Author's Note and Standard Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is a
tribute to the Forgotten Realms, its creator and its fans. Certain settings
and characters appearing in this story are © WotC. They are used without
permission and for entertainment purposes only. Some of the characters are
"canon" while others are my own. For those unfamiliar with the Forgotten
Realms, Maskyr's Eye is a tiny village between Calaunt and Mulmaster. All
reviews are welcome.
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PROLOGUE: MASKYR THE ARCHMAGE
The Kingdom of Thar, 02 Marpenoth, DR 1294, the Year of the Deep Moon
The Magister Inhil Lauthdryn strode into the throne room. He had come a long way. There on the dais waited the young prince and his advisor, the archmage Maskyr.
"Maskyr," asked the prince, "perhaps I should leave you two alone?"
"Nay, my prince," said the archmage. "It is best that you remain. I have taught you how to win a kingdom, now I must teach you how to keep it. You must learn how to deal with powerful emissaries such as this." The boy nodded, then sat down in a chair to one side. Maskyr turned toward their visitor and bowed. "Magister Inhil Lauthdryn, I bid you welcome. Welcome to Thar."
"Two-hundred and fifty winters are now gone since you and I last spoke," said the Magister with a warm smile. He came forward, and the two wizards clasped hands firmly. For that brief moment, each stared into the eyes of the other. "That was in the Dalelands, in the court of Aencar the Mantled King. The last I heard, you were in Calaunt."
Maskyr frowned. "The cowardly dukes sent me into exile thirty years ago," he said. "They traded their pride and freedom for a brief span of peace and a few coppers. Did you come here to remind me of my own failures, Inhil?"
"I am sorry, Maskyr," replied the Magister. "I did not mean to belittle your accomplishments here." He glanced over at the boy. "Nor the prince's," he added. "The last Tharkul is dead and the beast-men are finally defeated. Now there is a human king in Thar, and the Grey Lands have become great and free. You have done well."
"I have regained much that was lost." Maskyr went over to the balcony and threw open the great crystalline doors. Beyond lay the rolling hills of Thar, covered in heather, a land now at peace. "What you see is but the start of a lasting realm." The archmage turned to his young prince. "Your ancestor was Aencar, the Mantled King of the Dales. Your great- grandchildren will rule all the Moonsea. The lands of their descendants will encompass all the fair lands of the Dragon Reach, to east and west." He turned back to face their guest, and offered him a chair opposite the prince. "Humans shall once again take their rightful place in the Realms."
"That is, in part, why I have come," said Inhil, taking his seat. "The heirs of Mulm the Great stand in your way."
"Tyrants and usurpers," answered Maskyr, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand. "Soon I will bring them to their knees, and bring hope again to the kindly folk of the Moonsea."
"Mulmaster is a powerful city. How do you hope to accomplish this?" The Magister eyed him cautiously.
"Soon," answered Maskyr, "a storm will arise such as has never before been seen in the North. The thunder will shake the mountains to their very roots, and the seas will rise in anger to whelm those who defile our lands."
"Mulmaster is your enemy, though it lies on a distant shore. You speak of floods and angry seas," said Inhil. His eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice. "I know you have been seeking Rucien Xan, my lord Maskyr. I know what it is that you seek."
"Seek?" The one-eyed archmage laughed. "Say not seek, my good Magister, say found!"
"You have been to Rucien Xan?"
"Yes, and to the hidden temple of the White Worm, and to other places besides."
The Magister's eyes widened. "Then you have learned the Spell of Whelming?"
"I have indeed," said Maskyr.
The Magister sighed, and was silent for a moment, clutching the symbol of Azuth, Lord of Wizards, that he wore about his neck. "Then my visions were true, just as I feared," he said. Inhil looked up at the other archmage. "You are a powerful wizard, Maskyr, perhaps even my own equal. But even I would not dare to cast that perilous spell. Surely you must know what will befall. Since the elves destroyed Jhaamdath long ago, that spell has been forbidden by Azuth."
"The elves reaped more than they had sown when they brought about the destruction of Jhammdath."
"You must not do this, Maskyr," warned the Magister. "Beware! The Spell of Whelming was hidden by the elves for a reason. You would risk flooding all the Moonsea? It could spell the deaths of thousands."
"I will not stand idle again while a good kingdom falls, Inhil." Maskyr said. "Did you learn nothing when we served Aencar? Even now, the forces of Mulmaster marshal against us. I am the court mage now, and I will not fail my monarch again."
