"Have...to...," Elminster snarled, ducking his head and shuddering.

"Don't die on me, Old Mage! Don't you die on me!" Don't you die on me!"

"Die while a spirited la.s.s has her fingers inside me? No fear! Ahhh Ahhh, blast ye, that hurts! I'm...I'm too old for this!"

"Hah! Stop me vitals!" she joked.

Elminster smiled a little sadly. "Already happened, remember?"

Alusair took advantage of her spectral state to become long and thin, so she could thrust herself around ahead of him and swing her head back to face his and give him a dark look. "Thank "Thank you for farrukin' reminding me, you for farrukin' reminding me, Old Mage." Old Mage."

Elminster winced. "You play with sharp claws out."

"Always did," she said softly. "Would again, if I had it all to do over again. Folk respect respect sharp claws and sneer at those who are nice and kindly. Wish it were otherwise, but...'tis not. d.a.m.n the G.o.ds." sharp claws and sneer at those who are nice and kindly. Wish it were otherwise, but...'tis not. d.a.m.n the G.o.ds."

"Look," Arclath told the coldly frowning wizard, "I was meeting with Lady Glathra and the king himself, and-"

"No doubt you were," the wizard of war replied grimly. "Yet the Lady Glathra has left the palace on...secret Crown business, and my orders are very clear. All n.o.bles are to absent themselves from the palace until invited inside for council. No No exceptions, and no excuses accepted. You have a home of your own to go to, and I'm sure you know the way there, Lord Delcastle. Your journey begins yonder." exceptions, and no excuses accepted. You have a home of your own to go to, and I'm sure you know the way there, Lord Delcastle. Your journey begins yonder."

His imperiously pointing hand indicated exterior doors that two Purple Dragons-who were not very carefully suppressing smirks-were drawing open. Arclath eyed the wall of Purple Dragons right behind the coldly firm mage, inclined his head in polite defeat, and turned for the door.

"Mind you inform Glathra-or the king-at your first sight of either of them that you conducted me out of the palace, and that I can be found at Delcastle Manor," he told the wizard, turning on his heel in the doorway to do so. "I suspect a failure on your part to do as much will not go over well-and were I you, I might risk royal displeasure, but the wrath of the Lady Glathra, now..."

At least one of the Purple Dragons chuckled.

Which was when there was a sudden commotion behind Arclath, and he spun around in time to see that one of the Dragons at the door had thrust a spear out to bar the path of a weathered old man in even more battered leather clothing-and the old man had jerked on the spear, hauled the soldier within reach, got him in an armlock, and spun him around to make him into a living shield against the spear of the other door guard.

"Is this the way ye greet arriving lords of Waterdeep, now?" he demanded gruffly.

The wizard of war stepped forward, reaching for a wand at his belt-and Arclath took great pleasure in clapping a hand around the mage's wrist and snapping, "Try to avoid a diplomatic disaster, Saer Wizard!" to avoid a diplomatic disaster, Saer Wizard!"

"Stirge!" one of the Dragons behind the sputtering mage shouted suddenly, pointing out the open door.

The battered old man spun around, the Dragon under his arm struggling but being dragged with him-and lashed out with a dagger that had suddenly appeared in his hairy free hand.

Gutted and with one wing sliced through, the flapping stirge tumbled to the ground, where the old man brought a firm boot down on its head.

"Stirges? In daylight, at the very doors of the palace?" the wizard snarled, struggling to wrench his arm free of Arclath's grip.

"It's the pet of the Lord Marlin Stormserpent," Arclath informed him. "Or was."

"And what was it doing out and about?" a Dragon growled. "He sent it?"

Arclath frowned. "We can but guess." He looked the wizard straight in the eye, as they stood nose to nose, and added, "Unless you'd like to do something of real real service to the Crown-and go and ask him?" service to the Crown-and go and ask him?"

Elminster shook his vials out of his boots, then decided he didn't need them, and put them back. The healing potions Alusair had poured down him were enough. He was back to being as good as he got, these days.

"Storm," he asked the ghostly princess sadly, "what was left of her?"

"Nothing," Alusair told him. "Did you not feel her ring working? Right in the heart of the blast, it took her away somewhere. No, there wasn't a trace of her-not one drop-in the crypt."

She watched him peel off the last of the shattered armor. "Now I've one to ask you, El. Who hurled that spell at you?"

The Sage of Shadowdale shrugged. "A wizard?" he offered helpfully. "La.s.s, I know not. Truly."

"One of the wizards of war you didn't manage to kill recently?" Alusair asked a little coolly.

Elminster shrugged again. "Life wasn't simple a century ago, but I used to know a little little about what was going on right around me. A little." about what was going on right around me. A little."

Manshoon frowned. Who was this gruff old man who tossed Purple Dragons about fearlessly and called himself a lord of Waterdeep? The man was just then lurching off down the promenade with the rolling gait of a sailor...could it be one of Elminster's disguises?

