Chapter Two

Far south of Candlekeep, the city of Murann still bore the scars from war two years earlier. The white-washed grey-stone walls were smudged with the ash from the fires that had once devourted the city. More than half of the towers of the city had yet to be repaired, standing in noble-looking, but still crippling, dissarray. As Algerias, mounted beside Elizabeth Delryn, the formidable aunt of Anomen Delryn, approached the city, he felt a great disgust. This place had once been the jewel of the south. Now, it was a scorched, charred shell. Outside the new gatehouse, which was, to the credit of Lord Firecam's two-year rule, fully-functional and looking nigh-impregnable, a vast shanty town of tents and canopies had erupted. The wizard looked at the teeming masses of people, shouting insults and calls to purchase goods, and was surprised at himself that he had to fight back an urge to blast them into ash with a fireball.

Nalia would never stand for it, he told himself sternly. It would shatter her rule beyond any chance of repair.

Algerias had volunteered, when the High Cowl had wanted someone to betray Nalia. Yet upon standing alongside the Lady de'Arnise, he discovered that there was something about her that he liked. He disliked her soft-heartedness, and the way she allowed love to rule her heart. But she was, in her skill for intrigue and her magical power, an incredible woman. Although Algerias was, in his own words, the worst of bad pennies, he had grown to respect Nalia, warily. That respect had blossomed into admiration, and that admiration had grown into adoration.

And it helped that Nalia had brought to Amn some of its greatest prosperity in many years, although many merchants would not acknowledge it. Her taxes had cut deep into their pockets, and had gone towards building centres of academic schooling for all childre, towards getting the poor of the streets. Algerias had argued against that first, vehemently, but even he could now see the benefits. In fifteen years, the nation would benefit from more intelligent citizens, who understood clearly questions which many grown men failed to understand. It reduced squallor, allowed the poor to work more efficiently, furthering trade. Coin, which had always poured into Amn, was rushing like a river of gold - and a lot of it was rushing to Nalia's government, rather than the merchants.

"This is a bedraggled city... but it has spirit."

Lady Delryn's voice was haughty, but it warmed when it praised the place. Algerias glanced at her. For a woman aged fifty, she was an attractive woman. Raven-black hair was tinted with grey. Her lips looked pinched, and wrinkles clasped to the corner of her eyes. Yet there was a sense of steel in her eyes. This was the woman who had fought Anomen's father, who had used her contacts to gain the boy acceptance as a squire. This was the woman who had taken the Delryn holdings into her deft hands, moving her House into firm position as one of the more powerful families in Amn. She was completely loyal to Nalia, as well, and had already driven plotters out of her lands, in coffins.

He snorted, "It looks like Lord Kossuth, God of Flame, has shat all over it."

The venerable woman pursed her lips. "Have some decorum, wizard." She swept an imperious gaze over the shanty town, and then nodded. "I see why you speak as you do. Your gaze does not go deep enough. Having come from Athkatla's splendour, you see a semi-ruined city, struggling to recover. Scratch the surface though... see deeper, and this city is a place that is teeming with resilience. Gold pours in from the north, you know this. Lord Firecam administered it fairly and well. The walls were collapsed in many places, when Nalia became Open Councillor. Now look at them. Although they are blackened, they could still hold off a large army. And I hear the docks are impressive, as well."

Algerias remained silent. There was no point arguing with the woman. She was intelligent, and opinionated, and as stubborn as tempered steel, and when she believed something to be true, she would never admit she was wrong. And she might even be correct in this, but stubbornness was a trait that Algerias also possessed, and he would not admit he had been wrong in his first impressions until he desperately had to.

The wizard turned his attention to their honour guard, or, for want of a better term, 'army'.