The young prince suddenly spoke. "All this he does at my bidding, my lord Magister," he said. He looked up at Maskyr. "The king who cannot hold his own is not a king, is that not what you said?" The one-eyed archmage smiled, as proud as if it were his own son who spoke the words. Inhil Lauthdryn was suddenly very afraid.
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PROLOGUE: MASKYR THE ARCHMAGE
The Kingdom of Thar, 02 Marpenoth, DR 1294, the Year of the Deep Moon
The Magister Inhil Lauthdryn strode into the throne room. He had come a long way. There on the dais waited the young prince and his advisor, the archmage Maskyr.
"Maskyr," asked the prince, "perhaps I should leave you two alone?"
"Nay, my prince," said the archmage. "It is best that you remain. I have taught you how to win a kingdom, now I must teach you how to keep it. You must learn how to deal with powerful emissaries such as this." The boy nodded, then sat down in a chair to one side. Maskyr turned toward their visitor and bowed. "Magister Inhil Lauthdryn, I bid you welcome. Welcome to Thar."
"Two-hundred and fifty winters are now gone since you and I last spoke," said the Magister with a warm smile. He came forward, and the two wizards clasped hands firmly. For that brief moment, each stared into the eyes of the other. "That was in the Dalelands, in the court of Aencar the Mantled King. The last I heard, you were in Calaunt."
Maskyr frowned. "The cowardly dukes sent me into exile thirty years ago," he said. "They traded their pride and freedom for a brief span of peace and a few coppers. Did you come here to remind me of my own failures, Inhil?"
"I am sorry, Maskyr," replied the Magister. "I did not mean to belittle your accomplishments here." He glanced over at the boy. "Nor the prince's," he added. "The last Tharkul is dead and the beast-men are finally defeated. Now there is a human king in Thar, and the Grey Lands have become great and free. You have done well."
"I have regained much that was lost." Maskyr went over to the balcony and threw open the great crystalline doors. Beyond lay the rolling hills of Thar, covered in heather, a land now at peace. "What you see is but the start of a lasting realm." The archmage turned to his young prince. "Your ancestor was Aencar, the Mantled King of the Dales. Your great- grandchildren will rule all the Moonsea. The lands of their descendants will encompass all the fair lands of the Dragon Reach, to east and west." He turned back to face their guest, and offered him a chair opposite the prince. "Humans shall once again take their rightful place in the Realms."
"That is, in part, why I have come," said Inhil, taking his seat. "The heirs of Mulm the Great stand in your way."
"Tyrants and usurpers," answered Maskyr, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand. "Soon I will bring them to their knees, and bring hope again to the kindly folk of the Moonsea."
"Mulmaster is a powerful city. How do you hope to accomplish this?" The Magister eyed him cautiously.
"Soon," answered Maskyr, "a storm will arise such as has never before been seen in the North. The thunder will shake the mountains to their very roots, and the seas will rise in anger to whelm those who defile our lands."
"Mulmaster is your enemy, though it lies on a distant shore. You speak of floods and angry seas," said Inhil. His eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice. "I know you have been seeking Rucien Xan, my lord Maskyr. I know what it is that you seek."
"Seek?" The one-eyed archmage laughed. "Say not seek, my good Magister, say found!"
"You have been to Rucien Xan?"
"Yes, and to the hidden temple of the White Worm, and to other places besides."
The Magister's eyes widened. "Then you have learned the Spell of Whelming?"
"I have indeed," said Maskyr.
The Magister sighed, and was silent for a moment, clutching the symbol of Azuth, Lord of Wizards, that he wore about his neck. "Then my visions were true, just as I feared," he said. Inhil looked up at the other archmage. "You are a powerful wizard, Maskyr, perhaps even my own equal. But even I would not dare to cast that perilous spell. Surely you must know what will befall. Since the elves destroyed Jhaamdath long ago, that spell has been forbidden by Azuth."
"The elves reaped more than they had sown when they brought about the destruction of Jhammdath."
"You must not do this, Maskyr," warned the Magister. "Beware! The Spell of Whelming was hidden by the elves for a reason. You would risk flooding all the Moonsea? It could spell the deaths of thousands."
"I will not stand idle again while a good kingdom falls, Inhil." Maskyr said. "Did you learn nothing when we served Aencar? Even now, the forces of Mulmaster marshal against us. I am the court mage now, and I will not fail my monarch again."
The young prince suddenly spoke. "All this he does at my bidding, my lord Magister," he said. He looked up at Maskyr. "The king who cannot hold his own is not a king, is that not what you said?" The one-eyed archmage smiled, as proud as if it were his own son who spoke the words. Inhil Lauthdryn was suddenly very afraid.