Spellstorm by Ed Greenwood

bosom rather deliciously. Alusair made both of Lord Halaunt’s eyebrows go up, but inwardly felt not the slightest astonishment. Someone was bound to try, ah, fleshly wiles, and Alastra at least had the looks for it.
    She was surprised when Yusendre of Nimbral tried the same tactic, but even more boldly—making a whispered promise—and confessed to a sensual longing to experience and master new spells. Was every last female mage here going to rush straight to the seduction gambit? Even when their looks couldn’t compete? What happened to using sharp wits to come up with alternatives?
    By the Purple Dragon, the two women could warm a chill mansion all by themselves. Perhaps they should be installed in fireplaces at either end of the grandrooms, so the others could relax cozily of evenings …
    The other Elder of Nimbral, Skouloun, gave more or less the same reason as Malchor, asserting that he himself was the most trustworthycustodian of the Lost Spell—for he would use it to smite evildoers, tyrants, and those who hoarded magic, not to mention rout the most dangerous monsters all across Faerûn, to usher in a new era of peace and prosperity, to better the lives of all.
    Ye gods, what wind! It was tiring just listening to Skouloun, not that she believed him.
    How fare you, El? Growing tired of the sheer piffle being served up yet? I am .
    Lass, lass, after so many centuries, I breathe in piffle with every passing moment, and speak it out almost as often. Look upon it as entertainment, lass—as royalty, I’d’ve thought ye would have resorted to that tactic for retaining thy sanity long ago .
    The ghost sent him a mental snort. Retaining my sanity? Too late, Sage of Shadowdale! Much too late .
    El sent her back a mental chuckle.
    While she as Lord Halaunt had been collecting answers, he hadn’t been indulging in mere idle banter while serving cheese and drinkables.
    More than once questions were put to him about his presence, sometimes in a hostile manner. Skouloun had observed, “This is Lord Halaunt’s home, so his presence here is both natural and expected. But just what are you doing here? Want the Lost Spell for yourself, do you?”
    El gave him a catlike little smile that he’d spent some time in front of mirrors practicing, after having seen Amarune do it, and replied, “I am here to help in deciding which of ye—if any—is worthy of possessing the Lost Spell.”
    “Surely that should be a matter for our host,” Skouloun protested, waving one hand grandly in the direction of Lord Halaunt—as one of those awkward little lulls that happens early in almost any gathering of strangers or hostiles befell.
    Leaving everyone gazing with interest at their host, to see what the bitter old noble would do.
    Which, it turned out, was to give them all a level look and tell them, “We shall decide to yield the Lost Spell to just one of you, as I see that as the way to cause Cormyr—and all Toril, beyond—a minimum of strife and affray. ‘We’ because I hired Elminster to be my steward, as matters of magic are new and uncomfortable to me, and he has a certain reputation for competency. Or longevity, which when dealing with deadly spells seems to me to be very much the same thing. I trust that I know people ,but not spells. So, all of you, know this: I trust Elminster of Shadowdale absolutely, and have placed half of the measure of judgment in this matter in his hands. Not to mention the Lost Spell itself, which he tells me he’s hidden where only he shall ever find it.”
    All eyes turned to Elminster, who had to quell his inner amusement from rising to his face. Even when playing a stiff old noble, Alusair had certainly mastered the art of painting a target on a fellow. Still, this should help to force some of the wizards here to try one approach with the lord, and another with his steward, and so betray their own true worth.
    El decided the best tactic, just now, was to look grave. He steepled his fingers like