Nalia was no fool, and so she had ensured that Lady Delryn arrived in the south with forces enough to discourage any open rebellion. In the van, impressive in their gleaming silver armour, rode twenty paladins, with blue plumes sparkling from their helms. Three standard bearers carrying the separate banners of Amn, House Delryn and the Order of the Radiant Heart rode with them, their chins lifted in pride. Behind the paladins, one hundred knights rode with ease and grace. From the banner, no doubt, it would look like a small river of molten, living silver marching towards the city. As well as the mounted warriors, camped five miles to the east a thousand pikemen waited with Lady Delryn's swordmaster and general, Jonaten Vault. Nalia had (quite aptly too, thought Algerias) surmised that anything that required greater forces would have been noticed by her scryings.

As more and more people noticed their approach, and as the column drew nearer to the city, Algerias could see crowds gathering. They had seen the banners of the standard bearers, no doubt. He could hear cheering, and enthusiastic shouting. No doubt they thought Nalia would be here, but the archmage had decided that the plotters were more likely to show themselves if they thought they could succeed against Lady Delryn. Few were brave enough to attempt the destruction of the Open Councillor.

Not yet, at least.

From the gatehouse, came the brazen sound of trumpets, and Algerias saw the gates open slowly. A small column or riders - about ten, he judged - spurred themselves forward. The crowds scattered. Algerias, ever cautious, dropped his hand into his component pouch and pulled out a ball of sulphur and bat guano, ready to summon a fireball to protect Lady Delryn. Looking around, he saw the paladins, unconcerned. They always like to reason things out peacefully, before attacking, the light-worshipping fools.

Algerias did not like paladins, and found that the silver-armoured warriors reciprocated that feeling exactly. They could sense his dark soul, that he knew. They had even begged Nalia to remove him from her inner council, but in this, Nalia's soft heart allowed her to be iron-like in her firmness. He remembered her words, that cracked like thunder, perfectly.

"Sirs," she had said,"Algerias has proved himself to me many times over. Am I any worse than the most evil of tyrants if I remove him from my presence because of his affinity for darkness? I serve good, and remain fair and just - and I expect him to do so. Until he breaks a law, I will not disown my friends."

Friends.

Algerias had no friends, and even he had snorted at her use of that word. But the more he thought of it, the more he had grown to like it. Nalia had been kind to him, had shown him loyalty since she had become ruler. She had forgiven him when he told her he had once been loyal to the High Cowl - after all, she had suspected it already. As long as she never found out about his murders, done for her cause, he could easily imagine himself remaining loyal to her. From a purely selfish point of view, if he removed Nalia, he would have no-one to protect him from the cowled wizards and the retribution he knew would come.

The riders drew closer, and, as Elizabeth reined in her mount, Algerias did the same. Sir Lloyd, the paladin in command, called, "Column, halt!"

In silence, they waited.

As the ten riders approached, Algerias studied them intently. One caught his attention immediately. A soft-featured, blond-haired man in silks, who rode with a little difficulty. He looked like a dandy and his eyes wandered with ill-concealed glee over the armoured men in the column. A man-eater, Algerias commented drily in his head, and stored the face in his mind for potential blackmail or bribery. Another was a man all in black cloth, of the finest weave, but black cloth nonetheless. Black hair was cropped short, and his grey eyes darted with irritation at the dandy. Algerias could read the falseness in that gaze though, as easily as he could read the professional way in which he rode and the way one hand remained at all times near, or on, the hilt of his blade. An experienced warrior, who is playing at hating the dandy. Other than soldiers, the only other man of interest was elderly, with bedraggled beard and tired eyes. He was pointedly ignoring the dandy and the black-clad warrior. A representative of another faction in the city, then?

There was a long, tense silence, until the elderly man spoke, bowing in the saddle, "Lady Delryn, welcome to Murann. We received a magically sent missive from the Lady de'Arnise, informing us of your imminent arrival. I am Lord Doffspur, Chamberlain of the Court. The late Lord Firecam appointed me as ruler in his will." He paused there, and Algerias noted that there was much left unsaid. With his voice, a deep-throated affair that hovered on the edge of frailty, he continued, "This," as he pointed to the dandy, "is Massan Iverlorn, the son of..."

