Spellstorm Read online

  FORGOTTEN REALMS®

  ED GREENWOOD

  SAGE OF SHADOWDALE

  Elminster: The Making of a Mage

  Elminster in Myth Drannor

  The Temptation of Elminster

  Elminster in Hell

  Elminster’s Daughter

  Elminster Must Die

  Bury Elminster Deep

  Elminster Enraged

  The Herald (Book VI of The Sundering)

  Spellstorm

  THE KNIGHT OF MYTH DRANNOR

  Swords of Eveningstar

  Swords of Dragonfire

  The Sword Never Sleeps

  SHANDRIL’S SAGE

  Spellfire

  Crown of Fire

  Hand of Fire

  THE SHADOW OF THE AVATAR

  Shadows of Doom

  Cloak of Shadows

  All Shadows Fled

  THE HARPERS

  Stormlight

  THE CORMYR SAGE

  Cormyr: A Novel (with Jeff Grubb)

  Death of the Dragon (with Troy Denning)

  ALSO BY ED GREENWOOD

  Silverfall: Stories of the Seven Sisters

  The City of Splendors: A Waterdeep Novel (with Elaine Cunningham)

  The Best of the Realms, Book II: The Stories of Ed Greenwood

  SPELLSTORM

  ©2015 Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Manufactured by: Hasbro SA, Rue Emile-Boéchat 31, 2800 Delémont, CH. Represented by Hasbro Europe, 2 Roundwood Ave, Stockley Park, Uxbridge, Middlesex, UB11 1AZ, UK.

  FORGOTTEN REALMS, D&D, WIZARDS OF THE COAST, their respective logos, and the dragon ampersand are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC, in the U.S.A. and other countries.

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All Wizards of the Coast characters, character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Cartography: Mike Schley

  Cover: Aleksi Briclot

  ISBN: 978-0-7869-6571-7

  ISBN: 978-0-7869-6584-7 (ebook)

  620B2369000001 EN

  Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the Library of Congress

  Contact Us at Wizards.com/CustomerService

  Wizards of the Coast LLC, PO Box 707, Renton, WA 98057-0707, USA

  USA & Canada: (800) 324-6496 or (425) 204-8069

  Europe: +32(0) 70 233 277

  Visit our web site at www.DungeonsandDragons.com

  v3.1

  To Jenny,

  For everything and more.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Sipping Choice Wines at the Dragon Rampant

  Chapter 2: What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

  Chapter 3: No Shortage of Dark Schemers

  Chapter 4: It’s All Up To You

  Chapter 5: Very Bad, Very Soon

  Chapter 6: Laughter, Threats, and a Little Truth

  Chapter 7: A Feast to Die For

  Chapter 8: A Surprising Evening

  Chapter 9: Behold the Best Preening Idiot

  Chapter 10: A Sword Is Always Easier

  Chapter 11: A Little Tumult

  Chapter 12: A Truce Among Wizards

  Chapter 13: What Lord Halaunt Was Up To

  Chapter 14: Crudeness and Comeuppance

  Chapter 15: The Army That Came Too Late

  Chapter 16: Too Many Murderers

  Chapter 17: Manshoon’s Magnificent Moment

  Chapter 18: Dark and Stormy Knights

  Chapter 19: Hunting the Sleeping Snake

  Chapter 20: The Snake Sleepeth Not

  Chapter 21: This Isn’t Over Yet

  1. Front Entrance

  2. Great Entry Hall

  3. Red Receiving Room

  4. Servery (accesses 3 through sliding panels; reached via cellar-level passage from 16)

  5. Feast Dumbwaiter Antechamber (dumbwaiter elevator from cellar-level Underservery; also goes to disused upper floor)

  6. Library

  7. Front Staircase (cellar/ground floor/upper floor)

  8. Servants’ Stair (ground floor/cellars)

  9. Summer Room (lounge)

  10. Armor Court

  11. “The Passage” (Hall of Ancestors)

