even thrust a hand or quiet words into daily life, just to see the result. From this comes miracles, disasters, religious strife, and much else we could do without.'
Narm met his eyes for the space of a breath and then nodded soberly. 'You do think and care, then. I had feared you swaggered about serenely blasting with your art all who opposed you.'
'That's just what he does do.' Torm's voice broke in as he approached, arms full of gold. 'Wizards! Wherever one sees battle in this world, there's some fool of a dweomercraefter jabbering and waving his hands. Honest swordswingers fall doomed-slain by a man who would be too craven to stand an instant against them, could they but reach him! Less art about would please me well! Then the brave and strong would rule, not sneaking old graybeards and reckless young fools who play for sport with the forces that give light and life to us all!'
'Aye' said Elminster with a smile. 'But rule what? A battlefield covered shoulder-deep with the rotting dead, the survivors dying of hunger and disease. There would be none left to help the sick, or to harvest, or sow seeds. It is a grand king, indeed, who rules a graveyard.' He drew on his pipe. 'Besides, 'tis no good complaining about what is and cannot be changed. Art we have. Make the best of it.'
'Oh, I intend to,' Torm replied with a wolfish grin.
'Are you finished, Torm?' Jhessail asked sweetly. 'Or have you something else upon your tongue that needs spewing forth?'
'Yes,' replied the thief, irrepressibly. 'Look you, old-'
'Enough talk!' Florin snapped from behind them. 'Heads around, all! A dragon comes!'
'They sssee usss, little one!' the great voice boomed back at her. 'Why ssso amazed?'
From the dracolich's back, Symgharyl Maruel gazed upon the blasted mountaintop in shock. The keep! she thought wildly at Aghazstamn. Gone! The whole peak has been shattered and thrown down! We must turn away! We cannot face power enough to do that! She shook her head in disbelief, but the vast crater below remained, as the dracolich wheeled about it.
'Flee? Nay!' its voice roared at her, and the great neck arched around, nearly tumbling the Shadowsil off. She clung to the bony fin before her grimly and shouted aloud, 'But the entire top of the mountain is gone! We cannot prevail against-'
'Ssseee to your wandsss, little coward! I fly free, to fight and ssslay after all these yearsss! And you want me to turn tail and abandon the gold and thisss challenge? Think again, weaver of weak art!' Aghazstamn roared and wheeled wide, climbing so as to turn and dive.
As the wind ripped around her ears, Maruel drew forth a wand and held it firmly across her breast. Peering down, she could see one in armor, an elf, and others below. There was no sign of Rauglothgor. Perhaps the old terror had destroyed himself somehow and wrought all this devastation. This handful of dare-alls looked incapable of such destruction.
Well, what did it matter? Slay, and wonder later. Aghazstamn had already turned and was plummeting down, ever faster, the wind beginning to whistle past her ears. The Shadowsil bent low and narrowed her eyes to slits so as not to be blinded. Carefully she aimed at the hastily scattering warriors below, and said clearly, ' Maerzae! ' And fire blossomed from the wand in a tiny ball that spun away, trailing sparks, to burst with a roar in orange-red flames below.
One man was hurled into the air, blazing, and fell among the rocks. Others were thrown too, but she could not see their fates. Already she was aiming again coolly at those below. Such battles were never as tales had them; mages trading spells formally, one after the other. He who struck first and hardest usually prevailed.
The wind whistled around her as Aghazstamn roared in triumph as it plummeted out of the sky, wings drawn up and bent back over its vast scaled bulk. From its maw, lightning spat in a long, blue-white bolt that crackled to the ground. A tiny figure jerked and staggered, outlined briefly in the blue-white fire. The Shadowsil unleashed her second fireball at two in robes who still stood on the right.
It blossomed into flames before it reached them, however, spreading out against some sort of invisible wall. Symgharyl Maruel hissed in anger as the dracolich beneath her swept down. Fast, indeed, by Mystra! Still, they couldn't strike back at her without sacrificing that wall…
With a roar and a clap of its mighty wings, Aghazstamn levelled off just short of the tumbled rock where its victims scrambled and shouted. It swooped low, reaching with long cruel claws for two who stood with swords raised like tiny needles against it.
