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Mask's assurances?" the shortest man asked suspiciously. "Where were you then?"
"Yes, yes," Elminster snapped back, "but did you any of you actually see
spells being cast or anything of the sort? Words are easily said; 'tis deeds I trust in."
"Well said, stranger," put in a tall, slender man whose chin bore a tiny black spike
of a beard. "However, know you that I cast a shielding spell, if no one else did. It
covers only myself and those close by, but I was not the only one here to do so. As
to the rest, this isle was chosen because Purple Dragons will have to fight their way
through three guardposts and across two bridges to reach it. My name, by the way,
is Khornadar, most recently of Westgate. And you are ?"
"Nameless," Elminster said firmly, his gaze locked with the tall man's eyes.
Familiar eyes. The semblance he'd never seen before, but the man wearing it he'd
met in what was presumably his real shape a few summers back. "Nameless
Cormaeril."
There were dark chuckles, and someone said, "Be welcome, then as long as
you're not like young Thorntower yonder, who spent too long a heated time telling
us that only the nobility understand Cormyr and so only nobles the right nobles,
mind, such as, well, surprise: himself could take the throne or command any effort
to remove the Obarskyrs from it. He even cited as proof of this the superb job our
rightful betters have done guiding the realm thus far!"
Elminster snorted. "Who is this puppy?"
"The one with his nose buried in Tharmoraera's bosom," another man in the circle
said in dry tones, pointing. "You'll notice he finds lowborn flesh quite suitable for his
purposes."
"Well, that's the definition of a noble, isn't it?" someone else grunted then added
hastily, "Ah, no offense meant, lord."
Elminster chuckled. "None taken. Living by wits and the sword in back streets
across Faerun strips away any arrogance of birth right swiftly ... or such has been
my experience, anyway." He looked back at the tall man the minor Red Wizard
Thauvas Zlorn, he was sure, in quite a good magical disguise and asked, "So why
now? This 'Rightful Conspiracy,' I mean? There've been exiles and others who hated
the Obarskyrs for centuries and plenty of Sem-bians happy to toss coin to all
malcontents in Cormyr, in hopes of gaining something in return, but: Westgate? I've
met others here, from farther afield, too. Why now?"
The man calling himself Khornadar smiled coldly and bent forward, pitching his
voice low. So did the others, and Elminster found the circle of plotters rejoined, with
himself part of it.
"Well, Nameless," the disguised Red Wizard purred, "folk with wits are backing
us. This revel's a master-stroke, making fools and rich alike excited to be part of
something secretive and important and bringing them together to shield those really
behind it. We get to know each other by sight and forge a few little friendships on
the side, so everyone feels they benefit . . . thus far, all good. Dangerous, yes, but all
treason's dangerous, no Obarskyr finds welcome here in Marsember, and we
outlanders have easy sailing and other reasons to be here."
Head nodded around the circle. "A boy too young to walk or talk wears Cormyr's
crown while a rutting bitch of a Regent settles scores in his name, many loyal nobles
are angry or afraid, shadow-sorcerers blast things at will up in the
Stonelands Purple Dragons included while the whole realm tries to rebuild and
feed itself. Behold: weakness. The time's right, or better than it's ever been in my
lifetime."
Heads nodded around the circle, and Khornadar went on. "Now look around you.
One more decadent revel in rotting Marsember, yes, but see who's here: the usual
seacaptains, pleasure-lasses, and throne-hating Marsembans, but also exiled nobles
like yourself; a few sons of nobility still welcome in the realm who're disgusted at
what the Obarskyrs have done and allowed; ambitious merchants; and outlanders
like me who see gain in a stronger, fairer Cormyr. Behold both the chance and its
willing takers."
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Dobre pomysły nie mają przeszłości, mają tylko przyszłość. Robert Mallet
De minimis - o najmniejszych rzeczach.
Dobroć jest ważniejsza niż mądrość, a uznanie tej prawdy to pierwszy krok do mądrości. Theodore Isaac Rubin
Dobro to tylko to, co szlachetne, zło to tylko to, co haniebne.
Dla człowieka nie tylko świat otaczający jest zagadką; jest on nią sam dla siebie. I z obu tajemnic bardziej dręczącą wydaje się ta druga. Antoni Kępiński (1918-1972)
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