  12. Blue Chamber

  13. Copper Receiving Room

  14. Feast Hall

  15. Kitchen

  16. Butlery

  17. Back Kitchen

  18. Kitchen Stairs (servants’ use: cellars [cold cellar and wine cellar adjacent to bottom of stair]/upper floor)

  19. South Servery

  20. Pantry

  21. Larder

  22. Green Audience Chamber

  23. South Stairs (cellars/upper floor [upper floor: servants’ quarters and storage attics, currently ruinous])

  24. Withdrawing Room

  25. Parlor

  26. Fire Stair (spiral)

  27. Guest Bedchamber (assigned to Elminster)

  28. Nursery (used by servants)

  29. Family Bedchamber (used by servants; assigned to Myrmeen)

  30. Family Bedchamber (used by servants; assigned to Mirt)

  31. Lord Halaunt’s Receiving Room

  32. Lord’s Wine Antechamber

  33. Lord Halaunt’s Bedchamber

  34. Lord’s Wardrobe

  35. Lord’s Retiring Room/Robing Room

  36. Lord’s Lounge (assigned to Tabra as her bedchamber)

  37. Lord’s Study

  38. Guest Servants’ Bedchamber (vacant)

  39. Guest Bedchamber (assigned to Malchor Harpell as his bedchamber)

  40. Guest Bedchamber (assigned to Manshoon as his bedchamber)

  41. Guest Bedchamber (assigned to Skouloun as his bedchamber)

  42. Guest Bedchamber (assigned to Maraunth Torr as his bedchamber)

  43. Guest Bedchamber (assigned to Calathlarra as her bedchamber)

  44. Guest Servants’ Bedchamber (vacant)

  45. Ladies’ Lounge (assigned to Shaaan the Serpent Queen as her bedchamber)

  46. Chamber of the Founder (statue of first Lord Halaunt [used as guests’ lounge])

  47. Grand Staircase (cellars [furniture repair workshop, bulk larder stores]/ground floor/upper floor [ten vacant guest bedchambers])

  48. Statue Chamber

  49. Linens Closet

  50. Bathing Chamber

  51. Trophy Chamber

  52. Garderobe

  53. Documents Room

  54. Messengers’ Bedchamber (vacant)

  55. Messengers’ Lounge

  56. Guest Wardrobe

  57. Armory

  58. Guest Bedchamber (assigned to Yusendre as her bedchamber)

  59. Guest Bedchamber (assigned to Alastra Hathwinter as her bedchamber)

  60. Guests’ Storage Room/Wardrobe/overflow Guest Servants’ Bedchamber (vacant)

  61. Guest Servants’ Hall

  62. Storeroom

  63. Prayer Room

  64. Writing Room

  65. Dancers’ Robing Room

  66. Garderobe

  67. Garderobe

  68. Dancing Hall

  69. Plate and Cutlery (“secret stair” at end, cellars/ground floor/upper floor)

  Seek no morrow, but make war ready; heed what I darkly warn

  For you face blood, sorrow, fell treachery, and dread spell
storm.

  Bardraskur, Bard of Immersea

  A Dark Day for Cormyr

  Published circa the Year of the Helm

  CHAPTER 1

  Sipping Choice Wines at the Dragon Rampant

  SPYING ON BEHALF OF THE CROWN COULD GET FAR WORSE THAN THIS.

  Tarnmark Lionmantle let the rich, tart Brodolvan red sluice its delightful way around his mouth until his tongue flirted with the edge of numbness, then swallowed. It burned wonderfully, all the way down. Truly, the older Chessentan vintages were coming into their own.

  And wasn’t that the sort of arch and airy comment a noble would make. Hmmph.

  He still didn’t feel like one, thanks to a dead father and an impoverished mother who’d been a commoner for far more years than she’d been styled “Lady.” Not to mention how, in his own ongoing service as a wizard of war, he was constantly being told what to do by mages whose every uttered word reminded him, often defiantly, that they came from far more humble families.

  Tarn took a suitably dainty forkful of his plum-and-cheese tart, just the thing to cleanse the palate between roast stag and the usual platter of darkwine-drenched eels—ugh—and sat back in his chair. Across the table, his supper companion took this as a signal that Tarn wanted to talk. And since “talk” meant, to Lord Lareth Hardcastle the Younger, “gossip like a chambermaid,” that’s what Lareth did.