Surely not. Yet the man seemed somehow familiar. Seen long before, in, yes, Waterdeep...

Oh, surely not. Mirt? It couldn't be.

Or could it?

Manshoon shook his head.

It was, by Bane: Mirt the Moneylender. Once Mirt the Merciless, and still not a man anyone should turn his back on. He peered intently into the scene...

Mirt stood in the middle of a busy Suzail street and cursed bitterly.

The taverns and clubs of Cormyr's capital were deafeningly crowded bastions of revelry this day, to be sure, awash in excited n.o.bles and their servants making merry on the eve of some grand council or other.

Every last one of them he'd managed to get a reply from was stone-cold certain it was the Year of the Ageless One. Which meant nigh a century had pa.s.sed, somehow, and Asper and Durnan and nigh all the folk he'd ever known were long dead.

Naed.

Well, those two lordlings' purses would be empty long before morning, buying him what he needed to get very, very drunk.

Two floors above where Alusair's healing potions had been cached, and at the far end of another wing of the vast and grandly sprawling palace, was a state chamber so remote from the great rooms of state that it was very seldom used.

Yet to those who liked crimson draperies and soft, overstuffed beds of matching hues, the Room of the Fire Wyrm was a favorite. It had become so favored for trysts among the palace staff, in fact, that the war wizards had taken possession of its keys almost forty years earlier, and had kept it shut up ever since, except when one of them was present.

One of them was there right then. She had locked the doors from the inside after entering, and she was not alone.

Raereene was her name, and at that moment she wore only a hungry expression and her long, glossy fall of blue-black hair. The young palace server atop her, Kreane, was gasping out her name repeatedly as panting pa.s.sion seized them both.

Their ardor might have more than cooled if they'd known who was watching them through the eyes of the smiling portrait of King Duar, which hung across the room, facing the great lamp-studded hanging sculpture of the fire wyrm for which the cavern was named.

Princess Alusair Obarskyr had ridden and been ridden by many panting men in her day, and her eyes were two ghostly flames of hunger and longing as Elminster came up beside her in the secret pa.s.sage.

Without a word, he put his hand on where her shoulder would have been had it been solid, and he bent to look through the eyes of Duar's queen, where she'd been painted pressed happily against his shoulder.

"G.o.ds," Alusair growled quietly, "I miss this!"

"As do I," Elminster muttered. "As do I. Yet enjoy the memories, la.s.s; isn't that why ye made them? Hmm?"

Alusair gave him an angry glare. "Wizards "Wizards may may decide decide to 'make' memories," she hissed. "Sane folk do not." to 'make' memories," she hissed. "Sane folk do not."

Elminster shrugged. "No wonder all those sane folk are so forgetful, and so much evil and confusion flourishes as a result."

He bent his head and devoted himself to peering through the eyes of the portrait, enjoying the view of the lovers.

"Aren't you going to go down there?" Alusair teased, pa.s.sing a hand through him.

Elminster winced, and it turned into an involuntary shiver; her "touch" had a chill that was almost heart-stopping. "And frighten or mortify them into rousing the whole palace in their terror? And never never helping us, all the rest of their lives, befall what may? Playing the randy old goat got me a surprisingly long way a century ago, and for about a thousand years before that, but I've tired of it. And grown increasingly bad at it, too. I mean, look ye at what's left of me, la.s.s! Who's going to be charmed by helping us, all the rest of their lives, befall what may? Playing the randy old goat got me a surprisingly long way a century ago, and for about a thousand years before that, but I've tired of it. And grown increasingly bad at it, too. I mean, look ye at what's left of me, la.s.s! Who's going to be charmed by this?" this?"

"Blind women with numb fingers," Alusair replied promptly.

After a moment of shared struggling to throttle mirth into silence, they sn.i.g.g.e.red together.

"Seen enough?" Alusair teased a while later.

"Nay, la.s.s, but-forgive me-ye're too cold for me to tarry near any longer. My old bones..."

"I know," the ghost princess replied sadly. "I know. 'Tis why I'm watching yon lovers; they're making me feel warm. Go, then, old friend, and fare you well. New kitchen fires will be lit by now, down nigh the stableyard doors, for the baking. Take the pa.s.sage along behind the ovens, and you'll feel warm enough, right soon."

"Thank ye," Elminster whispered, patting a shoulder his hand plunged through, leaving his fingers feeling like icicles.

Frowning in pain, he turned away and walked slowly along the pa.s.sage.

Azuth and Mystra, if he could hand over his tasks and causes to one like Alusair! The Steel Princess as she'd been in life, that is, not the ghost she had become...

If only...nay. That way lay madness and an utter waste of his thoughts and time. He had one successor to hand, and little else to choose from.

Amarune Whitewave was what he had to work with, and she was young and strong and vigorous and...would have to do.

