The door that links that turret room to a corner of the top floor of the Palace stands open-and guarded by four veteran Purple Dragons-at all times. The turret had for some years been an abandoned dovecote before the coming of Caladnei but was now a place much used by the Mage Royal to think and pace and gaze out over courtyard and gardens, and think some more.
Caladnei of Cormyr (as she pointedly preferred to be spoken of) often teleported into and out of her turret room-but she'd never been known to do so in the company of anyone else before, and the guards were quite startled to suddenly hear the deep, hearty laugh of a fearless old man from behind them.
They whirled around, spearpoints glittering, and gaped at what they saw: the Mage Royal embracing a hawk-nosed, white-bearded old man in dirty robes. Caladnei was weeping softly, and the old wizard-whom more than one of the old warriors had seen before-cradled her shoulders with a protective arm, saying softly, "There, there, lass. 'Tis overwhelming, aye, but a sight all mages should see in their lives before they've too much time to do foolish things unmindful of the glory we all share."
"Uh . . . Lady Caladnei?" one of the guards asked uncertainly, lifting his spear to menace the old man.
"Lord Elminster!" the eldest of the guards said delightedly, clapping a hand to his breastplate in salute. The gesture was echoed by the guard beside him, as the other two Purple Dragons turned to gape at their fellows . . . then turned back in horrified slowness to gaze at the old man they were menacing.
Bright blue eyes gazed at them from under dark brows, and the Old Mage nodded, winked, and lifted a finger to his lips to request their silence ere gesturing down at the sobbing woman in his arms. The two guards who'd saluted him nodded and pushed aside the spears of their fellows, silently withdrawing a pace. Elminster gave them an approving nod.
"T-thank you, Lord Elm-"
"El, please, lass. Just 'El.' Or 'Old Mage' if ye want to scold me." He took hold of the Mage Royal's slender shoulders and stood her back a pace, to look gravely into her tear-bright face. "How do ye feel?"
Caladnei managed a smile, and then swiftly looked away . . . then, deliberately, back up at him.
"Sobered. Shaken. And, may I say, vastly more respectful of you and of Vangerdahast, too, damn him. I … thank you. That was . . . magnificent."
"Much to think upon, eh?" Elminster reached out two long fingers to touch her forehead. "This much I can do: make sure nothing fades of this. Ye'll remember everything we saw, vividly, whenever ye call it to mind. This shall be with ye always."
Caladnei shook her head wonderingly. "What a … a …"
Elminster chuckled. "Storm called it a 'whirlwind tour,' but I've shown ye but a handful of highlights from all this vast and wonderful world of ours. 'Twas time for ye. Ye needed it to set in perspective this fair land ye guard and to temper thy rage with Vangey. Know ye this: When I took him to see the same things, he wept even more than ye have, begged forgiveness for his rudenesses, and told me he was shamed."
"I-I feel I should do the same," Caladnei said with an unsteady laugh, ducking her head and looking up at him again.
Elminster recoiled. "What? And rob thyself of the chance to get in some really good rudenesses to me, first?"
The sorceress burst into startled laughter and clung to the old man's robes for support. He hugged her fondly then-the eyes of the watching Purple Dragons narrowed-reached down to his belt, fishing around in a pouch there for something.
Cormyrean hands clapped dagger-hilts, tightened, and . . . fell away unneeded, as Elminster's hand reappeared holding a length of fine chain. He held it out where the Mage Royal could see it, waited for her to notice it, and said gruffly, "Yours, lass. An anklet. Nothing valuable, but-wear it. Now and always. If ye feel the need, and say the word 'amulamystra' while wearing it, I will come."
Wondering, Caladnei closed her hand around the delicate chain. The Old Mage bent his head and bestowed a fatherly kiss on the top of hers.
Then her arms were empty and she was staggering forward off-balance across a turret room that held no Elminster of Shad-owdale. Caladnei looked around wildly and beheld only the four guards, staring at her.
She gave them a rueful half-smile like a child caught doing something naughty, and the guards drew themselves to attention and saluted. The eldest said politely, "Lady Mage, we've been requested to inform you that the Lady Laspeera, the High-knight Rhauligan, and a captive await you in the Dragonwing Chamber."
Caladnei drew herself up, suddenly every inch the brisk Mage Royal they knew so well, and snapped, "I thank you." She smiled like a young lass again, bent over and drew off her right boot, and clasped the chain around her ankle.
"Looks good," a guard said gruffly-then turned as swift as any whiplash to face away from her, at stiff attention. His fellows sprang to join him in the maneuver, so when Caladnei straightened, she'd have no idea which one of them had spoken.
She grinned at all four armored backs, parted two of them with firm hands, and murmured, "Old lechers," as she strode between them and marched off down the hall.
The guards saluted her in silent unison and went back to guarding the open door.
* * * * *
Roablar of Lantan sat back and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses pinched-then rubbing the eyes behind them for good measure.
The everpresent hovering monk bent over the merchant. "Is there anything you're not finding, goodsir?"
"Ah," Thaerabho murmured, to the Keeper of that particular reading-room in Candlekeep. "It begins. Tis time for an unmasking."
Silent in his soft slippers, he started to move purposefully toward the seated Lantanna.
"You can see what I'm seeking," the disguised Lady Noumea Cardellith told her escort.
The tall, pockmarked monk ran a hand through his unruly, strawlike hair, bent closer, and replied in a low voice, "All you can about the Red Wizards of Thay, in particular recent writings. If you've come to Candlekeep in search of their spells, I fear you've wasted your journey. We keep those secure for very good reasons."
Without regarding them, Noumea was well aware that several monks were silently drawing in around her. She smiled thinly.
"No, Esmer. What would a merchant of Lantan want with spells? I live and die by trade, and 'tis this new policy of establishing Thayan trade enclaves and who in the Thayan hierarchy is behind it that I seek to learn all about."
"I realize this is overbold, and you must feel perfectly comfortable in refusing to answer," an unfamiliar monk murmured from her other side, "but why?"
Noumea looked up and gave him a smile.
"If we're being so blunt: I suspect this is but the first step in an elaborate plan to economically and then-covertly-politically dominate all realms of Faerun."
"Of course," two of the monks said together, and at least another three in the ring that had silently formed around her nodded.
"Wherefore my fascination with recent reports and writings," Noumea added, indicating the sheafs of parchment and stacked volumes on the slightly sloped reading-desk before her.
"I sense you're both well-traveled and worldly," a monk said from directly behind her. "Permit me, then, to mention something not to be found in these written records but only in the diaries we compile of the news and rumor that comes daily to our gates."
"Please do," Noumea said politely, shifting slightly and indicating the bench beside her. The monks smiled as if she'd passed some sort of test, and the monk who'd spoken from behind her stepped forward and sat down so close beside her that his robe almost brushed her hip. A white, puckered old sword-scar adorned one of his cheeks diagonally, and his hair was as gray as a sword in need of polishing.