  The fair-haired noble with the ridiculous new side-whiskers he was so proud of leaned forward conspiratorially across the table. Breathing great gusts of onion-and-pineapple flummery into Tarn’s face, he whispered, “Old Halaunt’s come alone tonight. They’re saying he hasn’t even coin enough left to hire a doxy for half an evening. Guess it’ll be a lonely night of looking through the naughty etchings for him.”

  Tarnmark carefully did not turn his head to regard Lord Halaunt, whom he’d been watching sidelong for most of the evening. Of all the diners in the exclusive and expensive Dragon Rampant on whom he was spying on this unusually warm night in late Tarsakh of the Year of Dwarvenkind Reborn, Halaunt bore the nastiest reputation by far. Which was a large part of the reason the man was dining alone.

  Halaunt had few friends, and no one was likely to strike up an acquaintance with a man so hunched and grim, who glared down at his plate as if he wanted to start a feud with it.

  The old noble gave off a tension Tarn could feel, a readiness to erupt that meant … danger.

  And no wonder. Certain senior courtiers were of the opinion that Lord Sardasper Halaunt had run through almost all of his coin, and was now on the brink of doing something desperate to replenish his coffers.

  And anyone in the Forest Kingdom whose memory spanned more than a decade or so knew that “something desperate,” among nobles of Cormyr, all too often involved not just the illicit, but also actions dangerous to the realm.

  “Perhaps so,” he murmured to Lareth. “Or perhaps he’s here on business.”

  Hardcastle snorted. “Business? Since when did yon darkbeak dirty his hands with any sort of work, or warm his brains with trying to count coins? Isn’t that what got him into his present, ah, circumstances?”

  Tarnmark shrugged. Darkbeaks were vultures of the Stonelands, and the term was fitting. Lord Halaunt was a nasty, grasping, reclusive widower of expensive tastes, and the Dragon Rampant was the only club in Suzail he’d ever set boot in, so far as the Crown spies knew. The man did count coins, and seek to hold on to them, too, sometimes in the face of the royal tax collectors. He’d ruined investors in the past who’d joined him in ventures, when matters had turned sour. As the saying went, he was one of “those who takes care to get more than even.”

  “Have you not heard the rumors?” Tarn murmured across the pleasant aroma of their still-steaming tarts, leaning forward and speaking quietly in hopes of keeping Hardcastle quiet enough for the old lord not to overhear himself being discussed. “Regarding the Lost Spell?”

  Lareth smote his own forehead. “Gods above and serpents below! I’d quite forgotten they were buckled to yon old lordship! ’Tis not as if he comes wrapped in the mantle of wizardry when you call him to mind, now, hey?”

  “Indeed,” Tarn replied warningly, frowning and lowering his voice still further.

  Hardcastle finally took the hint, and delivered his next words in a hiss that would have roused any snakes that might have been hiding in the far corners of the room. “I’ve never heard he had any aptitude for the Art at all! Isn’t he one of those who dismissed their father’s house wizard, and never hired a replacement?”

  “He is,” Tarn confirmed, as—with some difficulty through the usual loud laughter of Lord Talcontin—his ears caught “Halaunt” and “spell” from two different tables behind him. Rumors were racing around the room regarding Lord Halaunt; the same talk he’d heard throughout uppercrust Suzail these last two days.

  Though the Lord of Oldspires had never shown any aptitude for magic before, it was now being noised about that he’d somehow come into possession of a world-shaking enchantment wizards called the Lost Spell—and was prepared to sell it to the highest bidder.

  This might all be so much fancy, of course, but Halaunt himself had been spreading word of it since his arrival in the city five days back. So it was truth, or the least subtle lure Tarn could recall since the matter of Lord Varweather’s three daughters …

  “One last high table ere it’s back to fried cows and barn wine, hey, Halaunt?” old Lord Rathdale growled amiably, on his lurching way across the room to his own table.

  Lord Halaunt gave him a curt nod. “You’ll be welcome at Oldspires if your offer is suitably rich,” he growled. “Otherwise, Horarrus …”

  “You prefer prettier guests, I know.” Rathdale flung back over his shoulder as he settled himself into his chair and thrust one foot up onto his gout stool with a grateful grunt.

