Belkram slashed empty air in case the wizard had merely cloaked himself with invisibility, then looked wildly around, sword held high.
Sharantyr's raw-throated scream warned him. The Zhentarim mage stood beside Elminster, wearing a sneering smile. His hand was coming up from his robes quite slowly, and a long dagger gleamed in it.
A dagger with a tapering, up-curving blade, a blade of black glass that winked and sparkled with many tiny, moving lights.
'A death dagger!' Itharr gasped, turning from the councillor he'd been about to kill. 'He is a Zhentarim!'
Stormcloak gave him that cruel smile and waved a hand. Magic missiles burst from his fingers and streaked across the hall.
Itharr stiffened as they struck him, light flaring for an instant. Then he collapsed with a groan.
The Zhentarim laughed again in triumph and raised the dagger above his head. He met Sharantyr's horrified eyes, and she cried weakly, 'No! No!' as she crawled toward him. A sudden spasm of agony made her clench her teeth, swallowing her cry. She shook her head, helpless in pain.
Angruin Myrvult Stormcloak looked down at Elminster, dagger winking in his hand as he slowly raised it, and savored the moment.
And then the forgotten Irreph Mulmar rose up behind the Zhent wizard like a vengeful ghost.
The rattle of chains warned the Zhentarim. Stormcloak spun around, hands rising to ward off a heavy length of chain that swept into him like the mighty slap of a breaking wave. The first blow shattered the dagger and the arm that held it, and left Angruin gasping in pain. Tiny lightnings fizzed and crackled to the floor as the death dagger's magic fled.
'It's too late for you to learn, wizard,' Irreph rumbled, pain making his words sharp and hissing, 'to beware toothless old men.' His shoulders rolled like the aroused leap of an angry old lion, and the chain swung again.
The second terrible blow split Angruin's skull like the shattering of a hurled egg striking a stone wall, and nearly tore his jaw off. The corpse clawed at the air convulsively and vainly-and fell.
Irreph stood looking down at the body for a long time, chain clenched in his hand for another blow, but the mage called Stormcloak did not move again.
Silence fell as dalefolk and councillors left off trying to kill each other. The high constable finally lifted his head and looked slowly around the room as if seeing it for the first time. His gaze fell on the Old Mage, who knelt clutching the wrist of a blackened, broken hand.
'My thanks, Elminster,' Irreph said thickly, 'for giving me my home back again. We must feast together, later.' And with a rattle of chains, he collapsed atop the body of the wizard who had dared to usurp his post.
Elminster shook his head to clear the pain and started the long crawl to where Sharantyr lay. Her eyes had opened again, and the smile creeping onto her face was glorious to see.
'Hurry up and heal, lass,' Elminster growled as he drew near. 'I'm in fair need of that ring meself.'
From atop the table Belkram said, 'Drop your weapons, councillors, if you would live. All who fight on will be declaring themselves Zhentarim… and will know their fate soon, and painfully.'
As he looked coldly down at the councillors, dalefolk encircled them with weapons ready, and Itharr struggled to his feet.
The trapped men looked around the room, and steel clattered to the stones as councillor after councillor held up empty hands.
Belkram waved his sword at the chairs around the table. 'Sit,' he suggested. 'I'm sure the high constable will have some words for you before long.'
Through the open doors there came the ring of steel on steel, running feet, and a short, cut-off scream.
Gedaern looked up at Belkram and said, 'We can guard these-and Irreph, the gods bless him. Go hunting Wolves, Harper.' He grinned and looked over many sprawled bodies. 'The pair of you certainly seem to have the hang of it.'
Belkram looked back at him and smiled rather sadly. 'It seems that way, doesn't it?' he replied softly, and looked to his comrade-at-arms. 'Itharr?'
'Here,' Itharr said grimly, rubbing at parts of him that hurt. 'I–I'll be with you, ready to end this slaughter… if you get down off that table slowly and give me time to catch my breath.'
From somewhere nearby in the castle came a wild yell, a clash of weapons, and another scream-this one long and lingering.
The two Harpers exchanged glances as Belkram's feet found the floor, 'By the sounds of it,' he replied, shouldering his way warily through the councillors, 'there may be no Zhent Wolves left to see to.'
Itharr only grunted. He limped as they started back across the great hall, but they were both trotting, blades in hand, as they went out into the passage.
Ulraea stared after them. 'They seem more like things of iron and untiring magic than men.'
'They're men,' Gedaern told her with a light in his eyes. He hefted the weapon in his hands and stared at the doors the two had left by. 'More than that-they're Harpers.'
'Better, lass?'
'It's 'Shar,' remember?' Sharantyr reminded him with a mock severe look.
Elminster spread innocent hands. 'I'm an old man, lass-Shar. I forget things, like all old men.' He looked her slowly up and down as if seeing her for the first time. By the time his gaze rose again to meet her own, Sharantyr found herself blushing.
'Ye look whole now,' he added. 'What say ye?'
Sharantyr smiled ruefully and handed him the ring. 'Well enough, Old Mage. Your turn.'
Elminster put the ring on his finger and said briskly, 'Good. I prefer to heal while I'm up and doing. Come.' He plucked at her arm and set off for the doors at a steady stride.
Sharantyr followed. Behind them, Gedaern shouted, 'Hey!'
Elminster did not pause. Sharantyr looked back.
'Both of you,' Gedaern said. 'You heard the Harper! Hold!'
Elminster turned at the door, and said, 'Guard those councillors well, as he bid ye, young man. I've other business to see to yet.' And he was gone.
' 'Young man'?' Gedaern sputtered angrily. Sharantyr spread apologetic hands and followed the Old Mage.
One of the councillors watching them go frowned thoughtfully and reached inside his tunic.
Something shattered loudly on the stone floor. When Gedaern whirled around, darkness was already spreading smoky tendrils toward him.
Elminster moved slowly and kept his injured hand hidden in the sleeve of his robe. Sharantyr caught up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
'Elminster,' she said, earnestly, 'I'm well enough to get about, and fight if need be, but you! Are you in any shape to be strolling around in the midst of a battle?'
The Old Mage gave her a tired look. 'The answer to that one, lass, is the same one it's always been: I have to be.'
He looked down a side passage and added, 'So rest ye assured, I am. We go this way.'
Sharantyr rolled her eyes and followed him. 'Just answer me this, then. Where are we going, and why?'
'Ah, lass,' the answer floated back to her down the dim passage. 'Sages and drunkards alike have been arguing over answers to that double-bladed question for longer than I've been alive.'
'Elminster!' Sharantyr wailed despairingly.
Behind them a councillor slipped out of the great hall in the concealing smoke born of the magical globe he'd shattered. He trotted to where he could watch the lady ranger and the old man in robes turn into the side passage.
Shouts echoed not far off, followed by the sound of running feet drawing nearer. The councillor frowned and looked hurriedly around. Selecting a certain door, he slipped into the room behind it, closed the door in silent haste, and in the darkness felt his way past the table he knew would be there to the floor beyond.
On his knees, he drew a slim, smooth wand out of a concealed sheath on his forearm and muttered a word.
