Spellstorm (Forgotten Realms) by Ed Greenwood

Author:Ed Greenwood [Greenwood, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786965847
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2015-06-09T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

A Truce Among Wizards

THEY TOOK ALL THE PRECAUTIONS ELMINSTER HAD SUGGESTED—AND nothing untoward happened.

Evenfeast was served in the feast hall to Lord Halaunt and the three surviving guests, who had grown understandably wary. They shot sharp glares in all directions, often.

And were more sharp and difficult than ever.

As Myrmeen put it, peering through the doorway at them, “Just three now, but that’s still too many.”

“You don’t like wizards?” Mirt asked her. “Or you want them to choose the winner of the Lost Spell by whittling themselves down to just one mage still standing?”

“I don’t like these wizards,” Myrmeen replied. “The Harpell possibly excepted. And don’t tempt me; as cook, I can whittle by poison all too easily.”

Lord Halaunt was visibly dozing over his wine, down at his end of the table. Around the other end of it, Manshoon, Shaaan, and Malchor conversed in low tones, as if fearing being overheard. Mirt eavesdropped shamelessly anyway, as he set down steaming platters for them, and was roundly ignored.

The wizards were more interested in discussing the deaths here in Oldspires. As they recalled matters, in midbadinage Maraunth Torr had muttered, “Too much wine,” risen and set down his drink, walked out to seek a garderobe—and had never returned.

“This house around us,” Shaaan observed rather bitterly, “seems increasingly like a trap. Which we happen to share with a rather enthusiastic murderer.”

“Or two,” Malchor told the roll he was buttering.

“I,” Manshoon said darkly, “suspect Elminster.”

“I don’t,” Malchor replied flatly. “Not his way, any of this. He’s sly, but not when facing down foes. He’d have had it out with us one at a time, not here with us all gathered together, where we could make common cause and overwhelm him.”

“Let’s,” Shaaan suggested silkily.

Manshoon snorted. “And fall straight into whatever trap he’s prepared for us? He got here first, remember, and has had ample opportunity to prepare matters.”

“Forethought. Strategy. Bah! I’m growing sick of such things,” Mirt commented, setting down the last platter and boldly taking his place at the table among the wizards. “What splendor is there, in a life spent forever planning ahead, scheming for the morrow? Doing so leaves you no ‘today’ to enjoy!”

“And why are you here, Old Wolf?” Manshoon asked coldly. “When did you become a clever mage obsessed with Lost Spells?”

“Oh, that’s not one of my schemes yet,” Mirt replied, skewering a whole roast braerwing and transferring it to his plate. “I’m in no hurry to become a wizard. Not when I’m still wondering why wizards are all such arrogant fools, who miss so much joy while they’re shut up with their books and armored in their disdain for the rest of us.”

“Have a care, dullard,” Shaaan reproved Mirt coldly, but Malchor was chuckling.

“Well said, Lord of Waterdeep,” he commented, “if you are still a Lord of Waterdeep.”

“Never renounced the title,” Mirt said, “but quite a count of years slid past while I was caught in a magical trap.” He looked at Shaaan. “So I know a thing or two about traps.

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