see-to rid themselves forever of their most annoying foe. Me.'
The Simbul wiped her chin and said firmly, 'It's just as gleaming a chance for me-for us-to destroy Malaugrym. If they're coming to Faerun to destroy you-so long, mind, as you have the wits to stay here and not go running off to their shadow realm after every lure they set you-then they must come within my reach.' She strode across the room to seize the back of a chair, and added softly, 'And I'll destroy them.'
Her slim hands whitened around the chair, trembled slightly, and abruptly the wood shattered, leaving her holding splinters. She stared down at the ruined chair. 'Sorry,' she muttered, stepping back.
Storm waved the apology and the damage away with the same gesture. 'Are you sure it's the wisest course, battling Malaugrym across lands beset with growing chaos and lawlessness, what with magic fading and failing you?' she asked gravely, turning to eye both arch-mages.
'I'm tired of their attacks,' the Simbul replied, forestalling Elminster's speech with a swiftly raised hand, 'One of them just might succeed, robbing me of my beloved and Shadowdale-nay, all the Realms-of the best protector available. Moreover, Sister, I can't effectively fight Red Wizards if I must flee the fray often and abruptly to rush back across half Faerun to battle Malaugrym. Who'll defend Aglarond when I'm not there? And how can I finish any foe if I rend his best defenses but must turn away, perforce giving him time to flee or replace his ravished Art?'
She looked at the twisted and shattered chair, and said with sudden cold force, 'Destroy them, I say. Once and for all.'
'If magic fails much more,' Storm answered, 'destroying them may suddenly be beyond our powers. Surviving might be a goal we find hard to grasp.'
Elminster shrugged. 'All magecraft-if one views it clearly and admits what truly befalls-is that sort of risky career. Not to dare is not to wield sorcery.'
He got up and paced thoughtfully across the smooth flagstones of the kitchen floor, only to turn when he reached a wall, sigh, and add, 'And yet-as always, it seems-I'm too busy to spend enough time on them right now to finish them. I know; this very thing has saved them many times-too many times-in the past. Yet in truth they're not worth it.'
El spread his hands. 'The Time of Troubles has ravaged Faerun and is still doing so. I must repair this and that and the other-or what we know and love of Toril may be swept away and lost, and the war lost because I indulged myself in riding down a few pet foes.'
'Look upon slaying Malaugrym as a repair,' the Simbul offered calmly, setting forth the viewpoint in debate, her own emotions in check. 'Weigh what they may do in Faerun, left untrammeled, with the certainty of what they cannot do if you've stilled them forever.'
Elminster frowned. 'I'm too busy to get entangled in battle after battle, as they set their snares for me. And I'm far too busy to set snares of my own, using myself as a decoy to lure Malaugrym to their dooms… however richly deserved.'
'Then you must be free to set things right in Faerun, as before. Hidden by magic,' Storm said to him, and then looked at the Simbul. 'While the Malaugrym are drawn into attacking a false Elminster and open themselves to your attacks, Sister.'
Elminster and his beloved both frowned back at her. 'That will work but once,' they said in unison. They exchanged glances, and Nethreen went on alone.
'Once they see they're facing a clone, or a simulacrum, or an illusion, they'll be far more careful in revealing themselves again. We might slay one, or three if they strike together to do the deed, but no more. I can't see how such a scheme will work in any continuing way, without demanding so much of our time that we might as well both be Malaugrym-hunting night and day through, and letting Faerun fend for itself.'
'I can see how it might be made to work,' came a whisper from the empty air by her elbow. The Queen of Aglarond drew back a pace, raising a hand to unleash slaying magic, then blinked and said, 'Sorry, Sister. How?'
The shadowy form of Sylune faded into view, smiling at her. 'I can animate any body you create, and cast spells through it. As long as I don't have to smoke that awful pipe, I can be your Elminster.'
'What's so awful about my pipe?' Elminster demanded, and was answered by three withering, silent looks. He looked around at them all, grinned weakly, and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
'Right, then,' he agreed, 'we have the makings of our false me. We still lack someone to watch over 'me,' someone capable enough to slay the shapeshifters Sylune's spells can't account for.'
'We're all still too busy,' the Simbul observed wryly, looking to Storm for inspiration.
The Bard of Shadowdale frowned doubtfully. 'I've no Harpers close by who are powerful enough to hold their own against such foes, or who can be spared from whatever they're holding together in Faerun right now…'
'Yes, ye do,' Elminster said, the twinkle back in his eyes. 'Two Harpers and a Knight of Myth Drannor, to be precise. In Shadowdale right now, fresh from ably demonstrating that they can slay Malaugrym with speed and cool regard for the spillage of good ale!'
Storm covered her eyes. 'Ah, no,' she said weakly. 'They'll be slain for sure…'
'Aye, they will indeed, after this night,' Elminster agreed briskly, 'with all the Malaugrym who must have been watching that fight, if ye just let those three go about their business unprotected. Their best defense is to be a part of this ruse, hip deep in the serious Malaugrym-slaying business.'
The Simbul grinned broadly. 'It seems our only shining strategy, Sister,' she said. Storm looked to Sylune for support, but the ghostly image floating beside her spread half-seen hands and said, 'So it looks to these eyes, too.'
Storm shook her head. 'If they die…' she muttered, and then let out her breath in a deep sigh and waved her hand in dismissal. 'Do it,' she said heavily.
The Simbul inclined her head in understanding and brought her hands up, fingers spread. Tiny lightnings leapt between them, accompanied by a high, shrill singing sound, and she murmured, 'El…?'
Elminster spoke a few soft words of his own and pointed at three flagstones well back from the table.
Abruptly, three people were standing on the flag-stones: two men and a woman clad in leather armor, long swords at their hips, half-full tankards in their hands, and startled looks on their faces.
Behind them the singing sounds ceased as the Simbul raised her shields again. After a few darting glances about, the three relaxed, relieved smiles on their faces, as Storm leaned forward across the table on her elbows, and began, 'We have a little task for you…'
Sharantyr groaned. 'I know these little tasks,' she told the ceiling.
'So do we,' Belkram and Itharr said in chorus, catching sight of Sylune's shadowy form and beginning to bow.
Sharantyr drained her tankard at one gulp and went on, cheeks reddening. 'Unless I miss my guess, we'll be guarding a certain irritable old wizard against some sinister and ages-old unseen menace, with the fate of all Faerun hanging about our shoulders.'
Storm hid a smile by turning her head to address her own favorite spot on the ceiling (where she'd mounted a small round painting of a unicorn she'd done when she was very young, and was irrationally proud of) and replied, 'Well, now that you mention it…'
3
Daggerdale, Kythorn 15
The horses snorted, as they always did, at the chill of the mists eddying around their ankles, the mists that cloak the Dragonreach lands of Faerun before dawn. Shoulders and neck tight in the cold, Sharantyr knew just how they felt. 'I'll set coins that no gods get up this early,' she muttered.
Itharr, riding next to her, chuckled and said, 'I'll not bet against you on that, Shar.'
'Nor me,' Belkram agreed from behind, the white vapor of his breath eddying around him.
Storm turned in her saddle to look at them. 'What sort of Knights and Harpers is Faerun breeding these days?
