*****
Prince Gartos struggled to his feet. He felt weak and sick in¬side and couldn't feel his feet at all... but they seemed to obey him. Grunting, he took a few unsteady steps and sat down, armor clanking. Narthil spun around him.
"Easy," he muttered, shaking his head. "Easy, now ..." His men lay strewn along the road, with not a horse in sight. "Thaerin," he grunted, "Agios!" Gartos extended his hand, watched the blade tug itself free of the dead woman and drift, dark and wet, to his waiting grasp. Young witch, who did she think she was to defy Athalantar's magelords? He fumbled at his gorget, got it aside, and grasped the amulet beneath, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on the remembered face of Mage-lord Ithboltar....
Firm fingers swept his aside. His eyes flew open, and he was staring up at the innkeeper's white, frightened face as she thrust a dagger into his throat and drew it firmly across. Blood sprayed. Prince Gartos struggled to swallow, could not, and tried to raise his blade. Its glowing runes dancing before his eyes, mocking him, were the last things he saw as he sank down into darkness....
*****
"Gartos will see that this sorceress dies," Briost said firmly, and a smile slowly crossed his face. "Eth will make sure he does."
"You're confident of Eth's abilities?" Undarl asked. The wiz¬ards seated around the table all looked down it to the high seat where the mage royal sat, in time to see his fire-red ring wink with sudden inner light.
Briost shrugged, wondering (not for the first time) just what powers slept in that ring. "He has proven himself able .. . and prudent... thus far."
"This was a testing, though, wasn't it?" Galath asked excit¬edly.
"Of course," Briost replied in a voice dry with patience. Why, he thought privately, did there always have to be one eager puppy at these meetings? Surely work could be found for such as Galath on these evenings—teaching him to unroll a scroll, per¬haps, or put on his own robes so the hood was to the back and the tabard facing front? Anything would suffice, so long as it kept him far away....
Galath leaned forward eagerly. "Has he reported in?"
Nasarn the Hooded snorted and looked coldly down the table. "If every mageling we set to a task did that, our ears'd be ringing with their babble every moment of the day—and all night, too!" With his unblinking stare, sharp nose, and dusty black robes, the old man resembled a vulture sitting and watching prey that would soon come its way.
Undarl nodded. "I'd not expect a magelord to waste magic on bothering his fellows just for idle chatter; a report should come only if something serious is amiss ... if the intruding mage should prove to be a spy for another realm, for instance, or the leader of an invading army."
Galath flushed in embarrassment and looked away from the mage royal's calm face. Several of the other magelords let him see smiles of amusement on their faces as he looked swiftly and involuntarily up and down the table. Briost yawned openly as he smoothed one dark green sleeve of his robes and shifted into a more comfortable position in his chair. Alarashan, ever one to leap onto a popular cart, yawned too, and Galath's gaze fell to the table in front of him in misery.
"Your enthusiasm does you credit, Galath," Undarl Drag¬onrider added with a straight face. "If Eth asks us for aid or something befalls him, I assign you to act for us all in setting things to rights in Narthil."
Galath straightened with such swift and obvious pride, swelling visibly before their eyes, that more than one magelord at the table sputtered with swiftly repressed mirth. Briost rolled his eyes up to look at the ceiling and asked it silently if Galath knew how to open a spellbook, or if, presented with one, he'd peel it like a potato?
The stone vault overhead did not answer ... but then, it had hung above this high chamber in Athalgard for almost a century, and had learned to be a patient ceiling.
*****
The pain burned and roiled and threatened to sweep her away. In the darkening void, El clung grimly to the white light of her will. She must hold on, somehow....
Pain surged as the enchanted blade shifted and then slid smoothly—oh, so smoothly, in her own blood!—out of her, leav¬ing her feeling empty and .. . open. Violated. Faerun should not see her innards like this, hot blood rushing out of her into the sun . . . but she could do nothing, nothing at all to stop its flow. Her hands moved a bit, she thought, as she tried to clutch at her wound, but now the light and sounds around her were fading, and she was getting colder. Sinking, sinking into a void that was everywhere around her, scornful of her failing life-force . .. and as cold as ice.
