Elminster gave her a baleful glare.

"Tarry a moment," she whispered, sliding past him like a chill wind.

A few moments later she returned, leading a bewildered, half-dressed Raereene-with a scared-looking Kreane right behind them.

"Teleport this man into the forehall of Stormserpent Towers," the Ghost Regent commanded crisply. "Just as carefully as you know how."

Raereene frowned. "Wh-"

"Wizards of war no longer obey royal commands?" Alusair hissed, her eyes suddenly two cold flames.

"Or mine?" quavered a thin voice from the floor below.

Raereene looked down-and recoiled.

"What ails you?" the dark spiderlike thing in front of her feet demanded. "Haven't you ever seen a Royal Magician before?"

Silently Whelandrin showed a tall, dark, and buxom woman into Marlin Stormserpent's private chambers. She wore a nightcloak over high boots and a silken gown, and- Marlin frowned. There was a taller, darker, cloaked and cowled figure right behind her, who'd just slipped something to Whelandrin; Marlin caught a glimpse of gleaming gold before his trusty was gone.

"Who are you?" he demanded, waving the girl aside with one hand while drawing his sword with the other and sweeping it up to menace his mysterious visitor.

Who threw back the cowl to reveal a sardonically smiling face. It belonged to Lord Arclath Delcastle, who was suddenly taking a swift sidestep to put a solid stone wall at his back.

"Well met," he greeted Marlin pleasantly. "You look much much more handsome here, in proper light, than skulking around in shadows by night in the royal palace." more handsome here, in proper light, than skulking around in shadows by night in the royal palace."

Stormserpent stiffened. "What're you talking about?"

"I speak of a certain chalice," Arclath murmured. "Sadly missing from its longtime hiding place. Sadly missed by some."

"War wizards?"

"Ah, I knew knew Marlin Stormserpent wasn't slow-witted. I was certain he'd grasp at once what I was speaking of, even at such an hour." Marlin Stormserpent wasn't slow-witted. I was certain he'd grasp at once what I was speaking of, even at such an hour."

"What're you doing here?" Marlin snapped, hefting his sword meaningfully as he took a step forward.

Arclath waved an airily dismissive hand. "Merely seeking an answer or two, not a duel. Which is why I came protected by magic that will end any duel before it begins. So, no swordplay, just a few words between us, and I'll leave you to your pleasure."

He glanced at the playpretty, who was standing to one side listening to them rather fearfully.

"A few carefully carefully chosen words, on my part," Arclath hinted. chosen words, on my part," Arclath hinted.

"Well?" Marlin asked curtly.

"Why? Why all the secret meetings, the hunts for hand axes, the men in flames?"

"I...I seek a better Cormyr. I deserve deserve a better Cormyr." a better Cormyr."

Arclath nodded. "As do I. Unfortunately for friendly accord between us now, that does not mean we agree on what 'better' is. You desire a Cormyr that is better for you for you. Yet you lack the vision-and honesty-to even admit this."

Marlin Stormserpent flourished his sword, snarling an insult.

Arclath sighed. "Ah, the besetting fault of the n.o.bility-having temper tantrums whenever someone disagrees with them. Such Such shining leadership for the realm." shining leadership for the realm."

"And you think House Delcastle is better than House Stormserpent, I suppose?" Marlin sneered.

"I think nothing of the sort. I know know I'm a wastrel, and freely admit it. Would such candor cost you so much? Oh, wait, I was forgetting. Candor is your greatest foe, given the laws of the realm and the presence of war wizards in it." I'm a wastrel, and freely admit it. Would such candor cost you so much? Oh, wait, I was forgetting. Candor is your greatest foe, given the laws of the realm and the presence of war wizards in it."

"How did you learn so much?" Marlin hissed.

Arclath regarded his fingertips idly and told them, "In conspiracies, someone always talks."

"Do you mind," Marlin asked coldly, "leaving my home home, so I can enjoy my hired company?"

"Not at all," Arclath replied with a smile. "I have the answers I came for. You need not fear the dawn on my account."

"Good," Marlin snapped, ringing the bell for Whelandrin.

Arclath did not wait to be escorted. When the trusty appeared, Marlin snarled, "Make very very sure the man you brought in is gone from our house and grounds, and the gates locked against him and all others. Be sure the man you brought in is gone from our house and grounds, and the gates locked against him and all others. Be swift." swift."

Whelandrin bowed and hastened away, and Marlin shot a look at the chalice and blade, wondering if he should send his slayers after Arclath.

No. Not with the la.s.s there; no one must see him calling them forth.

With a shrug he turned to her charms, pouring his anger into being brutal to her. "Strip!" he ordered harshly.

She promptly doffed cloak and gown and started on her boots, but he grabbed her elbow in an iron-hard grip and snapped, "Leave them on, and get you to yon bed!"

She gasped in pain but managed to murmur, "My lord lord, be gentler!"

By way of reply he backhanded her across her chest with all his strength and snarled, "Get on that bed! Think of twenty golden lions, and keep your mouth shut."

"Yes, Lord," she whimpered, hurrying to obey.

"A moment, lad," an unfamiliar man's voice said sharply from the far end of the room.

Marlin spun around. "Who-"

"Call back thy slayers," his gaunt old visitor snapped. "Half the Dragons and war wizards in Suzail are fighting them right now-and being led here as they do."

