least I have learned in our years together. I will not try to keep you from the fray, or tell you what is wisest and safest, or try to shield you. I love you too much, Lady, to so insult you anymore.'
A thought then came to him, one he'd had several times before. Nothing in all Faerun tasted so sweet as one of his Lady Laeral's kisses.
Long, skeletal arms went around the Old Mage. He took his pipe out of his mouth as he saw them come into view, turned smoothly within their tightening embrace, and said, 'Ah, it is you. Well met, my lady.'
Then, without a trace of repugnance, he leaned forward and kissed the tattered skin and bared bone and teeth of the undead thing's grinning mouth.
'Oh, Elminster,' came a loud, dry voice in reply. 'The years have dealt with you far more kindly than they have with me.'
'Not by my Art,' Elminster said gently, and his tone was sad. 'I am as you see me now by the grace of Lady Mystra-and it is not, I must tell you, entirely a blessing.'
'Live by your charm, Old Spellhurler,' came the wry response, 'and die by it.'
Elminster chuckled, then seemed to remember the shocked audience below. 'Excuse me,' he asked, 'but do you mind if I introduce you to my companions?'
'Not at all, El. They are welcome in my home.'
Elminster bowed to her as if he faced a queenly lady and not a mold-covered, half-skeletal horror clad in rotten rags. Then he turned and looked down over the balcony rail.
Three silent, openmouthed, wide-eyed folk stood with blades wavering in their hands, looking up and obviously not knowing what else to do.
'Will ye come up?' Elminster asked. 'I'd like ye to meet the Lady Saharel, queen in this, her castle of Saharelgard.'
The undead lady came to stand at his shoulder and beckoned them with a smile. It looked ghastly, but its warmth was evident in her tone. 'You may as well call it Spellgard, El. I've heard that name often down the years and become used to it. I think I'm even starting to like the name. Terribly pretentious, if I'd laid it upon this crumbling pile of mine, but rather impressive when bestowed out of fear by someone else.'
She leaned over the rail, her wild, gray-white hair trailing forward. 'Come up, yes. Please come up, and excuse the mess and general… decay. I've not the skill at Art or practical knowledge to keep my home in good repair. Moreover, I sleep much of the time, and when I wake I half expect to find that the whole thing has come down on top of me and I'm buried under my own folly… not an unusual fate for wizards, I'm told.'
Elminster winced. 'Ye haven't changed,' he complained.
'Oh, no? Tell that to my mirror, the only one I haven't broken in rage over the years. I was beautiful once.'
As Belkram, Itharr, and Sharantyr came hesitantly up the stairs, weapons sheathed, they saw Elminster draw the gaunt, long-haired lady to him. Her bared bones clung to his old arms.
'Ye still are, Saharel,' he said, 'when I look at you, and not merely what's left of your skin.' After a moment he grinned and added, 'Didn't I tell thee, once? Ye have beautiful bones.'
The undead lady in his arms sighed loudly and swung her skull-like face toward Sharantyr. 'He hasn't changed much, has he?'
Despite herself, Sharantyr came to a halt, but she managed a smile and said, 'If you mean he was prone to shameless flattery and leering ways, when first you knew him, Lady-no, he has not.'
Then she forced herself to step forward and sketched a court salute, that archaic bob of one lady to another.
Saharel shuddered. 'That didn't catch on, did it?' Then she put bony fingers to her mouth. 'Forgive me, Lady,' she said, quickly. 'I did not mean to offend… I have had few visitors of thy gentle nature, and am somewhat out of practice at common courtesies. Pray accept my apology.'
'Lady,' Sharantyr said haltingly, 'none is needed.'
The undead sorceress turned to Elminster and poked him sharply in the ribs. 'Well, Spellhurler? I've never known your tongue to be so laggard before! You said you'd introduce us, and here I am speaking to a charming young lady and know not her name. What manner of gallant are you?'