"I know who he is," Elizabeth said instantly, and Algerias kept his face composed, to hide the fact that he was deeply impressed. But the new ruler of Murann did not stop there. Quickly, her words curt and her tone broaching on impatience, but seeming very dignified at the same time, she said, "He is the son of Lord Iverlorn, who has established a profitable trading coster in Maztica. The most able student of... arithmetic, Murann has seen in years."

The dandy blinked, and, uneasily, it seemed, sketched a bow which caused his horse to skip once to the side, before he frantically righted the animal. Elizabeth coninuted speaking then, as the chamberlain opened his mouth to introduce the other man, "And I also know of Lord Tell Marivaun, commander of three garrisons in the south. After... what was it... three superiors died?"

Her gaze found Marivaun, and fixed him with a steely gaze, her brow quirked in silent question. "Well?" she asked, when no answer was forthcoming.

Reluctantly, Marivaun murmured, "Five."

Elizabeth smiled sweetly, even if she was completely insincere, "Lucky you." Her eyes wandered over the men-at-arms who were straight-backed and formal, and she nodded once. "I also know of Arrival Broad. Commander of the Golden Stars Mercenary Company."

Lord Doffspur gaped, and turned to face the man Elizabeth addressed. "Arrival Broad was forbidden to leave the city, by the regency council..." Even though he was old, his words carried a hint of a threat, and Algerias noted with interest that although the dandy Iverlorn and Marivaun snorted, they looked away, as if scared, or at least wary. It seemed as if the chamberlain carried some power, then, and was not just a figurehead.

"Since I am now Lady of Murann, I give Arrival Broad my permission to remain in my presence. Though I would like him to discuss the reasons behind this forbiddance..."

And then Algerias began to think less, and to read with as much instinctive understanding as he could, the expressions on the faces of the nobles, merchant and mercenary, along with the inflections in their voices. They fancy themselves difficult to read, but they are more transparent than the stupidest cowled wizard. Algerias had, alongside his brother, learned the hard way, that as a cowled wizard, honesty was fatal. Born a bastard out of deceit, and raised by a consummate lier, alongside a cunning brother in an organisation so filled with intrigue it made Zhentil Keep look pleasant, Algerias considered himself one of the more adept deceivers out here. And these men would not know what hit them, when he began to work in his silent ways.

Clothed in non-descript clothing of brown trousers and a cream-coloured shirt, Algerias stalked through the sewers of the city with an ease that had come from years of nefarious deeds. His short hair and finely trimmed goatee were less noticeable, with the charcoal that he had smudged over his face to blend in with the dark shadows of the undercity. Flint-grey eyes gazed warily around him, with one hand kept always on his spellpouch, the other occasionally patting the backpack slung over his shoulder, which held his spellbook. Around his neck, a necklace set with a diamond provided enough light for him to see within the dark sewers of Murann.

Algerias had lived for nearly thirty-nine years, but certain spells and draughts had kept his handsome appearance. It could not be said that he was pretty. With his deep voice, self-assured and confident, and his strongly-muscled form, weakness, or effeminacy of any kind was far away indeed. And so he was unconcerned as he walked through the rippling waters. Many of the sewer systems were completely destroyed, but enough of them remained, that Algerias could find his way to where he wanted to be with enough thought.

Time to seek an old ally, he had told himself when it became obvious Nalia would ask him to journey south to aid Lady Delryn. And so, he had travelled into Athkatla's sewers, to send the ally south to Murann, where he would wait for Algerias to make contact. As the wizard passed a shattered culvert that intermittently sprayed or trickled clean water, he found that he was smiling. His ally and his loyal warriors would be perfect for the jobs Algerias wanted done. Murder, intimidation, bribery, robbery, perhaps even arson. After just one afternoon in Murann, meeting delegates, nobles and merchants alongside Elizabeth, Algerias already had a considerable list of targets, and it would be impossible for him to strike at them all on his own.

