*****
Old, wise eyes watched Seldinor's head sail across his study. The lips of their owner thinned in a smile of satisfaction. He passed a hand of dismissal over his scrying crystal and walked away. It was time to prepare against this threat to them all, now that his hated foe was gone, and in such a fitting manner, too....
He chuckled, whispered a word that kept guardian light¬nings at bay, and grasped the knob atop a massive wooden stair. It swung open at his touch, and from the hollow within he drew two wands, slid them up his sleeves into the sheaths sewn into his undertunic, and then drew out a small, folded scrap of cloth. Carefully he unfolded it and lowered it onto his head: a skullcap set with many tiny gems. He went back to stand over the crys¬tal, closed his eyes, and gathered his will. Tiny motes of light began to sparkle and pulse in the web of jewels.
Lights played back and forth among the gems as the old man mouthed silent words and traced unseen sigils ... and the skullcap slowly faded into invisibility. When it was entirely gone, he opened his eyes. The pupils had become a flat, brightly glowing red.
Staring unseeing into the distance, the old man spoke into the crystal. "Undarl. Ildryn. Malanthor. Alarashan. Briost. Chantlarn."
Each name brought an image into the air above his head. Looking up, he saw six mages approach their own crystals and lay hands on them. They were his, now. He smiled, slowly and coldly, as the magic of his crown reached out to grip their wills.
"Speak, Ithboltar," one wizard said abruptly.
"What befalls, Old One?" another asked, more respectfully.
"Colleagues," he began quietly, and then added, "students." It never hurt to remind them. "We are endangered by two stranger-mages." From his mind rose images of the young, hawk-nosed one and the tall, slim woman with the dark eyes.
"Two? A boy and a woman? Old One, have you plunged asud¬den into your dotage?" Chantlarn asked scornfully.
"Ask yourself, wise young mage," Ithboltar said, his words mild and precise, "where Seldinor is now? Or Taraj? Or Kadeln? And then think again."
"Who are these two?" another magelord asked curtly.
"Rivals from Calimshan, perhaps, or students of Those Who Fled from Netheril and flew far to the south... though I've seen the woman a time or two before, riding the lands west of here."
"I've seen the boy," Briost said suddenly, "in Narthil. .. and thought him destroyed."
"And now they are killing us, one by one," Ithboltar said with velvet calm. "Done scoffing, Chantlarn? We must act together against them before others among us fall."
"Ah, Old One—another frantic defense of the realm?" Malan¬thor's voice was exasperated. "Can it not wait until the mor¬row?" They all saw him look over his shoulder and smile reassuringly at someone they could not see.
"Amusing your apprentices again, Malanthor?" Briost snorted.
Malanthor made a rude gesture and stepped back from his crystal.
"Until the morrow, then," Ithboltar said quickly. "I'll speak with all of you then." He broke contact, shaking his head. When had all his students, once eager to bend the world to their wills, become such spineless, self-indulgent fools? They'd always been reckless and arrogant, but now ...
He shrugged. Perhaps they'd learn the error of their ways on the morrow, if the two strangers continued to strike down mage-lords. At least he could now compel the wizards of Athalantar into battle with the crown ... so these foes wouldn't find too many more of them alone and unsuspecting. And nothing this side of the archmages' tombs of Netheril, short of a god, could hope to stand against the magical might of the gathered mage-lords of Athalantar. And gods interested in the Kingdom of the Stag seemed in short supply these days.
*****
"Yes," Elminster said softly. "In this building here." Braer and one of the other elves nodded silently, and stepped forward to touch El's shoulders. As he faded into wraith form, he heard them muttering softly, weaving cloaking magics more powerful than anything he knew.
They alone could still hear him, so he thanked them before stepping off the rooftop and flying through the moonlight to the window below. A single amulet glowed in his mage-sight, but his experienced eyes saw more: a trap Farl had rigged else¬where in earlier days. A heavy cleaver had been set on a trap-thread to chop down onto the sill. Elminster's mistlike form drifted past it, and then he was in the room, moving unthink¬ingly to one side of the window to avoid being silhouetted against the moonglow—and to avoid the sleep-venomed darts set to fire when the floorboard below the sill was stepped on.
