was standing on a stone to make herself taller.
She faced the twig-wand without fear and replied triumphantly, 'Well, I'm the Simbul, and my power is even greater. Besides, Elminster loves me and does what I want!'
The Old Mage found himself smiling. With the smile, hot tears came unbidden, and his eyes swam.
He waited until he could see the trees clearly again and slipped quietly away.
Sweat glistened on bare, knot-muscled shoulders as Storm Silverhand greeted the morn. A bastard sword with a blade as broad as a man's hand glinted blue and deadly in the rising light as it spun and leapt in her hands.
Storm wore only boots, tattered and patched leather breeches, and huge metal war gauntlets. She grunted from time to time as she twisted, lunged, and danced, fencing with shadows. When she was breathing heavily, Storm paused, leaned on her blade, and called softly, 'Vethril! Vethril! To battle, sister!'
In the round-windowed room under the eaves, her two Harper guests awoke as Storm's soft words floated in through the open window. Belkram and Itharr yawned, rubbed their eyes, stretched, and winced. Both were as sore as old saddle horses after being ridden hard. Their eyes met ruefully. Gods, did the woman never rest?
She'd talked late into the night, matching them flagon for flagon. They'd fallen asleep listening to her sing soft, sad sleep-songs of lost Myth Drannor as she swept and washed up. Now she was up and about in the dawn after a day of battle-and that wound-that would leave most men stiff and numb for half a day after.
Perhaps it was this beautiful house and the dale beyond. Harpers, who tend to be folk of the open road, can seldom relax and rarely sleep without a blade to hand. This place was a refuge, a rare opportunity to let go for two men who had a lot of sleep to catch up on.
Nonetheless, they were Harpers. At the first clash of steel they were up, naked but with swords ready in their hands, and rushing to the window. Their jaws dropped together.
Outside, the half-naked Bard of the Blade, silver hair swirling about her, was fighting a ghost. Her translucent, utterly silent opponent swung a very real black-bladed battle-axe. When it met the great bastard sword Storm wielded, sparks flew from the force of the blow.
The two men drank in the sight of Storm's magnificence for a breath and then stared hard at the opponent who hardly seemed to be there. They exchanged glances and whistled soundlessly. The fighting down there was fast. Like their combat in the glade yesterday, it was obviously a friendly battle; no one was striking to slay. But as those huge weapons flashed and spun, crashed together and bobbed about in the hands of their dodging, dancing wielders, the Harpers were struck by just how fast the two women were going at it. Perhaps their own work, yesterday, had looked like that. They'd been far too busy to watch.
Two women? Aye, for the ghost-if that was what it was-was a slim, long-haired woman in a gown. Shorter than Storm, she looked very like the Bard of Shadowdale in features, build, and movement.
The two men could see right through her, but from time to time as she moved, her features grew clearer and more solid. This seemed to happen when emotion rose, whenever the silent figure made an exultant grin, a delighted, soundless laugh, or a grimace of remorse at a missed chance or bad bit of weapon wielding. As the two men watched, Storm leapt high, slashing the axe aside with her own blade, and crashed down on her ghostly opponent with knees drawn up. There was an audible thump as they fell to the trodden turf together.
Itharr leaned out the window to see what had happened just as the axe leapt skyward again and there was a clanging flurry of blows. His naked sword grated for an instant on the window frame.
The silent figure stared up in terror and melted away in an instant, the axe falling. Storm batted it away with her blade, but not fast enough to avoid taking a long slice as the axe blade caught on one bare forearm and slid past.
She shook her head, smiling up at them ruefully, and said, 'Fair morn, men. I can't seem to avoid getting cut open when you're around.' Clapping a hand to the welling blood, she asked, 'A little practice? Or dawnfry first?'
'Uh-food first, if that's your pleasure, Lady,' Belkram managed, trying not to stare. 'Err-who was that?'
Storm took up the axe in the crook of her arm and started for the door beneath them. 'Come down and I'll tell,' she called.
Hastily pulling on boots and breeches, the two Harpers went down. They brought their swords because they were, after all, Harpers. The kitchen was as cool and inviting as it had been yesterday.
'Well met.' Storm grinned, muscling a cauldron of soup off the hearth, an apron wrapped around her hands to ward off burns. Wordlessly, Itharr went to her and turned up her arm. A long white scar there was fading already. He raised his eyebrows.
Storm gestured with her chin at a shelf behind him, under the stairs they'd descended. 'Healing potions there, if you need them.'
Belkram cleared his throat. 'Lady, at the risk of seeming a complete idiot, I'd like to ask you to tell us whatever you care to about what we just saw-and for that matter, about what happened yesterday.'
Storm waved them to seats, whipping warm bread from a hearth pan, and said, 'Of course. One of my customs is to limber up of mornings with the heaviest blade I can comfortably swing.' She cast a fond glance at the great bastard sword. The two men looked at it leaning against the wall, and both raised their eyebrows at its length and evident weight. 'From time to time I call on a sparring partner, whom you saw.'
'A ghost?'
'If you like. A soul who dwells here with me and can materialize for short periods. The rest of the time she is my watchguard. If ever you have a message for me and can't find me here, speak it aloud and she'll usually make some sign that she's heard. Moving a chair, for instance. She's handy that way for scaring off thieves.'
Itharr nodded slowly. 'I can imagine.' He looked all around. 'She's here all the time?'
Storm nodded. 'She doesn't like to show herself to any but me, and I don't like to reveal her to others. I came up to wake you two-with a kiss and a hot mug of bitterroot, as I did yestermorn-and you both slept right on. Well, it's never failed before.' She grinned again, and Belkram rolled his eyes. 'So I thought you were safely snoring for a bit, and called her.'
Itharr nodded again and said, raising his voice only a little, 'Ah-well met, Vethril! I'm sorry we broke into things; you swing a mean axe.'
A little chill went down his spine as a feminine mouth and chin appeared in the air before him for a moment, over the table. The mouth smiled and was gone.
For a long moment, Belkram stared at where the apparition had been and said, 'Yes. Well. Lady, will you tell us about yesterday?'
Storm nodded, not smiling now, and said, 'Something happened. Something very important that wisdom forbids me to tell you about. Something, as you know, connected with Mystra. All I can say is beware magic for some time to come. It may go awry in strange ways. More than that; in the days ahead we must all be wary, ready for trouble. It's all too likely to come.'
She sighed and broke off a large chunk of bread in her long, strong fingers. Itharr looked from them to the gauntlets and back again. Then his gaze drifted up her naked torso, to be caught and held by Storm's own eyes. She was not smiling, and her eyes held them both as if on two dark sword points. Her voice, when it came, was very soft.
'There is more. For the next little while, the most important being in the entire Realms is the archmage Elminster of Shadowdale. He must be aided and watched at all times by every Harper, so spread the word. He must be kept alive, and he might not be able to use his own magic. We must guard him as if he were a defenseless child. Nothing you do in your lives, gentlemen, is likely to be half so important as this, believe me.'
Deep silence fell, and lasted five long breaths before Itharr shivered. They all stirred, and Storm smiled at them again.
'That reminds me,' she said briskly, 'that we'd best go see Elminster. So break bread, men, and let's be washed up and done.'
'Ah,' Belkram said, eyeing her, 'can we get dressed first? You seem used to going about near unclad and all, but…'
They all chuckled, and Storm rose and took down the leathers she'd worn the day before, from a drying-rack in the beams low overhead.
Itharr looked up at her and said softly, 'Vethril? Vethril, are you near?'