Elmara gasped and tried to gather her will. The white radi¬ance she'd always been able to summon flickered feebly before her, like a watchfire in the night. She thrust herself forward into it, enfolding it and clinging to it, until she was adrift in a white haze.
The pain was less, now. Someone seemed to be moving her, rolling her gently over ... for a moment panic soared within her as the movement shook her hold on the radiance and it seemed to slip from under her. ... El clawed at the void with her will until the white light surrounded her again.
Something—a voice?—echoed around her, eddying softly and crying afar like a trumpet, but she couldn't make out the words ... if there were any. The void around seemed to grow darker, and El clung fiercely to her light. It seemed to grow in bright¬ness, and from far away she heard that voice cry out in surprise and draw away, babbling in fear, or was it awe?
She was alone, adrift in a sea of light... and out of the pearly mists ahead something she knew swam up to embrace her. Drag¬onfire! Raging flames framing a street she knew well, and El¬mara tried to cry out.
Prince Elthryn stood in the midst of blazing Heldon, the dancing flames gleaming on his mirror-polished black boots, and brandished the Lion Sword, whole and flashing back the flames. He turned, long hair swirling, and looked at Elmara. "Patience, my child."
Then smoke and flames swirled between them, and although she cried her father's name loud and desperately, she saw Elthryn no more, but instead a high hall of stone where cruel mages in rich robes bent over an ornate scrying-bowl held up by three winged maidens of glossy-polished gold. One was Undarl Dragonrider, the mage royal who'd destroyed Heldon. Another mage was passing his hand over the waters, waving his fingers angrily. "Where is he?" he snarled ... and seemed for just an in¬stant to see Elmara. His eyes narrowed, and then widened—but that chamber whirled and spun away into the void of light, and Elmara was suddenly staring into the eyes of Mystra, who stood in the air in front of her, smiling, her arms open to embrace.
Stumbling in haste, Elmara ran across unseen ground to¬ward her. Tears welled up and burst forth. "Lady Mystra!" she sobbed. "Mystra!" The light around the goddess dimmed, and the smiling Lady of Mysteries was fading ... fading....
"Mystra!" El reached out desperately, tears blurring the dark¬ening scene. She was falling . . . falling . . . into the void once more, chilled and whimpering, alone, her light gone.
She was dying. Elmara Aumar must be dead already, her spirit wandering until it fled and faded . . . but no! In the dark, floating distance El saw a tiny light sparkle and flare—and then rush toward her, bright and spinning. She cried out in wonder and fear as the blinding brightness leapt at her and flooded around her once more. Mystra's smile seemed to be all around her, too, warm and comforting, infinitely wise.
Through thinning mists Elmara saw another vision: she rose from her knees in prayer to Mystra and turned to a table where a large, ornately bound tome lay, surrounded by small items that she recognized as spell components. She sat, opened the spell-book, and began to study . . . mists roiled up, and when they cleared again, El saw herself casting a spell and then watching as a ball of flames burst into bright being in front of her. A fire¬ball? That was a spell wizards commanded, not priestesses....
The mists of light swirled and then parted again, revealing shapes of fire burning, endless and immobile, in emptiness. El stared at them. These fires were magic . . . and familiar. She stared at their coils and leaping tongues of fire . . . and—aye! These were the spells she'd memorized earlier, hanging in her own mind waiting to be released!
Yes, a warm and mighty voice said, echoing all round her, and added, Watch. One of the fires moved suddenly, writhing and twisting like a snake unfolding. It flared in sudden brilliance— too bright to watch, even as the voice said, do thus, and behold!
The fire flared up and was gone, leaving the white mists around a flickering amber. Elmara felt suddenly better, as if ten¬sion and pain had lessened ... and at the same time, the weight in her mind eased, as if a spell had passed from memory.
Again, said the mind-voice of Mystra. Another flame writhed, opened, and flared up. At its passing Elmara felt stronger and more at ease from pain, and hung basking in the growing warmth of the now-golden mists.
Do this yourself now, the voice said, and El trembled in sud¬den awe and nervousness. She knew somehow that a slip could tear her mind apart... but the flames were unfolding, coiling, as her will surged through her and out to guide them. Brighter, now ... aye! Thus, and—'tis done!