'No gallant, Lady,' Elminster said in an affected mock-courtier's voice, 'but, I fear, a rogue.'
'Words more true were never uttered,' Belkram said to Itharr in a whisper loud enough to be heard all over the vast hall.
Elminster's glare was lost in the mingled, tinkling laughter of Sharantyr and Saharel. The Old Mage sighed loudly, looked up at the ceiling (which offered him no visible support or even agreement), and said, 'May I present the Lady Saharel, Sorceress of Saharelgard, of the High Mages of Netheril?' He knelt, and lifted his hand to indicate the undead sorceress. 'The Lady Saharel!' he declaimed grandly.
The two Harpers bowed solemnly and Sharantyr repeated her salute. Elminster rose between them and said to Saharel, 'Good lady, I present to you three distinguished adventurers of the sword. Firstly, the Lady Sharantyr of Shadowdale, Knight of Myth Drannor.'
Saharel stepped forward to lay a hand over Sharantyr's. The bones were cold, smooth, and hard but patted her fingers reassuringly. 'Try not to mind my looks,' came the dry voice. 'I would be your friend.' Then she added, 'I am glad to hear that Myth Drannor flourishes.'
'Well, actually,' Elminster said rather sheepishly, 'it does not. It lies in ruin, but the Fair Folk have recently withdrawn from the elven court, and this brave lady is one of a band who have dedicated themselves to guarding the city from those who would pillage it, and to rebuilding its glory someday.'
'So how come you here?' Saharel asked, gazing at Sharantyr.
The ranger sighed and said, 'I came to guard him.' She pointed at Elminster.
'Guard?' The undead lady, obviously astonished, turned to look at Elminster. 'From me?'
'Ah, no-no,' Elminster said. 'It's a delicate matter. Oh, gods blast, ye may as well know it, too.' He straightened up. 'The gods walk Faerun, Saharel, even as we speak. They are thrown down among us by a greater power, and much of their might stripped from them. By Mystra's will I hold much of her power, and the carrying of it has stripped from me the use of my own Art. I can't conjure up even a hand-glow… and I must survive, to pass on what I hold to Mystra or to some mysterious successor she spoke of.'
He sighed and then grinned. 'It's all rather a mess, I suppose.'
'And I suppose,' Saharel said archly, 'you're going to try to pretend to me that you had no part in causing all this?'
'Ah, indeed,' Elminster replied. 'For once.'
Two twinkling lights rolled in the skull's empty eye sockets, a sight that made Sharantyr and the Harpers burst into helpless laughter. The glowing eyes came down to fix themselves on the two young men, whose laughter rapidly died away under the eerie scrutiny.
'And who are these two loud, handsome young men?'
'These are Itharr and Belkram,' Elminster said with a grand gesture, 'of the Harpers.'
'Oh, so that caught on, did it? Welcome, gentle sirs, welcome.'
'That?' Itharr asked, guessing what she meant.
At the same time Belkram said, 'Lady, we have come here from the High Dale by means of a magical gate, to defend Elminster. We have been given to understand that his survival, and that of the Realms entire, are one and the same.'
'Well, ye don't have to be so melodramatic about it, lad,' Elminster said testily. 'It's not the first time around for me at this, ye know.'
'What?' the ranger and the two Harpers erupted, more or less together.
'Oh, no,' Saharel said, obviously enjoying this. 'But come. Let us find a place where there's furniture left to sit on in some comfort-the Fountain Hall, perhaps, so you can drink your fill. This one, at least'-she poked the Old Mage again-'is apt to flap his jaw so much he gets thirsty.'
'Besides,' the undead mistress of Spellgard added as she led the way from the balcony along a narrow, dark hall, waving aside cobwebs, and down a crumbling stair, 'there are things I must tell you before I grow tired of your fearful looks, you young three. I'm an archlich, not one of your evil lichnee. I don't eat people, or chill the life from them, or steal their spells or souls, or suchlike. It's quite safe to touch me.'