Yet she must still be won over from thinking him some sort of crazed old fool who l.u.s.ted after her or who was too madwits to need heeding at all, to, well, embracing her heritage.

"I can't can't trust anyone else," he muttered aloud. "Everyone else will end up saving the Realms for trust anyone else," he muttered aloud. "Everyone else will end up saving the Realms for themselves themselves to rule." to rule."

Idly he tapped a spot on the pa.s.sage wall where he'd have hidden a door if he'd been building this part of the royal palace-and a long-hidden door obligingly groaned open. To reveal a pa.s.sage, complete with a spike-studded trap. A trap that had claimed a...war wizard, by the looks of him. Walled up for centuries and mummified into a withered, dessicated husk in his robes.

Something winked at Elminster from the throat of those robes. A pendant-enchanted, of course; that was where the glow had come from-dangling from the shriveled remnant of a neck.

"Ah," he said, brightening. "This will do, indeed. Ala.s.sra can be herself again. For a little while."

It was early evening, and it didn't seem that long since Tress had dragged Amarune out of a deep sleep and had told her to get ready and take the stage.

The snakeskins merchant was close with his coins and was one of those whose eyes burned into her flesh even as he dared not get bolder, but he'd been a good patron for three years, and seemed honest enough. His name was Raoryndar or Rindlar, or some such.

So when he'd told the others at the table Amarune was dancing above about three lordlings scouring the city menacing everyone with their swords, to yield up any hand axes they might own, she'd believed him-and promptly had left the stage, hurriedly pulled on her clothes, and hastened for Delcastle Manor.

Arclath had told her more about those three since they'd brawled in the Dragonriders'...he must know about it right swiftly, must- Amarune found herself coming to a rather breathless halt in front of the gates of Delcastle Manor sooner than she'd thought she'd be. "L-Lorold?" she asked, by the hole next to the knocker. "May I speak with Arcl-the Lord Delcastle?"

The porter slid open his spy plate, and she was aware of the guards stepping forward to peer at her through the bars.

"Lady Amarune," the porter greeted her formally. "You are welcome, if you'll accept our escort to the house proper. The Lord Delcastle is at home and has given orders that you are to be admitted, if you come alone."

"I am am alone," Amarune a.s.sured him, sighing with relief. The gates had already been unchained and opened just enough to let someone slip through, and the tallest of the guards-there were four of them, this time-was standing in that gap, beckoning her. She followed him, smiling as pleasantly to the others as if they weren't holding ready crossbows not alone," Amarune a.s.sured him, sighing with relief. The gates had already been unchained and opened just enough to let someone slip through, and the tallest of the guards-there were four of them, this time-was standing in that gap, beckoning her. She followed him, smiling as pleasantly to the others as if they weren't holding ready crossbows not quite quite aimed at her, on down the sweeping path that led to the looming mansion. He immediately waved her past him, then unshuttered a lantern and followed her, just to one side, holding the lantern low and shining it on the path ahead to light her way. aimed at her, on down the sweeping path that led to the looming mansion. He immediately waved her past him, then unshuttered a lantern and followed her, just to one side, holding the lantern low and shining it on the path ahead to light her way.

Either the porter had a means of signaling, or the manor guards watched for approaching lanterns, because the doors of the great house stood open between watchful guards, with a steward waiting and two housejacks waving mistb.a.l.l.s on long poles to try to keep night insects from entering.

Wordlessly the steward smiled and bowed low to Amarune, then beckoned her and led the way within, one of the housejacks smoothly taking her cloak from her shoulders as she went.

Amarune heard the doors being shut behind her as her guiding servant hastened through the lofty entry hall, leading her to the left and avoiding the grand sweeping stairs that led up into the warmly lit great rooms above.

They pa.s.sed through a door and into a darkened parlor, where the steward spoke for the first time. "Lady, are you here to see Lady Delcastle? Or the younger or elder Lord Delcastle?"

"Torold," a crisp, harsh feminine voice said out of the darkness ahead, "she's certainly not here to see me me. At least not by my invitation. Has Arclath taken to trying to sneak his strumpets in through the front front doors? As if they-" doors? As if they-"

"I-ah, pray pardon-," Amarune began hesitantly, at the same time as the steward turned to her, bowed low, and announced, "The Lady Marantine Delcastle!"

"Lights, dolt!" the unseen Lady Delcastle snapped, and lanterns were unhooded by a servant to reveal her standing in a wide doorway flanked by two unsmiling bodyguards in armor, glaring at Amarune and the steward.

At the same time as a door swung wide in another wall to admit light and the young scion of House Delcastle.

"Arclath!" Amarune cried. "Urgent news!"

"Amarune!" he exclaimed in delight, striding to her and reaching out in greeting.

Mother frowned at son. "Arclath? Do you know know this wench? She looks common- this wench? She looks common-hmmph, worse than that, either a strumpet or a thief, or both-to me!"