A golden radiance seemed to roll outward through the mists as the fires of the spell dissipated. Elmara felt stronger, as if the pain that numbness had shielded from her was suddenly gone, falling away from her like a tattered cloak that has split asunder ... and the burning weight of spells in her mind eased again.
Mystra had shown her how to turn her memorized spells into healing energy and guide that raw force to work her own restoration. Hanging in the bright amber mind-void, El gasped at the beauty and intricacy of the process ... the chill darkness seemed far away now. She found she could identify particular spells if she stared at the flames long enough. She floated, con¬sidering, the remaining pain like an aching mantle around her, until she'd chosen the least useful magic.
To spend it was the act of but a brief moment now, and the pain eased still more. She was going to live!
With that thought, El found herself wanting to rise—and then she was in motion, ascending smoothly through golden mists into the light....
There was a sudden rocking burst of noise and radiance. Through a swimming golden haze she could see clouds in the bright blue sky of morning—and darker and nearer, a ring of gawking faces, staring openmouthed at her. El recognized the anxious face of Asmartha the innkeeper, and smiled up at her.
"A-Aye," she said, finding her voice thick with blood, "I live."
There was more than one shriek, and gaps appeared abruptly in the circle of heads. El smiled thinly . . . but her heart swelled when the innkeeper matched her smile, and stretched down one strong hand to touch her.
"I saw it," the woman said, voice husky in wonder. "You were dead—cut open like a slaughtered hog—and now are whole. The gods are real. . . they must be. I saw you heal, right in front of me. The gods were here!"
Asmartha's face broke into a wide, wild laugh, and tears ran down her face. She traced El's cheek with a gentle finger, shook her head, and said, "I've never seen the like. What god smiles on you, lady?"
"Mystra," Elmara said. "Great Mystra." She struggled to sit up, and there were suddenly strong arms at her shoulders, help¬ing her. "I am a priestess of the Lady of Mysteries," El told the innkeeper—and then, as a sudden realization came to her, added slowly, "Yet I must learn to be more."
"Lady?"
"If I am to battle magelords and their armsmen, face to face and spell to spell," El said softly, frowning, "I must become a mage in truth."
"You're not a sorceress?"
Elmara shook her head. "Not yet." Perhaps never, she thought suddenly, if I can't find a wizard willing to train me ... and where in the world could she find one to trust? Not in Atha¬lantar, where every sorcerer was a magelord . .. nor in the Cal¬ishar. There must be wizards in the other lands around, aye, but where to start looking?
Wh—Braer. Of course. Go to the High Forest and ask her teacher. Whatever he said, it would be an answer she could trust. "I must leave," El said, scrambling to her feet.
The world wavered and swam around her, and she swayed, but one of the men of Narthil put a steadying hand on her shoul¬der, and she stayed upright. "The magelords can find me with their spells," El said urgently. "Every moment I stay here, I en¬danger ye all." She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and then another, reaching into the mists to uncoil another flame.
Asmartha drew back a pace as Elmara stiffened, and glowing white light emanated from her. Then it faded, and the innkeeper saw that the young, hawk-nosed woman stood at ease despite her blood-drenched clothing and the pale, drawn look on her face.
"My pack," she murmured, and turned back toward the inn. The innkeeper stepped hastily to her side to guard against her falling, but El smiled and said reassuringly, "I'm fine now . . . and happier than I've been in some time. Mystra smiles on me."
"That I can well believe," the stout woman said, as they went into the Rest. The door banged behind them.
*****
Elmara walked off as she had come, alone, her pack on her back, heading northeast over the rolling fields. The innkeeper watched her march out of sight, hoping no ill would befall her. Once Asmartha had dreamed of a life of adventure, seeing all the fabled sights of Faerun and befriending elves . . . and there went a lass who'd done just that.
The innkeeper smiled at the crest of a far-off hill as the tiny dark figure of her guest disappeared over it. She shook her head. Perhaps the gods would smile enough on the reckless maid to keep her alive through her fight against the mighty magelords, and she'd come back to Narthil one day with time enough to spare to tell a fat and aging innkeeper where she'd gone and what she'd seen ... but more likely that would never happen.
Asmartha sighed, wiped her hands absently on her apron, and went back into the Rest. She'd best stir some of the men to drag those bodies away, or the whole street'd stink by nightfall, and beasts'd come down into Narthil to feed.