Help was required.

A sudden slap of a foot in the water behind him made him turn. In the shadows, two men moved, blades held before them. He clenched his fists, and turned to faced them, calling, "Can I help you two gentlemen with anything? I am rather busy, you see..."

One of them guffawed. "Help 'im? Help Guzga an' Marlon? Well... iffen it's not the cocky noble wizard wiv the bitch lady from the north... what do you say, Guzga, we want 'is 'elp wiv anyfink?"

The other man shrugged, and then shook his head.

"Didn' fink so... you see, cocky-man, Guzga don't speak much. He's Guzga the Silent, dontcha know, an' well... we've bin asked to get ye outta the way."

Algerias snorted. "I see. Well... thank you for clarifying that. I will have to disillusion you... you see, I'm a wizard, and I want you to die!"

He flung his hand forward as he said it, but blinked when his blast of fire bounced off a magic shield that had gone unnoticed in the dark. Algerias cursed, as the two men moved forward, extremely fast. One moved to the right, another to the left. Algerias panicked, and stepped backwards, only to trip on a loose piece of rock. Two blades flashed down, and then Algerias' contingencies sprang up.

Stone turned the slashes of the blades.

Standing up quickly now, Algerias turned first to Marlon. He began to incant several arcane syllables, and then gestured roughly. A line of purplse magic leaped from his finger, to the attacker. Instantly, Marlon began to scream, as the magic tore pieces of skin from his body. Blood sprayed across the black walls of the sewers, some of it splashing Algerias. Terrified, the screams continued, until Marlon lay in the rushing water, a mass of torn flesh, rather than a man. Algerias turned now to Guzga, who, even in the dim light offered by Algerias' glowing necklace, paled. Guzga started to run, and Algerias grinned.

Spinning his fingers swiftly, he finished chanting a brief spell. Something flickered between him and Guzga, a sense of heat, more than anything, and next minute, the would-be murderer was doubled over in pain. Algerias watched, with some relish, as Guzga started to writhe around. His eyes found Algerias', as if begging for release from this pain. Minutely, Algerias shook his head, watching as Guzga bit his lip.

Blood trickled down his chin, and Algerias chuckled quietly as he saw the blood beginning to burn into the pale skin. Beltyn's Burning Blood was a terrible, agonising spell, which turned the blood to molten flame. It would kill the victim slowly, and was rather easy to dispel. But without a wizard present, Algerias was free to stand there, arms folded, watching the man writhe.

After two minutes, Guzga the Silent started to scream.

After five minutes, there was a charred, blackened figure floating in the sewage of the city.

With a grin, Algerias turned from the dead man, to continue through the shadows of the sewer. In Athkatla, it was difficult to get away with such ostentatious murders, even in the sewers, and he took Nalia's trust in him seriously. But in Murann, however, Nalia was far away, and sometimes the woman did not know what would aid her cause. It felt incredible, to finally be able to enjoy himself. Algerias licked his lips at the thought of what he could do in the name of his ruler - her power will be unquestionable!

Algerias entertained himself by imagining his ruler on a seat of power to rival that of any king, with the Council of Six removed forever, with the people screaming her name with love, with the merchants cowed into submission and the nobles too worried by blackmail to act against her. With Nalia's goodness, and Algerias' willingness to go the extra mile that Nalia would never contemplate, Amn could be great again!

"You're late," a black figure said in an exotic voice, when Algerias arrived at the pre-determined location. Red eyes gleamed from the shadows.

Shrugging, Algerias murmured, "I was delayed."

"I know," spat the accented tongue, "I was watching. You are quite impressive, although I still think that the wizards of Menzoberranzan would humble you in an instant, Algerias."

And into the dim light, strode Algerias' ally, a tall, well-muscled drow with a face to strike horror into anyone who beheld it - it was a mass of twisted, scarred, burned flesh.

"Greetings, Fil'zar," Algerias said in the drow tongue.

Above them, the city of Murann slumbered.