Without another word, she stepped around the senior war wizard, the skirts of her gown hissing past. She snatched down the book Hundarr had looked at. It was the work of but a moment to thumb its latch, flip open the cover, and discover that it was a hiding-tome rather than a real volume. Curled up in its central well were a few pages of ink-scrawled parchment.
Storm flicked the topmost page open between her thumb and finger, seeing only the words, "Beware the Walker of the Worlds," before book, parchment, and all were roughly snatched away from her.
Broglan stared at her, eyes blazing. "Lady Silverhand! Kindly wait until I have spoken with Lord Vangerdahast, if you don't mind!"
She sighed theatrically and said, "Well, get on with it, then."
Behind them, one of the younger war wizards snorted in amusement. When Broglan swung around to see which of them it was, Storm pounced on the black velvet bundle that now lay on his table.
By the time he turned back from glaring at both of the younger mages, the fist-sized sphere of obsidian was already rising smoothly up from its cushion at the center of the black velvet circle. A slight smile on her face, Storm sat in his chair, her arms folded on the table.
"What do you think you're doing?" he almost screamed, lunging at the table-and then bringing himself to a halt, inches away from crashing into the furniture. The speaking stone came to its own stop not a breath away from his nose, and began to turn lazily in midair.
Storm lifted amused eyes to meet his. "Is this some sort of trick question, Sir Broglan? What does it look like?"
"Broglan?" a voice rasped, out of the stone. "Is that you?"
"Vangey!" Storm barked. "Good to talk to you again! Why don't you ever swing out to Shadowdale to see me?"
There was a moment of silence, and then the sharp voice spoke again, in tones of cold dignity. "The Lord Elminster and I did not part on the best of terms," it informed her, "and I've no wish to sneak into his very yard and perhaps bump into him."
Storm made a rude noise. "He's forgiven you, Vangey-he forgave you the very same nightfall, and that was years ago. Forget it, man!"
"The question is not whether he has forgiven me," Vangerdahast's voice came out of the stone very precisely, "but whether I have forgiven him."
Storm rolled her eyes. "Well, if you haven't, you should have. Isn't it about time you set aside all this overblown pride and grew up?"
The obsidian stone in front of her sputtered and then snarled, "Whatever you wanted me for, good lady, this interview is at an end!" It quivered once, and then sank toward the tabletop.
"What have you done?" Broglan roared.
Storm made a gesture. The speaking stone stopped and floated back up to its former position again.
"Not until I'm finished, Old Thunderspells!" she told it crisply. "Your team has a serious problem. None of us-from ambitious young Hundarr, here, to you at court and Azoun up at the palace-can afford to have you getting up on your high horse and overplaying the high-and-mighty old wizard role. The safety of the realm is at stake. Even if it weren't, you'd do well to set aside the nose-in-the-air, fit-me-for-a-statue stuff, or you'll start to believe the role. Worse, you'll start to shrink and gnarl down to fit it! Royal Magician of Cormyr, indeed!"
All of the wizards were staring at her now, aghast. Hundarr was quivering in the grip of a rage even greater than Broglan's. The leader of the war wizards stepped back one deliberate pace-half to keep himself from throttling this outrageous woman, and half because he expected the stone to spit lightning around the room.
The stone flickered and pulsed with sudden light. Then the four wizards heard Lord Vangerdahast's voice say quietly, "My apologies, Storm. What is happening at Firefall, and how can I help you?"
Jaws dropped in disbelief all around her as Storm said crisply, "We're facing an entity who can shapeshift and burn out the brains of its victims. They're blind-barred to all magic we've tried thus far. Since the two initial deaths, it's slain two of your junior wizards and the seneschal of the keep. On my arrival here, I enjoyed a feast that was one long parade of poisons and magical traps, too. You've got problems with a rotten noble house, and this slayer who can walk right through the ranks of the noble and powerful in Cormyr and keep going. The boldshield-Ergluth-is willing to do whatever it takes, but Broglan here has to have your permission before he'll even be civil to me. Will you tell him I'm his commander for a tenday, so we can get to work.. before it's too late?"
"Lord High Wizard!" Broglan shouted. "There's-"
"Broglan, I presume you heard her," the voice rasped out from the stone. "Obey her as you would me, and tell all of the mages under you to do the same."
"I-yes, Lord High Wizard," Broglan said with a sigh.
"May I cast spells on your mages?" Storm asked.
"Gods, woman," the stone said, a hiss of exasperation in the voice, "I can see why you want to, but that's one rule I never break… only war wizards can enspell other war wizards, and then only for certain specific things-else the Dragon Throne would've faced attacks from hostile mages long since.. "
"These are not normal times," Storm said quietly, "and I'll not misuse this grant of power. More than that, I'll drop in on you soon and scratch your ears and the small of your back the way you like, and dare not trust anyone else to-"
The stone harrumphed very loudly, and said, "Consider both the offer and the grant of power accepted. I don't think we need say anything more about such matters, do you?"
Storm smiled. "I guess not. Fare thee well, Thunderspells."
"Don't call me that, blast it! A man has to have some dignity," the stone said, quivering. It started to sink down toward its cushion, "And keep safe, Storm. Deliver our kingdom to us and save the day and all that wind and roar … but keep safe."
"You, too," Storm said gently as the stone settled onto the black velvet. She gave it a last smile, and then looked up at the four silent men above her and said brightly, "Now, this won't hurt a bit…."
Orling the Bold unhappily strummed his harp, eyes on the bright-and empty-display case beside him. This was the last string that needed tuning. When it was done, he'd have to go tell someone about the ring vanishing. That would be the end of his night of revelry, over before it began-and perhaps of his career as a Harper. Or even his life, if they took it really amiss.
Orling gulped as he plucked the last string repeatedly. He certainly didn't feel 'Bold' right now, or even just 'bold.' No one would believe he'd not even touched the case, and the ring had just up and-
He blinked at the case again, and let out an uneasy laugh. His forehead was suddenly wet with sweat, and outside the room he heard the first trumpets echoing through Twilight Hall to start the fun. He looked in wonder at the case, shaking his tense fingers to loosen them and hardly daring to believe his eyes.
The ring was back. Floating there, turning slowly, as it had been for years. The little electrum dragon, the silver orb under it, and the plain gold band. Orling smiled.
The ring was back, as silently as it had gone. It winked almost mockingly at him-turning just as it had been turning for years.
The poison was rather more subtle this time, but it was still there. In the stuffed pheasant, the lemon juice and the pepper overwhelmed the burning, oily taste that Storm'd come to expect from the kitchens of the keep. There was nothing wrong with the good, sharp stonemountain cheese on her side dish, and the white sauce for the birds was simply exquisite.
Storm ate with gusto, washing down bird after bird with wine, and enjoying the sniping attacks of the Summerstars down the table. It was good entertainment-even if the chilly atmosphere was made even colder by the retention of the same seating arrangement, with empty seats where the seneschal and the two dead wizards had sat. Uncle Erlandar had also decided to miss the meal for some undisclosed reason or other. Pheirauze was preoccupied, and that left the mice free to play.