By way of reply, Marlin Stormserpent sneered and strode to s.n.a.t.c.h up the Flying Blade from a sidetable. "Get out! Whoever you are, get-"

"Elminster's the name," the old man told him cheerfully as he tossed a handful of metal vials under the n.o.ble's boots.

Marlin slipped, smooth metal rolling under his feet. He made a wild grab for his sword, got it-and went down helplessly, dragging the table down atop himself.

A moment later, the Wyverntongue Chalice came down on his head, and Cormyr went away very suddenly.

"Satisfyingly solid," Elminster remarked approvingly to the woman on the bed. "Ye might want to leave now, before-"

"It's too late too late?" a coldly malicious voice said in his ear out of a sudden roiling glow, just before it claimed him in a savage roar of unleashed magic. a coldly malicious voice said in his ear out of a sudden roiling glow, just before it claimed him in a savage roar of unleashed magic.

"I've business inside, look ye," the old man in battered leathers with the sword in his hand said truculently. "Stand aside."

The Purple Dragons stopped smiling tolerantly and lowered their spears to point at his chest.

"Saer wizard?" one of them called to alert the duty wizard of war behind them.

The response was a grunt and several swift thuds, as if something heavy had fallen. One Dragon started to turn.

Only to grunt in his turn and topple forward. His fellow soldier had just time to stare at him, before joining him.

"Mirt," Storm Silverhand said delightedly from behind the men she'd felled. "Come in, and be welcome! It's been years!" years!"

Elminster opened his eyes, feeling weak and scorched.

He was in the royal palace, in a small stone room he'd seen a time or two before. A chamber with stone benches built along two walls, closed doors in the other two, and a table in the center of the room.

Storm Silverhand was lying on it, faceup, dead or senseless.

Elminster staggered to her to see which.

Her eyes opened, her gaze seeming different from Storm's, somehow, as he bent over to murmur, "La.s.s?"

Needlelike pincers erupted out of her to impale him.

Spewing blood, eyes wide in disbelief and pain, Elminster staggered back-and up through the body of the woman that wasn't Storm, bursting it apart like so much wet custard and rending the table and floor from beneath, came a gigantic beholder.

Large and dark it loomed, surrounded not just by its long, writhing forest of eyestalks, but by tentacles that ended in grasping pincers.

"No more meddling, Elminster," it purred in a wet, gloating voice. "No more guiding your precious Forest Kingdom this way and that, sneering as you move men about like pieces on a chessboard. All your schemes and strivings end here and now."

Two pincers snared Elminster's hands-and snipped them off at the wrists.

Blood spurted, and the old man reeled.

"Yes, the moment of my revenge has come at last, Elminster of Shadowdale. As you die your final death-your oh-so-overdue pa.s.sing. All your mantles and wards and contingencies stripped away, drained, and used, down long and patient years of watching and sending you foes, and 'accidents,' and unfortunate unfortunate concidences. concidences. Outwitting Outwitting you, arrogant Aumar. There were more of me than you thought there were-so this last one of me will outlast you. Now embrace oblivion in fitting agony, knowing it is I, Manshoon, who has slain you!" you, arrogant Aumar. There were more of me than you thought there were-so this last one of me will outlast you. Now embrace oblivion in fitting agony, knowing it is I, Manshoon, who has slain you!"

Magic lashed out from eyestalks to blast Elminster, driving him to his knees. He fought gaspingly to find breath enough to scream, his arms seared off at the shoulder, his body aflame. And failed.

"I kill you now in the name of Symgharyl, and so many of my selves, and much of the best blood of the Brotherhood. Die, old fool!"

More eyestalks let fly, and the kneeling man was reduced to ashes- -that slumped down into swirling ruin, even as the eye tyrant bellowed out mighty laughter and teleported away, leaving only the rolling echoes of its mirth behind.

"Stormserpent's behind it all," Arclath panted as they sprinted for the palace together. "The flaming men-all of it. We'll just have to hope Glathra's there-or someone someone who'll listen to me!" who'll listen to me!"

"I wonder where Elminster is," Amarune gasped. "He's crazed enough to step in, where our precious wizards of war won't!"

Alusair raced like a furious whirlwind. Storm rushed after her, Mirt pounding along at her heels, into a little stone room where...human blood and innards were spattered everywhere.

And a heap of faintly glowing enchanted trinkets she recognized, amid ashes...Elminster.

Or all that was left of him.

Silver fire was winking and glowing like fireflies among a swirl of ashes on the floor, and her own body winked and glowed in response; she had no doubt she was gazing at his remains.

"No," Storm whispered, lips trembling. "No. d.a.m.n you, El, not like this! Not without giving me a chance to bid you farewell! I loved you, Elminster Aumar! I loved you, Elminster Aumar! Mystra d.a.m.n me, but I loved you!" Mystra d.a.m.n me, but I loved you!"

Elminster's ashes rippled over the floor and rose into a spike that became a faltering pillar...and took on a vaguely manlike shape.

"And I love ye, too," he whispered hollowly. "Though perhaps I should say 'What is left of me' loves ye."

He'd survived! In undeath or something like it, but-Storm burst into tears and rushed to embrace him.

Causing him to be reduced to swirling ashes-which promptly streamed down her bodice and the rest of her, making her gasp in startled pleasure ere they raced down one of her legs to the floor. There they rose again into a little hump, from which lifted a headlike shape.

"Always wanted to do that," Elminster said in satisfaction.

Behind them arose a strange chorus of mirth. Mirt the Moneylender and the ghost of Alusair were both chuckling.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.