Folk would pray much harder to the gods, she thought to her¬self as she got up off her knees, if they gave proof that they lis¬tened to the fervent desires of mortals more often. Tonight, for instance.
She sighed. That peddler was doomed.
*****
The Calishite's fine silk shirt was soaked through with sweat; it stuck to him, dark and slick, as he puffed wearily up a slope, forced a way through bushes that clawed and tore at his finery, and hurried on, gasping for breath. The man wasn't in very fine form . . . and now, covered with sweat and grime and with his long mustache drooping with sweat and smudged with dust, the magelord liked his looks even less.
The man's appearance had been the reason Taraj had ordered this trader seized in the first place. That and the appeal of the exotic; merchants from as far away as Luthkant found Athalan¬tar seldom and ventured out of Hastarl even more rarely. This exotic prey, however, didn't look to be able to provide him with much sport at all... already the trader was wobbling along in exhaustion, his breath coming in fast, sobbing gasps.
Skulking along a ridge not far behind the terrified man, Taraj decided he was becoming increasingly bored. Time to make his kill.
He bounded down into the brush, a sleek black panther feel¬ing fast and deadly and alive! Exulting in his power, he leapt across a narrow, deep gully, his paws scrabbling in crumbling earth for one exciting moment on the far side before they gripped . . . and then he was safely across and into the thicket beyond.
Bursting out of cover atop a bank, he soared right over the Luthkantan, who howled in fear and snatched out a belt-knife, slashing uselessly at the air, well in his wake.
So that was the only fang the man had? Well, then ... Taraj turned, sleek coat rippling, and rushed back at the man, dead leaves rustling as his racing paws hurled them aside.
The Calishite dodged, eyes wide and white with terror, slashed wildly at Taraj's nose—and then turned and ran.
Taraj gave him a throaty snarl and bounded after him. The man heard and spun around to prevent being hamstrung, that tiny blade gleaming again as he brandished it desperately. Taraj snarled and kept coming, not slowing... and the terrified man backed away.
After a few hurried, unseeing paces, of course, he stumbled on something underfoot, and fell hard on his behind. Taraj leapt at him, jaws opening wide for that first playful bite, but the man kicked out with frantic savagery—and the magelord felt sudden tearing pain. He snarled and recoiled, bounding away and then whirling back to face his victim.
Gods curse the man! The trader's boots had suddenly sprouted toe-daggers. Vicious little blades; one gleamed at him as the exhausted man stayed on his back, feet up—and the other was wet and dark with Taraj's blood.
The magelord snarled again and loped off into the nearest tall grass. Dragon at the gate! You couldn't even trust fat Cal¬ishite merchant traders to fight fair these days! Well, you'd never been able to, he admitted wryly as the panther's body fell away, flowing and changing again. A brief visit to the Luthkan-tan in the shape of an acid-spitting snake should do away with the man's weapons so he could be killed slowly and enjoyably af¬terward. The snake reared up, coiling experimentally, shaking as the magelord settled into this new shape.
A black crow that had been scudding along unseen behind the panther dived earthward, starting to change even before it struck the grassy ground below.
Something huge and dark rose up out of the grass where it landed, batlike wings unfolding and long tail switching ... a black dragon crouched amid the crushed grass, leaning forward over the suddenly hissing, coiling snake.
The snake spat. The smoking acid struck the dragon's snout and dripped; black dragons are never harmed by acids. The dragon smiled slowly and opened its own jaws. The acid that streamed from the dragon's maw consumed a tree and left the snake itself smoking and writhing in the scorched grasses be-yond, throwing coils about in its agony. The dragon strode for¬ward, slowly, heavily ... and tauntingly.
From somewhere in the trees ahead came a despairing scream as the Calishite trader saw the dragon, and crashing sounds as he struggled through trees and thick brush in frantic flight.
The snake grew larger and darker, and wings began to sprout from it. As its shape built and stretched, it grew a human hand and mouth for an instant. The ring flashed, and the mouth cried, "Kadeln! Kadeln! Aid me! By our pact, aid me!"
The dragon lumbered forward, extending claws to rend the snake that was rapidly becoming another black dragon. An¬other pace, and another .. . and the dragon that was Elminster reached out and slashed with one black-taloned claw to rend still-forming scales. Blood spattered, and the magelord-turned-dragon squalled in pain.
