The young noble nodded.

"And now that you know?" the priest demanded.

Beldar met his gaze squarely. "Now that I know, I'd like to proceed immediately."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mrelder glared at Beldar Roaringhorn, reaching for the dagger Piergeiron had given him a lifetime ago.

Golskyn's scaly hand closed around his son's wrist before that fang could be drawn.

"Enough," Lord Unity of the Amalgamation said coldly. "You found the right man, and I'll look very darkly on any attempt to harm him now."

Mrelder opened his mouth and then shut it again, swallowing his fury behind set teeth. If this fool of a noble had managed Golskyn's slaying, that would have been a delight, but now…

He'd never expected the man to return, and had laid his plans with Korvaun Helmfast in mind. This Beldar showed a disturbing boldness and wits, too. Could it be he'd actually stumbled on a worthy heir to Lord Piergeiron? Did the Watching Gods laugh that much?

"Your son's right to be suspicious of me," Beldar was telling the priest, "for even as I arrive at your door, this beholder-the sort known as a 'gauth,' I believe-enters your house forcibly, by another way."

He glanced at the charred ruin of Golskyn's back room beyond the office-chamber. What had been a window was now a ragged hole opening onto a high view down over the alley behind.

"I must assure you I'm guilty only of overconfidence. I thought the spells I'd purchased-I dared not specify too closely what I wanted them for, you'll appreciate-were sufficient to keep it securely captive until you could assume control of them, and, ah…of it."

Golskyn waved a dismissive hand. "Irrelevant. We all make mistakes. So long as you don't make a habit of doing so or betray the slightest hint of any malice toward the Amalgamation or our goals, I care not if you bought, borrowed, stole, or personally gave birth to this beholder or overcame it by strength, guile, or beguiling minstrelsy. What matters are results!"

"Father," Mrelder said quietly, "there's a matter of magic I must speak with you about privately, right now. I need only a few breaths of your time and mean no disrespect to you or to Lord Roaringhorn, but magic has already done much damage here, and we may yet have the Watch pounding at our doors as to why. We'll certainly have them doing so if there are further… eruptions."

"I've had my own dealings with the Watch," Beldar put in quickly, "and will be glad to withdraw for as long as you need. Magic can be dangerous, and the Watch all too vigilant."

Golskyn nodded. "You speak truth. Stand you then by the head of the stair while I speak with Mrelder."

The moment Beldar had bowed and withdrawn, the priest rounded on his son, and his whisper was fierce. "Well?"

Mrelder kept his voice low. "I'm alarmed at how swiftly we've embraced this noble-and how quickly he's brought us a beholder! Father, if he's been chosen as Piergeiron's successor, don't you think a dozen wizards have scoured his thoughts scores of times, and taken full measure of his motives? Hasn't he been trained, probably for years, to put Waterdeep first, and ruthlessly put down all threats to-"

Golskyn swung up his hand like a cook hefting a cleaver. Mrelder knew what that meant and fell abruptly silent.

"I meant what I said," the priest muttered. "You found us the right man: this must be the next Open Lord of the city. I think you speak sound prudence now: yes, of course he's formidable, swift-witted and loyal to Waterdeep, yet he's never crossed swords with Golskyn of the Gods before, to say nothing of those I serve! Do you think so little of my own abilities to subvert anyone? Have you forgotten Braeldra so soon? And Aummaduth of Calimport? Both wanted my head before I bent them to the true faith, and you know the eternal price they both paid in the end. Willingly, I might add."

"True," Mrelder muttered, not wanting to voice his own suspicions that proud Braeldra had undertaken her last, foolhardy mission purely to escape Golskyn's bed, once she'd seen she could do nothing against his magic. "Forgive my doubts, Father. If you'll just let me make sure there're no tracing spells on him right now, that might let others in Waterdeep-"

"See through my wards? Impossible, unless he's bearing focus items-and those we'll have off him, 'for his own protection,' of course, before we start." Golskyn's beholder eye seemed to glow, just for an instant. "After we do the graft, he'll either be dead or ours, won't he?"

Father and son stared into each other's eyes for a moment, then nodded in curt unison.

Together they turned to face Beldar Roaringhorn.

"My son is concerned with the magic that has been expended in this room and the state of the warding-spells around it," Golskyn announced. "Do you still want to forever lose one of your eyes-at some small risk to your life-and gain a beholder's eye in its place?"

Beldar raised an eyebrow. "After willingly walking into a beholders' den to get it? Of course."

"Then I am willing to do it. Here and now. Are you also ready?"

The youngest Lord Roaringhorn nodded, folding his arms across his chest to hide his nervousness. "I am."

"Mrelder," Golskyn murmured, "fetch what we'll need."

Beckoning the noble with two of his tentacles, he pointed at the floor. "Remove every item you wear or carry that bears the slightest magic," he ordered, "and leave them outside the doorway before you lie down here. Everything. If you're not sure about something, remove it: The intrusions of stray spells can be disastrous."

Beldar stared at him then began disrobing. He was down to little more than a silken clout before he was done.

By then, Mrelder had cleared ruined furniture out of the way and laid a clean cloth on the floor, carefully keeping his distance from the silent, motionless beholder all the while. A silent crowd of Amalgamation believers had gathered at the doorway. Golskyn held up a hand to keep them there.

Beldar settled himself on the cloth as the priest and his son peered at the immobile gauth.

"That one, that, and this are sufficiently extended," Golskyn murmured. "I believe I recall what those two hurled my way; what do you recall?"

"That one wounds by spell, not fire," the sorcerer replied, pointing.

"Then that's the one we want," Golskyn decided. He glanced at Mrelder, who held up the delicate ring. Bound into the graft-practically in Beldar Roaringhorn's brain-the Guardian's Gorget would give him control over the Walking Statures, and spells would give the priest control over him. If Mrelder's spells were laid deftly enough, Roaringhorn need not know that until it became necessary to violently force him to do something-or refrain from doing something.

Stepping back, Golskyn ordered, "Begin."

Mrelder carefully set the ring on what was left of a table behind him, spread his hands, and muttered the incantation that would attune him to the least of the many wards in this chamber-the only one Golskyn had allowed him to cast.

It responded, the air itself seeming to shift in silent, ponderous solidity in a far corner of the room. Sweat suddenly glistened on Mrelder's face as he turned the unseen ward with slow, deliberate care, bringing it toward the trapped gauth at just the right angle.

Wards crafted in a certain way, with sharp edges rather than a fading, clinging field, could cut like the sharpest sword-if, that is, a sword could shear through anything: stone, metal… beholder eyestalks…

Golskyn held out his hands, palms up, and muttered the prayer that would cause one of the other wards to gently catch and hold the severed eye.

Beldar Roaringhorn lay on his back, waiting, the air cold on his skin, wondering how much this was going to hurt and if it was his first step toward glory or if he was making the worst-perhaps the last-mistake of his life.