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
a pious priest and nodded slowly, contriving to look a trifle on the sad side of thoughtful.
One of the women—he dared not look to see who—snorted in clear derision. Well, aye,
his act was barely believable, he had to give her that.
However, Lord Halaunt’s words had worked. Attention had left the old noble; every
last guest was now focused on Elminster, and they were all sidling toward him.
He had to firmly squash another urge to laugh. This was as good as a play.
He just hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be the sort of production where bodies piled
up on the stage …
“Sage of Shadowdale,” Shaaan murmured, as she reached Elminster and halted shoulder
to shoulder, so she was looking past him but able to speak sidelong into his ear,
“I’m sure a man who’s lived the sort of long and interesting life you have must have
made many enemies, and accumulated many debts. I’m not called a queen for nothing;
the wealth I could share with you could smooth away your every material want …”
She broke off as Maraunth Torr got close enough to obviously listen in, and added
only, “Don’t forget this offer,” as she glided away.
Elminster turned and followed her, ignoring Maraunth Torr as if he’d been a pillar
or a piece of furniture, and when she noticed this and whirled, he gave her a chuckle
and the words, “Deftly done, lass. Not a hint of the salacious, just the coins proffered.
Not that such blandishments have worked on me for the last twelve centuries or so.
But I thank ye for the entertainment.”
Shaaan hissed, then asked, “And how are you at receiving
threats
?”
El shrugged. “Depends. How menacing are
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
a pious priest and nodded slowly, contriving to look a trifle on the sad side of thoughtful.
One of the women—he dared not look to see who—snorted in clear derision. Well, aye,
his act was barely believable, he had to give her that.
However, Lord Halaunt’s words had worked. Attention had left the old noble; every
last guest was now focused on Elminster, and they were all sidling toward him.
He had to firmly squash another urge to laugh. This was as good as a play.
He just hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be the sort of production where bodies piled
up on the stage …
“Sage of Shadowdale,” Shaaan murmured, as she reached Elminster and halted shoulder
to shoulder, so she was looking past him but able to speak sidelong into his ear,
“I’m sure a man who’s lived the sort of long and interesting life you have must have
made many enemies, and accumulated many debts. I’m not called a queen for nothing;
the wealth I could share with you could smooth away your every material want …”
She broke off as Maraunth Torr got close enough to obviously listen in, and added
only, “Don’t forget this offer,” as she glided away.
Elminster turned and followed her, ignoring Maraunth Torr as if he’d been a pillar
or a piece of furniture, and when she noticed this and whirled, he gave her a chuckle
and the words, “Deftly done, lass. Not a hint of the salacious, just the coins proffered.
Not that such blandishments have worked on me for the last twelve centuries or so.
But I thank ye for the entertainment.”
Shaaan hissed, then asked, “And how are you at receiving
threats
?”
El shrugged. “Depends. How menacing are
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