Elminster chuckled. 'Baubles, lass. At least, until thy life depends on them and all else is gone'-his smile died suddenly-'as it has gone.' Then he thought of something more. 'Another thing: All of these trinkets are old and may not work as others ye have seen.'
'Old? How old?'
'Ah, well, Myth Drannan, most of them.'
Sharantyr sighed. 'I'll just go and see to robbing these corpses, shall I?'
Elminster got out his pipe. 'Not a moment sooner than I thought ye would,' he grunted, watching the flickering gate.
Sharantyr gestured rudely at him with her sword and went to the farthest body. Strangling was the most fitting fate for mages. No, shutting several of them up in a room together to drive each other mad with their testy, interminable drivel-ahem, eloquence. Yes. That would be best. She had to survive all this to get to Berdusk and suggest the process to a few Harpers. It would definitely be a service to civilized folk everywhere.
Among them, the dead men had carried no more than a handful of coins, assorted daggers, two skins of water, two metal flasks containing what Sharantyr suspected were magical healing potions, and-on the wizard of course-a plain brass ring and a belt purse holding only a rusted, hand-size iron sphere.
Elminster's eyes lit at the sight of the sphere. 'Devised long ago by Azuth himself,' he said with satisfaction. 'Those who use his truename can command any of these spheres, even if they don't know the command word of the particular sphere.'
'And you know Azuth's truename?'
Elminster looked hurt. 'Of course.'
Sharantyr sighed. Of course. 'So who was this Bilarro whom such spheres are named for?'
'A later, lesser mage,' Elminster sniffed. 'He saw one such sphere, learned through diligence and much misadventure how to make his own, and retired fat and rich on the proceeds of a life of selling such baubles to every swordsman fearful of magic. I've heard that a treacherous apprentice used one on him in the end, and cast him into a nearby pond to see if he could swim. But that may be just a tavern tale.'
Sharantyr sighed again. Did wizards spend all their lives scheming and keeping score? She looked around at the night-shrouded trees, the ruins, and the glowing, flickering oval of light. Nothing moved. Firm schooling took her on a careful walk around the edge of the area lit by the gate, looking into the night more carefully. She could see no life, no lurking menace, but her sword did not leave her hand.
'Old Mage,' she said as she rejoined Elminster, 'let us make haste. I do not think it wise to tarry here overlong.'
'And ye are right,' he agreed grandly. Sharantyr was raising an annoyed eyebrow and parting her lips to speak before he slowly winked.
'It's a wonder,' the lady ranger murmured to the guard, as she bent over to take him by the armpits and drag him around behind the glowing gate, 'why anyone puts up with archmages long enough to let them reach their advanced powers. You'd think a lot more of them would be drowned or strangled-or have their tongues torn out by the roots-before they'd been a year or two at their studies.'
The guard, flopping limply and heavily in her grasp, did not reply.
Elminster seemed to take a very long time getting ready to question the last guard. Sharantyr had removed the man's gauntlets, helm, and belt, using the latter to tie his hands together. After examining the mage's body thoroughly for hidden weapons or items that might be magical, she dumped it atop the guard, pinning his arms and midsection under its weight. Elminster nodded approvingly but kept on examining their booty, muttering to himself and making faces.
At length he opened both vials, sniffed them with the air of a connoisseur, tasted what his fingertip found of both, and said, 'These heal, and as far as I can tell do naught else. Ye carry them both, for ye may well have more need of them.' He grinned reassuringly and said, 'Carry the mage's ring, also, but do not put it on. Keep it hidden in thy belt, to show as a token from him should we need such a ruse. We dare not try to use it.'
Sharantyr took the proffered items and laid a hand on the Old Mage's arm. Her eyes were dark and serious.
'Elminster,' she asked, 'should you be getting into this sort of struggle-with mages you do not know and gates that go you know not where-in your present, ah, vulnerable condition?'
Elminster glared at her for a moment and shrugged. 'Ye're young yet, Shar. Ye can't know. 'Tis not pride that makes me poke my nose into all affairs of Art that I come across. 'Tis what I am and what I do. When ye live as long as I have and have seen thy friends, foes, and homes all swept away, one after another, with the endless passing years, all that is left is what ye believe in and strive for. I dare not stay in Shadowdale, to bring danger down on it, but I'll not run away to cower or hide, daring nothing.'
He patted her hand where it rested on his arm, then gently pulled free to face her. 'Crawl off into a hole and die before I'm dead? Nay, this is what I stand for, and what I'll do.'
Sharantyr nodded. 'I meant no offense. I'm sorry. I wanted to learn your will, ere we were swept away into battles again.'
Elminster grinned suddenly. 'And I've told thee, as usual. Thy ears must grow very weary of my voice.'
Sharantyr smiled faintly. 'Such words would never pass my lips,' she said with affected dignity. Then she added slyly, 'but I often think them. Love stays my tongue.'
' 'Tis a rare love that does that,' Elminster said feelingly. He chuckled and said, 'Shall we slap this fellow awake and treat ye to more of my tongue?'
Sharantyr grinned. 'We shall. I'm getting too old to need sleep at night.'
Elminster winced. 'I'll be as swift as I can be.' He laid a warning finger on his lips to bid her be silent. Unclipping his belt flask, he held it upside down over the guard's head, loosening the stopper so that a thin stream splashed on the man's forehead and ran down into his eyes.
The warrior shuddered, wrinkled his eyes convulsively. He snorted and awoke, knuckling his eyes and moaning.
'Well met,' Elminster said briskly. 'Thy name?'
'Mulser,' the man said, and groaned. 'I-it burns inside!'
'Those who defy the lords of Zhentil Keep must pay the price,' Elminster said sharply. 'This gate ye came here by, where does it lead?'
'Zhentil-? You are of the Brotherhood?'
'Aye,' Elminster said solemnly. 'My name is both near and dear to Lord Manshoon. I speak with authority that bows only to his word.'
'Gods,' the man groaned, and drew a trembling breath. 'I… hurt, Lord. I… I'll try to serve you, but I fear I can't'-he struggled for a moment and then fell back with a groan-'can't rise,' he gasped, sweating.
Elminster laid a hand on his forehead. 'Rest and lie still. Answer my questions; that is all ye need do.'
When he brought his hand away again, Sharantyr saw that it glistened with the man's sweat. The Old Mage bent close to the man and asked, 'This gate, Mulser. Where did ye come from?'
The man gasped for breath a moment and then said, 'The-the High Dale. Lord, why do you not know this?'
'It appears,' Elminster said in heavy, sinister tones, 'that some among us have seen fit to act on their own, as it were. Word of these doings has only just reached my ears. I need you, Mulser, to tell me who of the Brotherhood is in the High Dale, and what exactly befalls there. Speak freely. I value honesty, not toadying words. Tell me, now, who is master in the dale?'
'H-Heladar Longspear, Lord.'
'He is of us?'
'A Zhentilar like myself, Lord. He served in the taking of the Citadel, and in Daggerdale. He is hard, but a good blade.'
'Which mages back him?'
'Angruin Stormcloak gives him his orders.'
'Angruin Myrvult?' Elminster sounded surprised.
'Aye, Lord.'
