladnei's thought echoed in his mind, as sharp as if she was shouting in his ear. Permit me to BE Mage Royal and not merely carry the title around like a costume to be sneered at, hmm? I've two good reasons for this particular reckless idiocy: first, to make the point that must be made, that I happen to hold authority here and no Chosen should think their divine favor gives them sway to do as they please; and because what I've heard from and about this Narnra convinces me that she's much more than she appears-and at the very least could mind-yield a LOT of useful information about current "dark dealings" in Water-deep. I visit your mind, Rhauligan, not to justify myself, but to give you this order: whatever happens, you are to capture this Narnra and bring her back to the most senior surviving Wizards of War, for questioning.
Lady I am honored to serve, Rhauligan thought back quickly, I hear and obey.
"The woman you demand," Elminster observed gently, "is not ours to surrender. I have freed her from my own detention and will defend that freedom, according to her wishes. Moreover, if ye examine no less than six royal decrees and two binding treaties that I know of, preserved in the royal records of Cormyr, I-though not the ruler of Aglarond, I'll grant-have the freedom of the realm and a court rank, by the way, that outstrips thine own."