Elminster extended his head to bite down hard on the other dragon's neck and end this wizard for good—but suddenly a mage stood beside the still-growing dragon, where the only crushed grass had been a moment before. Elminster had a glimpse of this new magelord's dark, glittering eyes as he reared and backed hastily away. The wizard was already cast¬ing a spell; there was no time to shift shape into something else.
Elminster beat his wings once to hurl the man off his feet and ruin his spell, but tree limbs got in the way. He was still struggling to lunge forward and bite down on the newcomer when something streaked from the mage's outthrust hand, and roaring fire erupted on all sides and rolled over him.
El's curse of pain came out as a rumble as he hastily backed away, turned, and lashed out with his tail so the magelord had to dive ingloriously into the dirt to avoid being struck. El grunted and bounded aloft.
This body was heavy and ungainly, but the large wings beat strongly. He put some effort into flight, and the wind was whistling past his head when he turned and plunged back down through the air in a dive, waiting for just the right moment to spit acid.
The other dragon was almost fully formed now, but thrash¬ing about in pain, all tangled up under the trees. El could deal with this fire-hurling wizard first!
Snarling, Elminster roared down out of the sky, teeth flash¬ing.
The wizard's hands were making complicated passes—and then he leapt back to watch in triumph ... and Elminster knew sudden fear. He tried to unfold a wing and veer away—but couldn't! His wings were bound by magic!
Helplessly he plunged down into the trees, bracing himself for the crash he knew would come. The wind whistled past him. And then he saw his true doom. Before him a shimmering wall of bright, swirling colors was growing; a rainbow of deadly magic directly in his path. El could only turn his eyes in horror to look at the magelord who stood watching as he fell to death. "Aid me, Mystra," he whispered, as the swirling colors rushed up to meet him.
*****
Kadeln Olothstar, magelord of Athalantar, laughed coldly. "Ah, I love a good fight! Taming a mageling, too! My thanks, Taraj!"
The dragon hurtled helplessly down into his prismatic wall. Kadeln threw up a hand to shield his eyes from the blast he knew would come as the huge beast passed through his spell and they destroyed each other.
It came. The world rocked, and a blinding flash clawed at his eyes even through his tightly shut lids. Kadeln landed hard on his back and spat a curse at the gods for putting a hard tree-root under his spine. Then he blinked his eyes until he could see again and rolled to his feet. Broken trees and smoking grass surrounded him, with nary a dragon in sight... and stumbling sightlessly out of the smoke came a fat Calishite in tattered silks, a dagger clutched in one trembling hand.
Hah! He could even rob Taraj of his quarry this night! Kadeln smiled a thin, cruel smile and raised his hand to slay the man. It would take only the least of his spells. Then a dark form melted out of the air in front of him—Taraj, tattered and blackened with soot.
"Out of my way, Hurlymm," Kadeln said coldly, but his dazed fellow magelord seemed not to hear. Hmm . . . perhaps an acci¬dent might befall Taraj here, with no watching eyes to speak later of Kadeln's treachery. Or would it be wise to fell this lazy, blood-hungry idiot, and have perhaps a stronger mage rise to take his place in the councils of magelords?
Kadeln made his decision, sighed, and stepped around the bemused Taraj, raising his hand again to hurl a death bolt at the sobbing merchant. As he passed, the dark tatters seemed to ripple. Kadeln Olothstar had been a magelord for many years. He turned to see what shape Taraj was taking—just in case.
Cold blue-gray eyes swam out of the melting form to meet his own, around a hawk-beak of a nose, and a mouth that smiled at him without warmth or mirth.
"Greetings, Magelord," that mouth said, as one dark arm rose up to strike aside Kadeln's raised hand. The dark form's other arm streaked up to his mouth. "I am Elminster. In the name of my father Prince Elthryn and my mother Princess Am¬rythale, I slay thee."
Kadeln was gabbling the words of a desperate spell as the stranger, still smiling that steely smile, thrust a finger into the magelord's mouth. Flame burst forth in a sphere that rolled down the magelord's throat, and found no ready room to ex¬pand.
A moment later, Kadeln Olothstar burst apart in flames that briefly outshone the sun . . . and then swiftly died away into drifting smoke. Silence fell—followed a moment later by the Calishite, who gave a despairing moan as his eyes rolled up and he thudded limply to the scorched turf.