The elves had made his insubstantial form completely invis¬ible; Elminster drifted across the room toward familiar snores. They were coming from within a close-canopied bed larger than some coaches El had seen. The prince raised his eyebrows at such wealth. Farl had certainly come up in the world.
There was another trap-thread just inside the draperies. El slipped past it and settled into a comfortable sitting position on the foot of the bed. The sleepers had thrown aside the covers in the warm night, and lay exposed to his view: Farl on his back, one arm spread possessively over the small, sleek woman who lay curled against him: Tassabra.
Elminster looked longingly at her for a moment. Her beauty, sharp wits, and kindness had always stirred him. But... we make choices, and he'd chosen to leave this life. At least she and Farl had found happiness together, and hadn't died under the blades of the Moonclaws.
They might well find death in the nights ahead, of course, because of him. Elminster sighed, spoke a word that would let them see and hear him, and said quietly, "Well met, Farl. Well met, Tass." Farl's snores ended abruptly as Tass tensed, coming instantly awake. Her hand slipped under her pillow, seeking the dagger El knew must be there.
"Be at ease," Elminster said, "for I mean ye no harm. 'Tis Eladar, come back to plead with ye to save Athalantar."
By now Farl was awake, too. He sat up and gaped, open-mouthed, as Tassabra let out a little shriek of surprise and leaned forward to stare at him. "Eladar! It is you!" She lunged forward to embrace him, and fell through his sitting form, to land on her forearms at the end of the bed. "What?"
"A sending—just an image," Farl told her, rising with blade in hand. "El, is that really you?"
"Of course it's really me," El told him. "Were I a magelord, I'd not be just sitting here, would I?"
Tassabra's eyes narrowed. "You're a mage, now?" She passed her hands through his form. "Where are you, truly?"
"Here," El told her. "Aye, I'm something of a mage now. I took this shape to get past all thy ah, friendly traps."
Tassabra put her hands on her hips. "If you're right here, El," she said severely, "make yourself solid! I want to feel you! How can I kiss a shadow?"
Elminster smiled. "Right then. But for thine own safety, stop waving thy hands about in me."
She did so, he murmured a few words—and was suddenly heavy and solid again. Tassabra embraced him eagerly, smooth skin sliding against his dark leathers. Farl put his arms around them both, hugging tightly. "By the gods I missed you, El," he said huskily. "I never thought to see you again."
"Where were you?" Tassabra demanded, running her hands along his jaw and through his hair, noting the changes the years had wrought.
"All over Faerun," El replied, "learning enough magic to destroy the magelords."
"You still hope to—?"
"Before three dawns have come," El told them, "if ye'll help me."
They both gaped at him. "Help how?" Farl asked, frowning. "We spend much of our time just evading casual cruelties cast our way by those wizards. We can't hope to withstand any sort of deliberate attack by even one of them!"
Tassabra nodded soberly. "We've built ourselves a good life here, El," she said. "The Moonclaws are no more; you were right, El—they were tools of the magelords. We run the Velvet Hands together now and shrewd investments and trading make us more coins than we ever got slipping into windows of nights."
Elminster sent a thought to Braer and knew he was cloaked again. He caught an appreciative "Nice lass, there," from the other elf before he turned his attention again to the pair facing him.
"Can ye see me now?" he asked. Farl and Tass shook their heads.
"Nor can ye touch me—even with spells," Elminster told them. "I have powerful allies; they can cloak ye even as they're shielding me now. Ye could steal from magelords and stab at them without fearing their magic!"
Farl stiffened, eyes shining. "No?"
Then his eyes narrowed. "Just who are these allies?"
Elminster flicked a thought at Braer: May I?
Leave this to us, came the warm reply. A moment later, he heard the bed-hangings rustle behind him. Tass gasped, and Farl's hand tensed on the blade he held beneath the covers.
El knew both elves had appeared behind him even before he heard Braer's musical voice. "Forgive this intrusion, Lord and Lady," the elf said. "We do not make a habit of intruding into bedchambers, but we feel this chance to free the realm is most important. If you'll fight beside us, we would find it an honor."
