Elminster Must Die

families, if she wishes.”

Amarune’s face told all the King’s Forest around them how little this suggestion pleased her, and Arclath added hastily, “Or I have influence enough-with some very highly placed persons-to get her into the palace.”

Amarune gave him a sidelong glance. “Oh? War wizards and palace guards like to watch barepelt lasses dance?”

Arclath nodded then reddened. “Yes, and … ah, other things.”

Amarune’s stare sharpened. “So what is a woman who does those ‘other things’ around the palace called? Bedwarmer? Bedmaid? Or something lower and ruder?”

Arclath winced, then said carefully, “Lady, I did not mean to give offense. I-oh, gods blast, I’m less than good at this …”

“Oh, I’d not say that,” Amarune replied calmly. “So, would you expect to be a frequent patron of mine? Or will I be nightly facing a long line of snooty old courtiers?”

Some hours of walking later, Storm turned to Arclath a little wearily. “Are you leading us to the old royal hunting lodge?”

Arclath shook his head. “I know a better place. We want to be properly cozy, if war’s coming to Cormyr in the next month or so.”

Amarune whirled to face him, almost knocking Storm headlong into a bog. “Is war coming to Cormyr in the next month or so?”

Arclath smiled crookedly. “We’ll just have to see, lass. We’ll just have to see.” He reached out to caress her hair. “In the meantime, this strong and noble body of mine-”

“Is getting hungry and will want to eat well before dark,” Storm said firmly. “Even lust-smitten young nobles have to eat. So while I’m certain this ‘better place’ of yours has a bed the two of you will waste no time in bouncing on, I trust it also boasts hearth, and firewood, and a good cooking cauldron or two. Oh, and a ladle; I’ve grown tired of scalding my stirring finger.”

“Gods,” Arclath murmured, “this bids fair to echo traveling with my old nursemaid.”

Amarune glanced at Storm, then gave him a rueful smile. “You have no idea.”

“Do you regret what you agreed to?” Storm whispered. “Shall I try to have someone undo what I did, and free you from his riding?” She pulled the coffer from her bodice and held it up meaningfully.

“Yes,” Arclath said forcefully.

Amarune wagged a finger at him and said fiercely, “My decision and my business, Lord Delcastle. Not yours.”

She looked at Storm. “No. I … I saw something of his mind, during the … the eternity we spent sharing. I … gods, there’s a lot to be done! Let’s be getting on with it!”

Storm smiled at her-and started to weep silently, her eyes shining through her tears.

“Well done, Amarune,” she whispered. “Oh, well done!”

They embraced.

Over Storm’s shoulder, Amarune caught sight of Arclath’s face. He looked so anxious that she snorted and added dryly, “Arclath, I do believe we’ll manage to find a little time together first. Just find us that bed.”

EPILOGUE

Elminster?

Storm awoke and lay still in the near-darkness. The banked hearth beside her was giving out feeble flickers, and as usual she was toasting on her side nearest to it and chilled on the part of her that faced away.

Elminster?

There it was again. In her head.

A voice she knew.

A voice she’d not heard for almost a hundred years.

A voice she’d never thought to hear again.

She gathered her will, finding herself on the verge of tears. Mystra? Mother Goddess, is that you?

Storm! Daughter, is Elminster with you?

It was her mother, but fainter, the singing blue fire diminished. Different.

Well, of course it would be. The Weave was gone; how could Mystra not be different?

He is, and he is not. Storm sent her words into the familiar blue warmth and felt them taken in as they always had been. He was slain but can ride a willing host.

Send him to me. You and I will confer later.

It was Mystra. It was!

Trembling, almost unable to breathe, Storm crawled to the bed and opened the coffer.

Arclath came awake in an instant, grabbing at his sword. She flung herself on him and kissed him to quell all questions, holding him down with all her strength as Elminster’s ashes flowed up the young dancer and into her.

And Amarune rose, unspeaking, smiled down at them with Elminster’s eyes-eyes that danced with joy-and went out into the night.