ask, 'Lord?'
The man in purple replied clearly, 'Kill them, of course.'
4
There was an instant of tense silence as everyone drew breath together. Then battle began, a race toward death that rent the night with the clangor of drawn arms and the roaring of unleashed magic.
The bearded mage obviously thought he faced only two travelers who'd been unfortunate enough to choose a sleeping place where they could not help but witness the gate, and must therefore be eliminated. He was not expecting another wizard and did not care to expend any more magic than he'd used this night already.
So he did nothing but watch as two of the black-armored guards lumbered forward warily, the one with the crossbow a little in the lead, and the other, blade out, keeping watchfully to one side. They came for Sharantyr first, no doubt judging her older companion to be in hiding out of weakness or fear.
Drawn steel they knew the strength of, and they were two against one and larger. Besides, this woman seemed atremble with fear and barely knew how to hold her blade, much less use it. She bit her lip as they advanced, and took a slow, unwilling step back.
The guard with the crossbow grinned and stepped to one side, Elminster's side, to a spot where he could fell either one of them. His companion came on toward Sharantyr to greet her with his drawn sword and a cold grin. She was pretty. Perhaps she need not die quickly.
He caught his friend's eye and jerked his head toward the old man, indicating that a quarrel would make short work of him now, leaving just the wench. The old man shuffled sideways a little, looking helpless.
The guard with the crossbow nodded and raised his weapon to take aim. It was then he saw that the old man was smiling.
The sleeve fell away from Elminster's hand, and lightning cut the world in two.
In the flash and sharp crack of the striking bolt, the crossbow jerked. Its bolt shot high into the night and away. The man in black armor danced briefly as crackling death played over him, then slumped to his knees and from there toppled to one side, lifeless. Smoke rose from his blackened helm.
Sharantyr waited calmly for the other man to reach her. Her eyes flicked only briefly to the mage beyond, for she knew why Elminster had waited. His bolt had traveled on from the guard with the crossbow to crackle its deadly way around both the third guard and the bearded man in purple. No one was standing by the flickering gate now. Black armor twitched feebly on the ground.
Elminster walked toward the gate, ignoring the last guard. That man had stopped, looking all around. His gaze swung back to Sharantyr. She was moving steadily forward now, a faint smile on her lips, all trace of nervousness gone. His comrades lay fallen where they had stood. The old man was strolling past as though nothing had occurred, too close to avoid his blade.
The guard cast a last look at Sharantyr, judged he could slay the old man and have time to turn back and meet the wildest charge she might make. He spun about, and in two swift strides his blade was reaching for the old man.
The wand, firing crosswise under Elminster's arm, spoke again. Lightning struck the Zhentilar full in the chest, plucking him from his feet and hurling him backward. He fell heavily, arms and legs flopping. Smoke rose from where he lay.
Sharantyr shook her head. 'There's nothing like giving the wolves a cooked feast,' she observed.
Elminster turned his head. 'Both of these two yet live. Slay the mage, lest he work the same tricks I did, and we'll discourse pleasantly together with the last one awhile.'
Sharantyr did as she was bid. Her eyes were hard but her voice trembled a little as she said, 'Well, that was easy work. Too easy, perhaps. Should we not move a pace or two away from this magic?'
Elminster shrugged. 'Move around behind it, perhaps. After we've disarmed and trammeled this one a bit to stop him moving, and taken what we can from the others.'
'Yes,' Sharantyr said. 'Of course.' Her voice was grim. Elminster reached out a long arm to touch her shoulder.
'Is killing hard for ye?' he asked quietly.
'No,' Sharantyr replied as softly, her eyes meeting his. 'Not anymore. That bothers me, sometimes.'
Elminster nodded. 'So long as it bothers ye, 'tis well. When it does not, the problems begin. I'll draw the fangs of the living one, if ye'll rob the dead ones. Age hath its privileges, and choosing the nobler task is one.'
She raised a dark eyebrow. 'What? Elminster of Shadowdale choosing the nobler task? Are my ears ensorcelled?'
Elminster sighed. 'Mockery,' he observed heavily, 'seems the paramount privilege of youth.'
'Youth?' Sharantyr dimpled, and raised a hand to her hair coquettishly. 'Why, thank you.'
Elminster snorted. 'Get on with it, lass. I'd like to speak to this one while he yet lives. I think the mage recognized me before he died.'
'Which means?'
'Old foes. The Zhentarim, almost certainly.' The Old Mage heard his battle companion hiss, raised his eyebrows, and continued. 'Others, too, perhaps. And with me not at my best.'
Sharantyr laid a hand on his arm. 'We make a good team, Old Mage. Worry not.'
Elminster rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to reply. Then he stiffened and his face changed.
Sharantyr's blade rose. 'Elminster? Wha-magic? Attacking you?'
The Old Mage waved his hands in a weak negative. His face was paler than it had been, and he sighed heavily
'Glad I am, lass, that we were through with that'-he pointed at the bodies around-'ere this befell.'
'What is it? Are you well?'
Elminster nodded a little wearily. Sharantyr saw that his forehead was wet with sweat.
'Some power has left me. Azuth or Mystra or her successor… calling on it. Not a hostile thing, but disconcerting all the same.' He looked up. 'Well? Have ye turned out the boots and purses of the departed yet?'
Sharantyr grimaced. 'Old Mage,' she added very quietly, 'there are things I must know first.'
Elminster rolled his eyes again. 'There always are,' he agreed pleasantly, and waited.
Sharantyr made another face. 'Elminster,' she said, pointing with her blade, 'you were deadly enough with that wand just now. Tell me, if we're to walk together awhile, just what magic do you carry? What does it do and, if worst befalls, can I use any of it? If so, how?'
Elminster's hand rose with exaggerated feebleness. 'Wait, wait,' he protested in the effete tones of a Sembian dandy. 'I never can keep track of more than two questions at a time. There ought to be a law, to keep wenches down to asking just two of each man until they're answered.'
Sharantyr just looked at him.
Elminster grinned and said, 'All right. Ye are right to ask, and should know. Of what I carry, ye can use only the wand in my right boot-it hurls magic missiles: one missile if ye think the word alag and two if ye think baulgoss; my belt flask, which contains an elixir of health-ye know, cures disease, poison, an' all that; and the rings I wear, which work without any guidance on thy part. One allows ye to land lightly after any fall, and the other turns away some spells. There's another ring in my purse; it heals wounds when worn. It works but slowly, mind ye, so don't go being heroic. Got all that?'
Sharantyr looked at him again. Then she looked up at the night sky overhead and told the stars, 'There ought to be a law…'
Elminster chuckled. 'I also have the wand of lightnings ye saw and my pipe, which holds a trick or two. Naught else.'
Sharantyr raised an eyebrow. 'No? You surprise me. How you can stagger along under the weight of all that and look at me long-faced to say you have no magic is beyond all belief.'
