“I-Your Highness, I-”
“I’ve given you a royal command,” Filfaeril said, striding forward until her great belt buckle was almost touching the man’s nose.
He could feel what she could hear: the crackle of the spell-shield emanating from it. If he bore any steel about his person, he must also be feeling the pain of its ironguard warding.
The highknight rose and stepped back from Filfaeril in one smooth motion, to kneel to her then rise, saying, “The wizard Vangerdahast, my queen. I am to report any speech you may have with other persons whom you meet with here, and identify such persons.”
He hesitated, eyes meeting the queen’s simmering gaze, and added, “I should tell you that it is my belief that Wizards of War assigned by him indirectly scry you, even now, by scrying me. I submit myself to any punishment you may decree.”
Filfaeril threw back her head, drew in a deep breath as she looked at the stars, and then told the man tightly, “Loyal Highknight, go you and tell the Royal Magician Vangerdahast I would speak with him. Immediately. Seek not to compel him, but deliver this my message and depart from him, saying other orders of mine ride you. Answer not any queries as to those orders, but absent yourself from duty until the coming highsun. Go to a tavern, a festhall, or a club, and take your ease this night through-but go now. ”
The highknight bowed. “I hear and will obey. Your Highness is merciful.”
“With some,” Filfaeril hissed at him. “With some.”
He descended onto the sward so she could clearly see his departure. The Dragon Queen swung down from her statue to stand and watch him go, the length of all her bowers, ere returning to her seat.
“Well, that was fun,” she remarked, her breathing still faster than normal. “How goes your harping?”
“I can still break strings,” came the low-pitched reply, “and have eyes that yet work well enough to notice your signal. How d’you keep your maids from tidying that coverlet right back off the balcony rail?”
“Promise to flay them alive,” Filfaeril said sweetly. “I had to start in on one of them once, but from the moment I cracked the whip and ordered her to bare herself, and they all stared at me and got a good look at my face, they… found obedience.”
The woman lying at ease under the bushes chuckled. “You should try the same tactic on Azoun.”
“Dove,” Filfaeril said, “ don’t tempt me. He’d probably enjoy it, which is about all I want to say on the matter-given that Vangey just might decide that teleporting himself into my lap and storming at me, any moment now, is his best tactic. ’Tis more likely he’ll make sure he can’t be found by anyone this night, and in fact has been at some remote border locale of the realm all along, but…”
Dove chuckled again. “Wise words. So, what would you learn from the Harpers, and what will you trade in return? Bearing in mind that if Vangey is still eavesdropping, you may be handing him the chance to rant to the king that high treason flourishes in the bosom of Cormyr’s queen.”
“Let him try,” Filfaeril snapped. “Just let him try.”
Her fists were clenched, Dove saw-and so leaned out under the foliage to gently knead Filfaeril’s tense shoulders.
The queen stiffened at first, but slowly relaxed under the Harper’s skilled fingers, going so far as to groan briefly, three or four breaths later.
Then, without preamble, she said, “Bhereu’s pryings are aimed at uncovering what he believes to be men under his command making covert investments in Sembia via Sembian factors who’ve come to court several times, now, with trade proposals. The investments are probably nothing sinister in themselves, but he’s concerned that the Sembians are buying influence over his officers. The two most energetic factors go by the names Rrastran Ravalandro and Atuemor Ghallowgard. I believe that was one matter you Harpers were curious about.”
“You believe correctly,” Dove replied, her massaging fingers digging deeply into Filfaeril’s hitherto rigid neck and shoulders. “Anything else?”
“No. Court is quiet at the moment, so those who scheme and intrigue most vigorously-Vangerdahast and those my husband directs in their whisperings included-confine their hissings and soft threats to private moots well away from here. When they see the queen approaching, they recall an urgent need to be elsewhere.”
Dove chuckled again. “So, you’ve given me no state secrets but mere gossip; what would you know?”
“To match my paltry offering, a minor matter, to whit: this new band of adventurers my Azoun took such glee in anointing. He came back from Espar bubbling like a young lad at play, Dove! These Swords of Eveningstar: who are they, and what are they up to?”
“A handsome young forester of Espar who saved your Azoun’s life when he was attacked in Hunter’s Hollow by Sembian hireswords in the employ of certain nobles of this fair realm-just who, we Harpers know not, but we do know Vangerdahast has personally mind-reamed the lone hiresword Florin spared, when Azoun ordered him to do so-and the forester’s friends, and a few seekers-of-adventure they picked up in Waymoot. Ah, sorry: that ‘Florin’ is the young forester; Florin Falconhand.”
“That name I have heard,” Filfaeril murmured. “Are they young, eyes shining with thoughts of treasure, or-?”
Dove nodded. “Young and filled with hope, indeed. Your Azoun sent them to scour out the Haunted Halls-”
“As he does all adventurers who lack noble parents to protest them being sent to their deaths,” Filfaeril murmured. “They are, then, not deemed sinister, but merely untested in their loyalty and heroism?”
“Indeed. They may yet fall, of course, but already their naive explorations are doing more to discomfit the Zhentarim in northern Cormyr than anything you-or we-have managed thus far. Zhentil Keep still has its spies, drug-sellers, and smugglers everywhere, but stolen goods and Cormyreans drugged to be sent into slavery are no longer casually added to every third caravan passing through Arabel or Eveningstar. The Zhents are being forced into the longer and more dangerous Stonelands routes-and I’ve even heard tell of their trying again to run large caravans through Anauroch.”
The queen turned her head, eyes widening. “You tell me true? One band of adventurers has managed all this? Unwittingly?”
Dove nodded. “And if unwitting adventurers can do this much damage, just think of what a handful of your worst idiot courtiers can wreak. Unwittingly.”
“Pennae! Pennae! ” Florin rushed forward, his drawn sword flashing.
“Agannor!” Florin snapped, standing where Pennae had been, moments before. “Your lantern! Here! Now! ”
Blinking in astonishment, Agannor obeyed, thrusting his lantern forward, low, where Florin was waving frantically at the floor.
There was nothing. No scorch mark, no ashes, no tiny, thumb-tall Pennae squeaking up at them and waving insect-sized arms. She was simply-gone.
Florin pointed furiously up at the niche Pennae had been probing, and Agannor brought the light up to show everyone… a carving at the back of the niche that looked like a castle wall, crenelated and with a tiny hinged door that looked like it actually swung back and forth, if touched.
Eyes hard and breathing heavily, Florin looked around wildly at the rest of the Swords-then thrust the point of his sword into the niche.
There came the briefest of blue flashes-again-and the passage was suddenly empty of all trace of Florin Falconhand.
“Oh, ye gods most marvelous,” Jhessail cursed. “ Now what?”
Islif shrugged. “None of us live forever,” she said, striding forward with her sword ready. “Adventure, remember?” She slid her sword deftly into the niche, and vanished in an instant.
Doust shrugged, fumbled forth his belt knife, and followed suit. Then Martess and Bey, who laconically handed his lantern to Jhessail.
With various shrugs, in their own manners, every one of the Swords followed, leaving the passage in the Haunted Halls dark and empty again.