The lady who glided into view atop the nearest ridge made a face at the blood covering Elminster. He looked up at her quickly, raising a hand to blast another foe if need be—and then relaxed, and called, "My thanks—again—for my life."
Myrjala smiled as she came up to him and spread her hands. "What, after all, are friends for?"
"How did ye do it this time?" El asked, striding forward to embrace her. She whispered something and made a small sign with one hand—and the magelord's gore was abruptly gone. El¬minster looked down, shook his head, and then wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.
"Let me breathe, young lion," Myrjala said at last, pulling her head back. "To answer you—I used that spell you're so fond of, switching folk about. Taraj was the dragon who struck the wall-spell, and I guided you into his semblance."
"I needed ye after all," Elminster said, looking into her dark, mysterious eyes.
Myrjala smiled at him. "There's much more to do for Atha¬lantar yet, O Prince ... and I need you whole to do it."
"I'm—losing my thirst for killing magelords," Elminster said.
Myrjala's arms tightened around him. "I understand, and re¬spect you the more for that, El—but once begun, we must take them all ... or all we'll achieve for the folk of Athalantar is changing the names and faces of those who rule them iron-hard. Is that all you want to have done to avenge your mother and fa-ther?"
When Elminster looked up at her, his eyes were bright and hard. "Who's the next magelord we should slay?" he snapped.
Myrjala almost smiled. "Seldinor," she said, turning away.
"Why he, of them all?"
Myrjala turned back. "You have been a woman. When I tell you his latest schemes, you will understand why, better than most brash young men who call themselves wizards."
Elminster nodded, not smiling. "I was afraid ye'd say some¬thing like that."
Elves were suddenly all around them, seeming to melt out of the trees. Braer met Elminster's eyes, and asked, "Who is this lady mage?"
Myrjala spoke for herself. "Al hond ebrath, uol tath shantar en tath lalala ol hond ebrath."
El looked at her. "What did ye say?"
"A true friend, as the trees and the water are true friends," Myrjala translated softly, her eyes very dark.
The elf who'd first challenged Elminster by the pool said, "A proud boast, lady, for one who lives and then is gone, while the trees and streams endure forever."
Myrjala turned her head, as tall and as regal as any elf, and said, "You may be surprised at my longevity, Ruvaen, as others of your folk have been, before."
Ruvaen drew back a pace, frowning. "How is it that you know my name? Who—?"
"Peace," Braer said. "Such things are best spoken of in pri¬vate, one to another. Now we have much to plan and prepare. The test has been set and passed. Elminster may not have pre¬vailed alone, but two magelords are no more, not one. Do any challenge this?"
Silence answered him, and he turned wordlessly to Ruvaen.
The archer looked at Braer, nodded, and then said to Elmin¬ster, "The People will fight at your side for Athalantar, if you hold to the pledge you made to us when we swore aid to you."
"I will," Elminster said, and extended his hand.
After a long moment, Ruvaen took it, and they clasped fore¬arms firmly, as one warrior to another. Around them, the gath¬ered elves of the High Forest shouted in exultation—the loudest sound of celebration any elf of Athalantar had made in many a year.
*****
Old, wise eyes watched the elves and humans dwindle into the depths of the crystal, and then slowly fade. What to do?
Aye, what? The lad was just one more young spell weaver with glory in his eyes, but the woman. .. . He'd not seen spell-mastery like that since . . . his eyes narrowed, and then he shrugged.
There was no time for idle memories. There never is.
He had to warn everyone, and then s—but no. No. Let these two destroy Seldinor first.
Sixteen
WHEN MAGES GO TO WAR
A star rushes past, to crash upon the shore
But the first of many many more
Stoke the fire and stout bar the door
For this is the night mages go to war.
Angarn Dunharp
from the ballad When Mages Go to War
Year of the Sword and Stars
Leaves rustled. At that slightest of sounds, Helm whirled, hand going to hilt. Out from behind the tree stepped the silent elven warrior he'd come to know as Ruvaen, the gray cloak that was so hard to see swirling around him. There was another elf with him. Their still faces somehow betrayed a mood darker than usual.
"What news?" Helm asked simply. None of the elves or the knights were wont to waste words.
Ruvaen held out something that filled his hand—something clear and smooth-sided and colorless, like a fist-sized diamond. A few clumps of moss clung to it. Helm looked down at it and raised his brows in an unspoken question.
