The fourth sphere spun past him, expiring in a vivid green flare, and Elminster called on his underthings one last time, bidding them slow his fall. Fabric sawed at all his joints, protesting with raw pullings and tearings that were more felt than heard, and the fifth sphere died in front of him, the blue flash of its passing making his eyes flood with tears.
The deeper flashes that followed shook him soundlessly. Then, through swimming eyes, Elminster saw the crackling scepter turning in front of him.
He put forth a hand and grasped it firmly, saying calmly, 'Thaele.'
And the world seemed to stop. There was a frozen white instant of pain as he hung motionless in the air, feeling lightings surge through him; then he felt the giant begin to collapse. Abruptly the night sky was gone, and he was standing in a familiar, cozy room more than a world away.
Thay, Kythorn 19
The Masked One shook as the last lightnings roiled through him, and the shadows that had been his titan tumbled and rolled away. Gods curse the Mage of Shadowdale! The scepter was gone, and without it…
The door behind him split from top to bottom with a thunderous crack. The necromancer whirled, snatching at the serpent-headed rod that was his last and most secret defense.
'What're you playing at, traitor?' came the cold question from the light beyond. The glowing head that drifted into the room was as tall as a man, but its features were those of the Zulkir Lauzoril.
The Masked One opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he might have said was lost forever in the crash of raining acids and bursting forcebolts that came through his scrying stone and his secret gate respectively, and crashed together with him at their heart. The chamber rocked, and the necromancer's struggling figure vanished.
As smoke rose from what had been a room of splendor only moments before, the floating head said irritably, 'Stay out of this, both of you. I'll deal with affairs that occur on my own lands!'
'We await your starting to do so,' came a reply. 'All of Thay awaits.'
The head raised an eyebrow. 'Does it? And how comes your perfect knowledge of this?'
'Lauzoril,' another voice said carefully, 'has it occurred to you that being Zulkir might occasionally involve other talents than the ability to make clever remarks?'
'We're waiting,' the first voice agreed, almost smugly.
The conflagration that followed hurled stony fragments for miles, but Zulkir Lauzoril suspected that The Masked One was long gone. He wondered briefly just what Szass Tam was going to say about this, and decided he really didn't want to approach that dark tower in Del-humide and ask. Whatever the necromancer had tried was done, a failure that had cost him his abode and much of his power. A fitting punishment could wait for later-a decade or two, perhaps.
Elminster's Safehold, Kythorn 19
The softly glowing globe that usually hung above the table in the center of the octagonal room had drifted over to one side, to hang helpfully over the shoulder of the white-bearded man lounging in Elminster's best chair, his feet up on the edge of one of the many crammed bookshelves that lined the room. A small array of wine bottles and half-empty tallglasses hung in the air around him, his rarest and best wines.
Elminster hated uninvited guests, but his expression did not change as his eyes flickered over the scene. He stepped forward with a twinkle in the depths of his old blue-gray eyes.
'You wanted this dealt with, sir?' the Old Mage asked in the calm, cultured tones of a servant as he set the scepter in his hand gently on the table in front of the Overgod. His tone was innocent, but the words hung in the air as firmly as any challenge.
Ao raised calm eyes to meet his but said nothing. Challenge answered.
Elminster met those dark, star-filled eyes steadily and laid the torn remnants of his undervest and clout beside the scepter. 'See? Clean,' he announced calmly, and waved a hand.
A second chair melted out of the air in silent obedience, and El sat down, swinging his own feet up to the table.
Ao glanced at the scepter, and it disappeared. His eyes flickered for a moment as he considered the implications of the powers he'd just absorbed. Then he raised his eyebrows and his glass together. 'Perhaps you should be the god of all magic in Faerun.'
El put his hands behind his head and frowned. 'What? Would ye ruin my life and my usefulness both at once?'
Ao regarded him thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. 'You're right… all too often, Elminster Aumar. Try to stay out of the grievous sort of trouble that beset the gods of your world. I'd not want to have to return here to destroy you.'
He held out a hand, and after a long moment Elminster took it-to find himself shaking only empty air.
The Old Mage collapsed into a chair, noticing his wines were all back on their shelf, stoppered and arranged as he'd last left them. 'Foosh!' he said in shocked tones. 'A 'be a good boy' lecture and half my wine gone! I don't think I can afford to entertain Overgods!'
The Castle of Shadows, Kythorn 19
Deep green and serpentine were the shadows coiling around them as three rangers in leather blinked at each other and at their surroundings. It was cool and damp and smelled… strange, as if the smells of an old and deep forest were mingled with sharp scents of burning. It was some sort of high-ceilinged chamber or hall, longer than it was wide and built of stone, the massive blocks smooth with age and unadorned.
They were alone, though small things seemed to be alive in the ever-swirling shadows. A sudden flurry of fogs made Sharantyr look down quickly at the blade she held, to find it cloaked in a quickening spiral of concealing shadows. An attack?
'Gentle sirs,' she said warningly, 'we may have a problem. I-'
Belkram leaned in close. 'Sylune's doing it, to hide the blade. Ah, don't put it away.'
Shar nodded and looked around again.
'Well,' she said, wriggling her shoulder blades to loosen some of the tension, 'it certainly feels… strange.
Whither now?'
'My arm,' Itharr said quietly. 'It's… changing.' Shar heard the tightly chained fear in his voice. His left arm seemed to be growing a row of barbs and shifting from patched and seamed leathers to a bluish fur, rising over bones that should not be there.
'Is it happening to any other part of you?' Shar asked, glancing involuntarily down at herself. Nothing looked or felt strange, but…
'It's-I'm changing, too,' Belkram said grimly, and they all saw that the booted foot he thrust forward had become a taloned, curling claw. He scratched his shoulder with an arm that had begun to sport scales here and there, and muttered, 'Can your blade take us home again, if need be?'
'I don't think I want to see a guard's face at the bridge in Shadowdale when he looks at this'-Itharr thrust his arm forward, and Shar saw that the barbs had become a row of curling, questing tentacles-'especially not a guard I know.'
Sharantyr grimaced. 'Does it… hurt?' she asked, looking from one man to the other and wondering if she'd soon have to strike one or both of them down. As if reading her thoughts, the blade in her hands lifted a little.
Shar shivered and took a pace away, to get out from between the two Harpers. They gave her hurt looks. 'Sylune's not doing this to you, is she?' she asked Belkram. This isn't some sort of disguise.'
'No,' he said grimly, shuffling forward. 'It's this place, working on our bodies. I guess this is how the Malaugrym became shapeshifters.'
'Can you… manage?'
Belkram gave her a rueful smile. 'Have to,' he said briefly.
'I'm trying to tell my body what to shift into,' Itharr said quietly, 'but it doesn't seem to be working. Am I turning blue?'
Shar peered at him. 'Not any part of you I can see,' she observed carefully, 'but-'