El saw his old friends blink; the elves must have vanished abruptly. He heard the bed-hangings fell back again. Tass closed her gaping mouth with an effort. "An honor?" Farl said wonderingly. "Elves would take it as an honor to fight with us?"
"Elves," Tassabra murmured. "Real elves!"
"Aye," Elminster said with a smile, "and with their magic, we can defeat the magelords."
Farl shook his head. "I want to—gods, I want to!—but... all those armsmen ..."
"Ye would not be fighting alone," El told them. "Beside ye, when it comes to open battle, will stand the Knights of the Stag."
"The lost knights of Athalantar?" Tass gasped.
Farl shook his head in disbelief. "More children's legends! I— this seems a dream ... you truly intend this...." He shook his head again to clear his wits, and asked, "How did you manage to get the elves and the knights to follow you?"
"They are loyal to Athalantar," El said quietly, "and an¬swered a call from its last prince."
"Who's that?"
"Me," El said flatly. "Eladar the Dark is also—Elminster, son of Prince Elthryn. I am a prince of Athalantar."
Farl and Tass stared at him, and then, shakily, Farl swal¬lowed. "I can't believe it," he whispered, "but oh, I want to! A chance to live free, and not have to fear and bow to wizards any¬where in Athalantar . .."
"We'll do it," Tassabra said firmly. "Count on us, El—Eladar. Prince."
Farl stared at her. "Tass!" he hissed. "What're you saying? We'll be killed!"
Tassabra turned her head to look at him. "And what if we are?" she asked quietly. "We've made a success of things here, yes .. . but a success that could be swept away in an instant at a magelord's whim."
She rose. Moonlight outlined her bare body, but she wore dignity like a grand gown. "More than that," she went on, "we can be satisfied about what we've done . . . but Farl, for once in my life I want to be proud! To do something that folk will al¬ways respect, whatever befalls! To do something that. . . mat¬ters. This may be our only chance."
She looked out the window, stiffened as she saw the elves standing on a nearby rooftop, and then made what might have been a sob as they waved to her in salute. Solemnly, feeling her heart rising within her, she waved back, and spun from the win¬dow in sudden fierceness. "And what better cause can there be? Athalantar needs us! We can be free!"
Farl nodded, a slow smile building on his face. "You speak truth," he said quietly, and looked up at Elminster. "El, you can depend on the Velvet Hands." He raised his blade in salute; it flashed as moonlight leapt down its steely length. "What will you have us do?"
"Tomorrow even," El said, "I'll call on ye. I need Tass to make contact with the knights—'tis best if she looks like a pleasure-lass, to go to the camp outside the walls by the burning pit.
Then, all the night through, I'll need your folk to work with the elves . . . stealing magic items and the small things they use to work spells—bones and rust flakes and gems and bits of string, ye know—from magelords all over the city. The elves'll cloak ye and guide ye as to what to take."
All three of them grinned at each other. "This is going to be fun," Farl said, eyes shining.
"I hope so," Elminster replied quietly. "Oh, I hope so."
*****
"Have they attacked us yet, Old One?" Malanthor's tone and raised eyebrow were sardonic. "Or did I miss it? I did spend a few moments in the jakes this morn."
Ithboltar's smile was thin and wintry. "The threat is real, and remains so. You would do well to set aside a trifling amount of that arrogance, Malanthor. Pride usually precedes disaster, especially for mages."
"And old men start to see things, until the shadows of their dreams seem more real than what is truly around them," Malanthor replied cuttingly, "if we're trading platitudes."
Ithboltar shrugged. "Just be sure to prepare yourself with spells, wands, and the like as if for battle against mage-foes, in the days ahead."
"Athalantar under attack again?" Chantlarn's tone was breezy as he strode into the room. "Armies at our gates and all that?"
"I fear so," Malanthor said, putting a hand to his brow and affecting the broken tones of a hysterical matron. "I fear so."
"And I do too," Chantlarn said heartily. "How does the morn¬ing find you, Ithboltar?"
"Surrounded by idiots," the old wizard said sourly, and turned back to the spellbook on the table in front of him. The two younger magelords exchanged amused glances.