Symgharyl Maruel felt the jolt as the dracolich struck and then clapped its wings to rise in haste from the rocks where sharp steel slashed and thrust at it. The mage looked back over her shoulder in time to lock eyes with the druid who had been lying wounded in the cave earlier. His hands and lips were moving, coolly calling a spell down upon her.
Before she could do anything, Aghazstamn was turning away and rising. The Shadowsil slid the wand back into its sheath as they rose and turned to look back, tossing her hair out of her eyes. Steady, I pray you, Great One, she thought through her ring. I would cast a spell and need a breath or two of stable flight from you. A thunderous snort was her reply, but Aghazstamn spread its vast wings spread out a level glide and the roaring winds lessened.
Symgharyl Maruel rose up as far as she dared and turned to face the knights. Below, the two swordsmen still stood; the tall one in armor and the elf. Bodies lay sprawled among the rocks, but the two mages in robes still stood beyond. Well, they might escape, but all of their comrades would perish. Carefully Symgharyl Maruel cast a meteor swarm down upon them all.
Done, she told the dracolich in satisfaction as she sat down and watched eight balls of flame roll forth. Aghazstamn hissed acknowledgement, and the great wings began to beat again. The sudden heat and rolling, roaring sound warned Symgharyl to reach for her wand.
Involuntarily she turned to see, just as the air exploded in flames. Somehow those below had turned her great spell against her. Only one mistake…
'See to Rathan,' said Elminster. 'And Torm, too. Here! Hurry!' From under his robes he drew two metal vials and thrust them into Jhessail's hands.
'But, master,' she protested. 'The dragon! Wha-'
'I can yet speak spells,' the old mage told her with some severity. 'Now go.' His eyes remained on the blackened body of the wyrm that had begun to fall from above, trailing flames. Odd, that a single such spell could slay so quickly. Dragons usually died slowly and noisily, with much-unless this was no dragon, but-
'Another dracolich!' the old mage said aloud. Narm turned anxious eyes upon him.
'What now?' the young apprentice asked. Elminster turned a hawkish eye upon him.
'Go and help Jhessail,' he commanded. 'There is nothing ye can safely do here.' His eyes were on the dracolich again, the great wings rolling it over and over as it fell. On its back he could see The Shadowsil, struggling weakly. He almost lifted his hands to pluck her away with telekinesis, but she bore a wand ready in one hand. Even as he considered it, he knew it would be too late to save her. The sage watched expressionlessly as Aghazstamn crashed to earth.
The dracolich's body struck head and neck first, with a horrible splintering sound. It rolled forward onto one shoulder, and over until the great back crashed to the ground. It rolled, once, spilling the slim figure of The Shadowsil from its back, and halted in a smoking heap against a broken rock where Shandril's blasting had ended.
'Get her!' Lanseril shouted from behind him. Before Elminster could speak Florin and Merith had leaped past him, blades flashing. The elf's armor was torn and twisted crazily at one shoulder where a dragon claw had earlier caught it. Had not Merith jumped desperately upward into its closing grip to strike with his blade, the body below the armor would have been torn apart as well.
Elminster knew they could not hear him. He hissed words hastily, exerted his will, then vanished.
Florin could see The Shadowsil, struggling feebly on one elbow to roll herself over. The wand was still in her hand. She was snarling through the long hair. He raised his sword as he ran, in desperate haste. He did not hold with slaying women, but this foe could be the death of them all, were he not fast enough. Merith crashed along behind him, slipping and staggering among the scattered rocks and treasure.
Suddenly Elminster was before them, barring their path. 'Stay back!' he commanded. 'No more butchery is necessary.' Wildly waving their swords, they skidded to a halt only feet from the old mage. They cast quick glances back to ensure that this was not some illusion of their enemy's. 'Put the steel away,' the old mage said wearily and
