asking other mages, he was where he should have been, and in the mood he should have been. Vangerdahast imparted the mental equivalent of a supportive smile and broke contact.
Leaving Applethorn smiling softly indeed.
“Semoor, I hardly think we’re going to manage to talk it to death!” a sharp woman’s voice-Islif’s-rang out suddenly, from around a corner. “For the love of Lathander, cast your spell! ”
Florin and Pennae exchanged delighted looks, and blurted out words at the same time: “The Knights!” and “We’ve found them! And they need us!”
Then they grinned at each other, roared “Charge!” in unison, and broke into a run, ducking around the corner with weapons out.
Islif and Doust were facing down a tall armored warrior-no, a suit of armor with no head inside its helm!
Jhessail stood with her back to Islif, and Semoor crouched behind Doust, causing Florin to frown and ask, “What’re they doing, Jhess and Semoor?”
“Yon’s a helmed horror, or similar,” Pennae replied. “They can whisk themselves around from place to place like mages do-attack you from in front one moment, and behind the next!”
“Oh, naed, ” Florin commented with a “what next? ” grin, and charged between the busily parrying Islif and Doust to thrust his sword right at the emptiness inside the helm. The silent suit of armor parried with a swift, strong ease that astonished him, as if it had been waiting for just such an attack-but Florin had never expected anything less than a skillful parry, and had his dagger out even as he made that lunge. As his blade was blocked, he half-turned to bring his dagger full to the fore, and thrust it through the open face of the helm, into darkness.
A darkness that numbed his arm and shot sparks in all directions-in the fleeting breath before the armored guardian seemed to burst, armor plates (and Florin) hurtling in all directions.
The ranger screamed as he flew, scarcely aware of Islif and Doust smashed off their feet and tumbling along with him.
The fires of the gods-or so it felt-raced through him, searing his vitals, tongue, fingertips, and very eyeballs…
And then he crashed into something that gasped, gave, and curled herself around him, so they bounced bruisingly together, armor plates clanging and striking spitting sparks all around them, to roll and tumble and roll more slowly, finally to a stop.
Florin coughed. Then he blinked, and felt reassured that he could still do both of those things. He tried to move, to rise, and found that Pennae was wrapped firmly around him, arms and legs cradling him… and that she wasn’t moving.
“Pennae?” he gasped, sudden terror rising in his throat.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned, her mouth somewhere over his right shoulder. Then she moved weakly against him. “Great hero,” she husked, “can we smite our next helmed horror in a different manner, d’you think?”
“I don’t know if I can think, right now. Is it destroyed?”
“If you don’t see armor plates flying back to draw together, yes. Which will doubtless annoy good Vangerdahast no end.”
Florin chuckled, a chortle that built helplessly into a guffaw. Lying on his back on the cold stone floor, he roared with laughter, roars that echoed until he heard Semoor say archly, from somewhere not far off, “Well, someone’s unhurt, I hear. Having a woman wrapped around you is obviously a tactic I must practice for our next fray. Islif? Jhessail?”
“Live in hope,” Islif replied. They heard a clank of armor plate on stone, then a groan, as she rolled over and-unsteadily, swaying and trying to clutch at handholds that did not exist-stood up.
Across a litter of riven armor plate and sprawled Knights, Jhessail gave her a wan smile and used the fallen bulk of a grimacing Doust as a ladder to climb, hand over hand, up to a crouch. Pennae-reluctantly, it seemed, her hands lingering on his shoulders and chin and then hips-drew back from Florin and sat up.
“Is everyone well?” Islif asked.
Semoor gave her a twisted smile. “As the immortal said to the dying man: I’ll live-and you?”
A line of blood trailed down the side of his face and dripped slowly from his chin. Doust, too, bled from somewhere, though he rolled slowly over now, to flex his arms and then twist around to look for his mace. Semoor joined Islif and Jhessail among the standing, to shake their heads and kick at deadly shards of armor plate.
“The gods must have been watching over us, truly,” Jhessail murmured, wincing at the sight of three long, swordlike fangs of riven metal. “We could all have been spitted like boar for a roast…”
The immediate growling from Semoor’s stomach was more like a roar. “You had to mention food, didn’t you?” he said. “Thanks, O most dainty of lady mages.”
“Won’t Lathander provide?” she asked innocently, spreading her hands like a preaching priest.
Semoor used his hands, then, to favor her with another sort of gesture.
Florin and Pennae joined them, reaching down to haul a grunting Doust to his feet. The priest of Tymora limped once, gingerly, then sat down again to adjust his boot, stood up to kick his foot back into its proper place, and pronounced himself fit.
“Unscathed, or nearly,” Semoor murmured, ignoring the blood adorning him. “Truly, a miracle.”
“Yes,” Jhessail agreed, and turned to Florin to say severely, “Don’t ever do that again! We might have been killed!”
He stared at her, struggled not to laugh-and then gave up and roared. One after another, the rest of the Knights joined in.
“Wha-why,” he struggled to ask Jhessail, when his mirth started to abate, “didn’t you blast it with a battlestrike or two?”
“I did,” she replied. “Just once. It sent all of the little bolts right back at me. They hurt. ”
“Hurt? I’m surprised you’re still standing!”
“If I hadn’t kept my healing potion in my boot, I wouldn’t be. It’s drunk now. That’s why I demanded you not do that again.”
“Is everyone all right?” Islif asked. “Truly, I mean?”
She gave ever-quiet Doust a hard look, then challenged Florin with her eyes. Both of them nodded, and there were mumbles affirming good health from all around Islif.
“Right,” she said. “Then isn’t it about time we got back to warning and protecting our king and queen and the formidable scoundrel who happens to be both Court Wizard of Cormyr and Royal Magician of the Realm-as well as holding a lot of other lesser or at least less savory offices too?”
“Quite a speech,” Semoor replied. “Islif the courtier… hmm…”
“Semoor the battered corpse,” she responded crisply. The Anointed of Lathander hastily stepped back out of reach behind Jhessail and said brightly, “As ever, your commands are an inspiration to us all, Lady Lurelake! Lead on! If you can find us a way out of these cellars before we’re reduced to starving skeletons, I will obey you, right happily!”
“Then let’s go!” Islif ordered, as loudly and firmly as if she’d been a veteran Purple Dragon lionar, and set off at a trot. When she was clear of the debris of the helmed horror, she started to really hurry.
Pelting along in her wake with the other Knights, Semoor complained to the listening Realms, “Somehow I knew this was going to involve running. Again.”
Lord Maniol Crownsilver gasped for breath. He’d been running through the Palace for a while now, his only falterings being his encounters with guard after wary guard. The last one had insisted on trotting along with him, until they turned a corner and came upon three burly, full-armored Dragons standing in a living wall across the passage. Each was a full two heads taller than the winded lord. They stood sternly gazing at him with their arms folded across their chests, not looking as if they had any intention of ever letting any lord of the realm past them.
There was an open door in the passage wall beside one of the three guards, and out of it stepped a fourth Dragon-this one only a head taller than Crownsilver, and wearing the badge of a constal on his chest. He gave the panting lord a tight, unfriendly smile, and asked breezily, “So, my Lord Crownsilver, what engenders such haste in you, this fine day?”
“I-” Maniol Crownsilver gasped for breath, furious that he once again was unable to seem grand and commanding. He fought for air until he managed to say, “I bear a message for the Royal Magician, of utmost importance for the realm!”