  Tarn applied himself to his tart again. So it was true; Halaunt would be returning on the morrow to the seclusion of his country mansion, Oldspires, to entertain suitably rich offers for the spell.

  It seemed Halaunt’s Lost Spell was the most interesting matter on offer in the Dragon that night; Tarn had made his own stroll to the garderobe thrice in hopes of hearing better, but all he’d overheard was the tawdry usual. In that corner Lord Alamber and Lord Battlebar were arguing the relative merits of their respective stables from adjacent tables while their wives yawned and frankly dozed, while over there Lord Darstan was smugly informing Lord Harcourt that, as a matter of fact, he owned the three fastest caravels berthed in Suzail or Marsember and wouldn’t part with them for coin or cozening—though he might entertain parting with them for three castles per caravel, provided they were the right three castles.

  While over here, in his usual braying high spirits, Lord Talcontin was still trumpeting his triumphs to his table of kin and guests—several of the more impoverished noble couples, like the Orthwoods and the young widow Lady Scatterstars. “So I said to him, ‘Chalauncey,’ I said, ‘that’s not a horse—that’s what happens when a Sembian lets his cattle in to breed with his neighbor’s giant goats!’ Aww haw haw hah haw ho haw!”

  Crown and Throne, but the man was loud!

  Tarn weighed the relative merits of “accidentally” moving one of the empty chairs at his table in such a manner as to swing its legs with vigor into contact with the back of Talcontin’s head. Such a tactic would fleetingly win this end of the room a little peace, yet the feuds that would undoubtedly result would last for years, perhaps generations. Regretfully, he decided those disputes would hamper his daily work far too much to be the favored option.

  “Well, he was less than pleased, I can tell you! So—”

  Talcontin brayed on, but quite suddenly Tarn was no longer hearing him. Rather, he was hastily replenishing his goblet of Brodolvan so it could serve as a cover for watching a new arrival cross the table-studded floor of the Dragon’s dining chamber.

  He was a stranger, slender and darkly handsome, with the confident air of a lord co
mfortable giving commands, an unreadable and gently smiling face, and the cold eyes of a ruthless murderer. Tarn dropped his gaze hastily, knowing the man had noticed his scrutiny—along with, quite likely, minute observable details of every other person in the room.

  Gazing into the crimson depths of his wine, Tarn Lionmantle knew he’d never seen this man before, and yet … knew him. So then, from where?

  Ah. Tarn’s momentary frown fled for a moment, only to return full force. One of the “heed all” warnings, that was it. The alerts sent out to all wizards of war, so often these days that they tended to become an unheeded blizzard, one blurring together with the next. The man wending his easy way among the tables, headed in Tarn’s direction, closely matched a description in one of those warnings. What was it, now? The latest Sembian trying to buy up half of eastern Cormyr on the sly? No …

  Ah, he had it now. This guest, now indicating to one of the Dragon’s deft plattermen the empty table of his choice, which was just the far side of Halaunt, was a powerful wizard seen often in Cormyr; one who came and went as he pleased without bothering to report his strong mastery of the Art to any wizard of war. A dark archmage with frequent dealings in Westgate and Zhentil Keep, two cities that were no friends to the Forest Kingdom. A man to be watched, but also to beware of. Rumored to be the son, or a lookalike of—or even the very same man, kept young over the passing years through fell magic—a powerful man of Westgate. A criminal. Orbakh, that was the name; a Westar said by many to be a vampire.

  And if he remembered Ganrahast’s words correctly, Orbakh of Westgate had been one of the “many Manshoons” magically crafted by the first Manshoon, the Lord of Zhentil Keep who had founded the Zhentarim.

  Wonderful. Why did such things always have to happen on his shift?

  This Manshoon had just ordered a meal, and tall, slender bottles of something exotic from the South were already on their way to his table.

  Tarn turned his head away and devoted himself to Hardcastle’s gossip with far more dedication than it deserved, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he tilted his head just so—so the tall gold-and-silver salt-castle in front of him provided a small but perfect window of reflection that showed him Manshoon.

  Damned if the man wasn’t winking at him!