calm.
'Feel free to be as clever as you feel necessary,' the old Shadowmaster said soothingly.
Hastrim looked at Othortyn, and then his gaze fell again to regard the greasy curls of smoke that had been Inder. He swallowed.
'Well,' he said unhappily, 'perhaps it would be best to begin when it was first noticed that three humans- bearing a magic sword-had somehow stepped from Faerun into the heart of Shadowhome… undetected.'
'Good, good,' the old, bald Shadowmaster said encouragingly, opening another bottle. 'Would you like something to drink?'
'Er-' Hastrim began, and then added with sudden firmness, 'Yes,' and a long, snakelike tentacle put a dusty bottle in his hand.
Faerun, Daggerdale, Flamerule 15
'Easy, lass,' a familiar voice rumbled as Sylune of Shadowdale slowly blinked her way back into awareness. ' 'Twas well done, to be sure. Ye shattered a spell loop, a very nasty Malaugrym magic-and there were a dozen of them waiting with all the spells they could think of, for us to break out. It's probably best that Shar and the lads were stunned when ye hurled me elsewhere. It saved them from about forty mind-rending attacks, and left me free to use the sort of Art that was really necessary.'
Elminster gestured down the hillside, and Sylune saw rainbow swirlings there, above torn earth and blasted stumps. The trees around the stream and the leaning bridge were no more… and no doubt the gate to the Shadowmasters' home plane was gone too.
'A wild magic area?' she whispered.
'I fear so,' Elminster replied grimly, 'but the gate is gone forever, and a score or so more Malaugrym with it.'
Sylune shuddered and drifted up out of his hands. Except for the few stones where the Old Mage was sitting-well west of where he had been-the ruined manor was now a crater of mud and gravel.
She swirled back to face him. 'How long has it been since we came back from the Castle of Shadows?'
'Nigh on a month,' Elminster said quietly.
Sylune nodded grimly. 'I thought so. Has Shadowdale fallen?'
Elminster gave her a twisted grin. 'Not yet.' He got up and trudged west, into the trees. 'Come to the meadow.'
Sylune drifted along beside him, suddenly reluctant to be alone. The old wizard had taken only a few paces before they emerged into a field of trodden grass where Belkram, Itharr, and Sharantyr sat, looking up with welcoming smiles.
'Thankee, and all that,' Itharr said, his broad shoulders shifting as he smiled.
'All part of my orders,' Sylune told him briskly, giving Elminster a meaningful look, 'as enunciated by the tyrant mage here.'
'Ah, yes,' Belkram said. 'I believe I know just how you feel.'
'Yes,' Sharantyr agreed crisply. 'I think it's about time, Old Mage, that you told us what befell Faerun while we were all caught in this magic.'
'You might have revived us sooner,' Itharr added darkly.
Elminster looked at the burly ranger. 'It took me days to repair and rebuild thy bodies, all three of ye. I had to use necromantic spells I haven't looked at in ages… and I do mean ages.' He lifted an eyebrow. 'Perhaps I didn't get thy head screwed on quite right.'
'I-' Itharr began, but Belkram interrupted him.
'If that's so, sir-why do I feel weary, and in pain?'
'Aye!' Itharr agreed.
'The only way I could save ye at all,' Elminster muttered, 'was to restore ye to exactly as ye were before the trap took us. As it was, I nearly lost ye more than once-ye in particular, Belkram, five times! The gods know I've grown used to never receiving the slightest thanks when I help folk, but betimes I think certain beneficiaries of my arts close enough to me-and perceptive enough, to-ah, ne'er mind…' He glared at the handsome Harper.
Belkram returned his look of anger.
'All right,' Sharantyr said, looking from one to the other. 'Enough. Tell us about the Realms, El.'
Elminster's face grew calm as he nodded and said briskly, 'Zhentilar armies march on Shadowdale from all sides-and the avatar of the god Bane rides with them, leading the main body himself.'
'Faerun's flying dung,' Sylune said crisply. The unaccustomed oath drew startled gazes her way. 'Even if the dale can withstand such an assault,' she said bitterly, 'it'll be torn into smoking ruins in the doing.' She turned to look south. 'And after all these years, I'll see it destroyed after all.'
'Be not so quick to surrender our home to the Black Gauntlet,' Elminster said firmly. 'I shall be there, fighting to the last… and I've sent Zhentilar troops running bootless away from Shadowdale more times than I care to recall.'
'If three swords can make a difference in this, sir,' Belkram said heavily, 'things must be bad. Tell us in truth what's befallen thus far… where are the Zhents now?'
Elminster nodded. 'Four armies are on the march,' he said, all trace of testiness gone. 'The one coming down through Voonlar is the largest, though my friend Perendra took care of a goodly number of the fools by calling up a lightning storm. Fancy marching through a downpour in full armor; some of these warriors must have cold iron between their ears, not just over them! Meanwhile, I dealt with a few thousand more.'
'Oh? How do you 'deal with' a few thousand Zhent troops?' Belkram asked, shifting into a more comfortable slouch in the grass. The more he dealt with archmages, the more it was becoming obvious that their shared concept of 'haste' allowed time for thorough discussions of everything.
'Carefully, lad,' Elminster told him predictably. 'Carefully.'
The two Harpers sighed together… and had many other opportunities to sigh as the wizard rambled on. At one point Belkram muttered despairingly, 'Get on with it!' under his breath.
He'd spoken a trifle too loudly. The Old Mage's eyebrows rose, and Belkram gulped.
'Patience certainly seems to be the provision ye used up most in the shadows,' El observed mildly as his pipe glided in to find its way to his lips. He blew a slow, spreading smoke ring and then banished his pipe again. 'Teleportation is one thing that still seems reliable among all this chaos of Art, so I spent the better part of the highsun hours yesterday transporting a dozen monsters-hydras, firedrakes, wyverns, behirs, death kisses, and the like-into the camp of the second, central force, north of the Flaming Tower.'
Belkram chuckled, but Shar looked troubled. 'What's to stop their using spells to drive those beasts before them, south into the heart of Shadowdale?'
'Me,' the Old Mage told her impishly. 'I took care of their mages first.' He watched another smoke ring drift away on the wind and added, 'Some of the beasts I sent into their midst were rather hungry, too.'
'Can't Bane teleport just as easily as you can?' Itharr asked quietly.
Elminster nodded his approval at such tactical thought. 'Of course. He'll have to come to the aid of his Central Blade or lose the lot of them… but the doing will keep him occupied for a time, too busy to work other mischief.' He ran fingers through his beard. 'The same consideration governed my treatment of the smallest force. Fzoul's leading four hundred or so mounted men-at-arms past us right now, through Daggerdale.'
'Four hundred Zhentilar?' Belkram asked, holding up his daggers. 'You want us to take down four hundred warriors? Shouldn't we get horses to ride on, just to make it a little fairer?'
Shar and Itharr snorted together. Sylune reclined gracefully on thin air, as if sprawled on a couch, and awaited Elminster's answer.
The Old Mage shook his head and asked softly, 'Bold today, aren't we, friend Harper?'
Lesser men might have quailed before that tone, but Belkram merely shrugged, smiled, and waved at Elminster to continue.
Inclining his head in a mock bow of thanks, Elminster said, 'That task is not yours.' He lifted his lips in a mirthless grin. 'I suspect a few orcs can do it better.'
'A few orcs?' Sharantyr roared, her voice rising from deep and ragged tones, for all the world as if she were a burly male and not a lithe lady. 'Elminster!' That last squeaked word of reproach sounded more like a lady's pique, and goaded Sylune into peals of tinkling laughter.
