'Yestereve,' Elminster told them in tones of injured innocence, 'I approached several orc bands foraging in Daggerdale, and undertook to alert them that a well-provisioned Zhent force was entering the territory. That should make things a little warmer for Fzoul than he anticipated, and rob him of most opportunities to reach Shadowdale ahead of the other Zhent forces, hole up in the woods around Grimstead, and amuse himself by using his spells to harass the good folk of the dale.'
'All right, El. You've been both clever and busy,' Sylune reassured him, her voice soothing. Her next words, however, came out as sharp as the crack of a whip: 'But so have we. My friends here grow stiff and tired and hungry. Armies march on Shadowdale from all sides, you said, and have told us of three, so what attack is coming from the south-and what is our duty in dealing with it?'
Elminster bowed his head again to hide a grin, cleared his throat in apparent embarrassment, and said, 'I need ye four to deal with the fourth Zhent attack: the Sword of the South. It's a band of Sembian mercenaries and the covert Zhentarim agents who hired them. They've been assembling in Battledale for a month and more, drawn from all over Sembia and the eastern dales.'
'They're going to try to march through the Elven Court woods?' Shar asked, one shapely eyebrow raised. 'That's not a wise tactic for any armed band.'
The Old Mage shook his head. 'Their orders are to take and subdue Mistledale, and without pause press on up the Mistle Trail, to drive into Shadowdale from the south.' He smiled gently. 'You will stop them.'
'I thought we were going to defend Shadowdale,' Belkram said. 'You may be able to dance around the Realms with a thought and a wiggle of your hips, but we have to walk… and I don't feel like running back and forth between two dales, sword in hand, through gods know how many Zhent blackhelms!'
Elminster held up a quelling hand. 'I said I'd come to send ye where ye are most needed. Right now Shadowdale is crowded with frightened troops bustling about. I don't want them to relax because the heroes have come to town, and I don't want them in thy way, or ye in theirs. Mistledale is thy battlefield. The defense of Mistledale will be the southern defense of Shadowdale.'
'How strong is this fourth host?' Belkram asked suspiciously.
Elminster shrugged. 'About seven thousand, when last I counted.'
'Seven thousand!' Itharr burst out as jaws dropped all round.
Shar shook her head. 'You love us, don't you?' she murmured.
El chuckled. 'Oh, ye'll have help. All of Shar's battle companions, the Knights of Myth Drannor, are in Mistledale already, mustering the Riders.'
'There are only thirty Riders, perhaps six more if the graybeards who can still walk and breathe at the same time come out of retirement, and another dozen if their sword apprentices ride with them, too,' Sylune said softly, 'and barely a dozen Knights, even if all who've retired or strayed off come running to Mistledale.'
El frowned. 'And ye, of course… isn't that battle might enough?'
'Ah, Old Mage,' Sylune said gently, 'you may not have noticed, being old and terribly important and even busier than usual… but I'm not… er, the woman I used to be.'
El chuckled. 'I've been spreading stories of the Ghost Witch of Shadowdale these last few months… I think ye'll find, on a battlefield, that ye're rather more than ye used to be.'
Sylune glared at him, her eyes two white flames dancing in the air. 'And just what does that mean?'
'I've had half Twilight Hall modifying their best battle spells since the seasons turned,' the old wizard told her. 'If it all works, they can cast them simultaneously through ye, so a dozen or more battle magics-which ye can aim-lash out from ye at once.'
'And the catch?'
'The power involved will burn ye out from within, leaving thy body only ashes… killing ye.'
'El, I don't have-oh. I see. As I'm dead already, I should survive the destruction of whatever body you're going to give me.'
El nodded. 'It's waiting for ye in Mistledale,' he said quietly. 'Not the last one I'll give ye if-gods willing-I survive this Time of Troubles.'
Tears welled up in her phantom eyes, and he added quickly, 'Ye'd best get down there speedily. Torm's been dressing the body-ye-in all sorts of black leather, red evening lace, and fishnet gauze apparel, most evenings, and seating ye in the porch window of the Six Shields to entertain the locals.'
'Oh he has, has he?' Ghostly eyes flashed. 'I think I'll just slip into this body of mine at an opportune moment and give him the fright of his life!'
Shar grinned broadly. 'May I watch?'
'No, that's 'may we watch?'' Belkram corrected her.
'Of course,' Sylune told them grandly. 'This Six Shields place is unfamiliar to me, though…'
'A cheap rooming house east of Lhuin's tannery,' El told her in the manner of a pompous guide, 'opened recently to house field workers, drovers, and others too cheap to stay at the Hart or the Arms.'
Shar and the Witch of Shadowdale sniffed in unison. 'It sounds like the sort of place where Torm would stay, tight-pockets that he is.'
'Much as I'd like to watch ye roast Torm on a spit, just to see him wriggle for once, there is some haste,' the Old Mage added. 'By sundown, the scouts of the Sword of the South may well reach Galath's Roost.'
'How can we possibly reach Mistledale in time, then?' Itharr asked-unwisely, as it turned out.
Sharantyr gave him a weary look. 'He's going to mass teleport us,' she said grimly. 'It always makes me feel sick for hours afterward.' She sighed and put one arm across her bosom and the other over her stomach, bracing herself. 'Get on with it, then.'
'Wait,' Belkram said, brow wrinkling. 'We haven't even-'
The last, fading thing the Harper saw as he struggled to finish his sentence was Elminster's cheery grin. Around him the world flashed and changed-into blue, swirling misty emptiness. Next came a sense of falling, for just one wrenching moment, and then they were standing on a bare board floor in a loft lit by two barrel-sized lamps that hung down on dusty chains from the roof beam. Frowning men in armor stood staring down at large maps whose corners were held down by daggers and gauntlets-or looking up at the newcomers in startled consternation, hands going to hilts.
Belkram and Itharr stood a little behind Sharantyr. Right in front of her was a tall, broad-shouldered and hard-faced man whose steely eyes raked both Harpers for a moment before he took a catlike step forward and crushed her into an embrace.
'Shar, by the grace of all the gods!'
The lady ranger's shoulders shook for a moment as she clung to him, her drawn sword forgotten, and she knew tears would be bright on her face when she turned to introduce them. Florin Falconhand did not give her the chance.
'I've missed you, little one,' he growled, and as Shar reached up to tousle his unruly hair, he added, 'but you've found companions on the trail, I see. Who are these two gentlemen you've brought?'
Eyeing the drawn blades crowding in around them, Belkram deemed the moment right. He bent his knee, parted the leathers at his throat to show his silver harp pin, and said, 'Belkram and Itharr of the Harpers to fight alongside you, Lord Florin. Elminster sent us.'
A good-natured grin split the famous ranger's face, and he reached one long arm around Sharantyr to clasp their forearms. 'Be welcome! We have need of swords, good men to wield them… and adventurers brave enough to stand up to Elminster, too!'
'Pardon, Lord,' Itharr said smoothly, 'but shouldn't that be 'foolish enough'?'
There were chuckles from all around the room, and other men thrust forward their hands in welcome. They were accepted.
Shar tossed her silver blade under the table and put her freed hand on Florin's cheek to guide him down into a kiss. As their lips touched, she was overheard to be murmuring, 'Well, here we go again…'
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