features were unmistakable, even with Labraster's eyes glowing eerily purple. The merchant put out his other hand, point shy;ing fingers at both men, and purple lightning snarled forth.
Dauntless dodged and rolled. Snarling purple fire leaped after him, clawing and spitting at his heels. Mirt, on his knees and no longer a slender and agile man even to the most flattering observer, was struck instantly, and could be heard roaring weakly amid the raging lightning. As Mirt sagged, curling up in pain, Labraster flung both hands around to point squarely at Dauntless. The Harper cried out as he went down, writhing and convulsing help shy;lessly in a splashing sea of purple fire.
Auvrarn Labraster threw back his head and laughed exultantly. His eyes were blazing almost red as he lowered his gaze slowly to the still figure of Storm Silverhand, sprawled on the floor with her exposed lungs fluttering only faintly.
'Any last comments, bard?' he jeered, striding forward with his hands trailing twin streams of purple fire onto the stones as he went.
Storm turned her head with an effort, lifted clouded eyes to his, and murmured, 'I'm not enjoying this.'
Labraster threw back his head and laughed uproari shy;ously.
He was still guffawing helplessly when the glistening point of a slender sword burst out of his throat from behind. Purple fire howled around the toppling merchant, then was gone, shrinking back beneath the stones with a suddenness that was almost deafening.
Storm, Mirt, and Dauntless alike peered through mists of pain to watch him fall. Standing in the shadows behind him was a slender figure they all knew, who lifted his eye shy;brows to them in sardonic salute as he deftly cut a slice from the back of Auvrarn Labraster's shirt, speared it on his bloodied blade, and tossed it aloft to wipe his blade clean with.
'If I desired my little empire of sewers to be full of god shy;desses, archwizards, and Chosen of Mystra,' Elaith Craulnober murmured, 'I'd have invited them.'
As if in reply, there came a sudden roaring from the altar, as purple flame leaped up through its cracks to gather above it.
'Back!' Mirt cried feebly. 'Help me get Storm back!'
Dauntless rose unsteadily and staggered across the riven floor of the temple. He was still a good way from where the fat merchant was trying to shield the Bard of Shadowdale with his own body when another figure rose up, its movements stiff and yet trembling with pain.
Halaster Blackcloak was as white as a corpse. He paid no attention to anything in the room except the altar as he lifted unsteady hands and said a single harsh word. A wave of something unseen rolled away from him, and the altar burst apart into rubble and dust. Purple flame shot up to the ceiling, emitting a howl of fury, and from its height turned and shot out like a bolt of lightning.
The Serpent and the Harpers watched doom come for Halaster Blackcloak. When the purple fires struck and raged, the archwizard reeled but kept his feet. They saw him throw back his head and gasp in pain, but they also saw a lacing of blue-white fire dancing around his brow that had not been there a moment before. It persisted until the purple flame had spat and flickered back into Darkness. When it faded, Halaster Blackcloak went with it.
He looked last down at Storm Silverhand, and they quite clearly heard him say, 'I am done with cabals and dark goddesses. Sorry, Lady of Shadowdale,' before he dis shy;appeared.
Silence fell once more in the ruined temple, and with it came the gloom. Once again the only light came from the feeble tongues of silver flame rising from Storm.
Bright radiance burst forth a little way behind Daunt shy;less. The Lady Mage of Waterdeep stood at its heart with a wand flickering in her hand. 'Sister,' she said, 'I am come!'
There was another flash beside Elaith, who drew back smoothly and lifted his blade for a battle, frowning.
Taerach Thone stood blinking at them all. He held a piece of flickering stone in one of his open hands, and a ghostly lady was perched prettily in the cradle his arms formed. 'Sister,' Sylune said to Storm, 'I am here too.'
'You don't suppose,' Mirt grunted, 'one of you oh-so-mighty lasses could lend a hand, here? She's dying faster'n my potions can keep her alive!'
The Zhentarim slyblade tossed something across the room to the Old Wolf. 'Here,' Thone called, 'have my potion. It can be trusted.'
More than one pair of eyebrows rose at that, in the moments before the air began to shimmer in earnest, and tall, silver-haired women began to appear on all sides.
Elaith Craulnober stiffened at the sight of a white-bearded, hawk-nosed mage in worn robes and a crooked, broad-brimmed hat… and stiffened still more at the sight of a drow priestess whose brief black garment bore the shining silver sword and moon of Eilistraee. Her eyes caught and held his as she stepped forward out of the swirling magic that had brought her, and strode grace shy;fully toward him.
His blade was raised against her, but Qilue Veladorn walked unconcernedly onto it and came on. It passed through her as if she was smoke, but her hand, when it touched his cheek, was solid enough.
'It seems you are one of those who deserves a kiss of thanks, on behalf of a goddess. . and a sister,' she said, making the words a soft challenge.
There was no time for him to call on any magic or to break away. The elf whom men called the Serpent swal shy;lowed once, then turned his head slightly to meet the lips descending to his. They were cool, but her mouth and tongue were warm. Deliciously warm.
It was a long time before they broke apart-time enough for Storm to rise to her feet and join an interested, chuckling audience. It was an audience Elaith had no trouble ignoring as he drew back, and found Qilue's brow arched in another challenge.
There was a time when he'd have spat in the face of a drow. There was a time when he'd have offered swift death to anyone who seized on his person in such a way, leaving him so open to danger. There'd been a time when his pride …
But here in this damp, ruined room, this day, Elaith Craulnober sighed, smiled, and told the drow priestess, 'I hope you realize that, after this, tomorrow is going to be truly boring.'
