over a ridge ahead of them and raced past, to the place whence the fireball had come. The sounds of battle arose from thereabouts.
When Argast had fought down the pain and shifted shape into something resembling a long-limbed crocodile, he moved hastily away. He was just in time. A whirling cloud of flashing blades suddenly twinkled into being above the rocks where he'd lain, clanging and crashing off stone-then turned into slowly drifting white butterflies. Not far away, they heard someone curse all gods and wild magic.
Amdramnar managed to slither to where Argast lay panting. 'What befalls?' he hissed.
'The dragon idiots were waiting for these others, and thought the fireball cast at us was an attack meant for them. They rushed the ambush they were planning and are attacking here and now. Who these others are is yet beyond me; you're supposed to be the expert on Faerun!'
Amdramnar winced. 'Truly said. Let's try to work our way over to the ruins. From that higher ground we can look back at the fighting.'
'And get attacked by all the dragon worshipers who aren't quite so eager to get killed as these here are,' Argast said sourly. 'I await the experience with eager glee.'
'Ah, be easy! Magic's starting going wild here anyway-see those blades turn to butterflies?'
'I'm not overwhelmed with joy,' Argast said coldly, 'at the prospect of starting my exploration of Faerun as a butterfly! Or as anything else twisted or shackled by sorcery, strange as it may seem!'
'I'll admit my idea of coming to Irythkeep has turned out badly,' Amdramnar replied quietly, 'but we've seen a wand and a staff in use already, and magic is a large part of what we came here for. Why flee from it now that we know what we face? Why, they're busy battling each other!'
As he spoke, lightning cracked into the sky, split apart into three bolts with a spectacular crash, and leapt to earth, one striking quite close. Their hair rose, and their bodies tingled.
Argast said dryly, 'That's why. Have you experienced enough yet? Can we go somewhere safer?'
'The ruins,' Amdramnar insisted, 'where we first appeared-if these Cult of the Dragon fools were preparing an ambush, they must be camped there. It's the only landmark in this stretch of country; the people they're fighting must have been planning to camp there, or at least use it to keep on the route they intended, and pass close by.'
'What shapes do you suggest we take? Fireballs, so we can pass unnoticed, perhaps?' The sarcasm in Argast's tone was venomous; it was clear he suspected Amdramnar of having deliberately sent him into danger.
'Trust me, Argast,' Amdramnar said firmly. 'This fray was not of my doing. I've been hurt as badly as you. We'll both be spending some time healing. We'll need a large blood meal as fuel for it, too.'
'What if we bite unknowing into a wizard and trigger nasty contingency spells?' Argast said warily. 'What then?'
'We're a long way out in the uplands; they probably all came here on horses,' Amdramnar replied patiently. 'Now let's move… looking like horses ourselves might not be a bad idea. Someone might try to catch a horse, but they're hardly likely to waste a fireball killing it!'
'Now you speak wisely,' Argast said, beginning the shift into equine form. Amdramnar sighed in relief and did likewise. He had begun to fear there was some sort of curse afflicting this foray into Faerun.
They trotted in a very wide route, keeping to easy ground and almost out of sight of the ruined keep to be sure of avoiding the attention of anyone who might have a spell to hurl. They approached the ruins in the lee of a stand of trees, and made their hooves soft and pliable to keep as silent as possible. When they were near enough to hear voices and see men moving, they began to graze, drifting slowly around into view, hoping they'd be taken for mounts belonging to the camp.
'We'll take losses now, for sure,' someone was grumbling. 'How could they have seen us from so far off?'
'Mayhap they did not,' a deeper voice replied.
'Mages don't waste fireballs on nothing, or throw them across grassland at a whim! That's sheer foolishness!'
'I've known some wizards whom the mantle of 'fool' would fit right well,' the deep voice responded.
'Don't let Chaladar hear you say that! Some of the dragons like to chase and eat human warriors who put up a fight, you know!'
'Aye, I do know,' the deep voice replied calmly. 'Why do you think we asked you along?'
'What? How can you be-did Chaladar tell y-oh, gods! My horse… all unsaddled… sweet Tymora, aid me now!'
'That's not a very judicious prayer for a faithful follower of the Scaly Way, wouldn't you say, Malarnus?'
'Quit baiting the lad, Ornthar… you'll have him running into things and shrieking in a breath or two! Sit down, Felus! He was merely jesting with you!'
'Now what have you done with your wand, boy?' Ornthar growled. 'Dropped it, no doubt, while running around like a man who can't find the privy seat and babbling to Lady Luck!'
The Malaugrym exchanged a look and moved closer.
'Here it is!'
'That's my wand, idiot!' Malarnus told him. 'Where did you walk, Felus, and where've you been sitting? Go back to all those places and look for it, and-there!' There came a thud and a groan. Malarnus added sarcastically, 'See how easy it is to find things when you trip over them?'
'Dolt!' Ornthar added helpfully.
Amdramnar took a step nearer and had a sudden idea. He began to shift shape, turning into a scorched- looking man, hairless and blackened, clothes hanging in tatters. When he was done, he turned to Argast and gestured for him to do the same. Argast gave him a doubtful look for a moment, but complied.
Amdramnar gestured to Argast to follow. He staggered around the last few trees and right into the camp.
'By the Dragon! Keep back!' a scarred veteran in half armor said, raising a wand in one hand and holding a blade in the other. Ornthar, no doubt. Seated on either side of him were an anxious youth and a sleek man with a spade beard. Felus and Malarnus.
'I–I… help us,' Amdramnar gasped, staggering a pace closer. 'Fireball…'
'Who are you?'
'Followers… we were to meet Chaladar here,' Amdramnar husked. 'All dead now but us…'
'Felus,' the seated man rapped, 'get them some water.' Malarnus indeed, by his voice. How generous.
Amdramnar staggered right over to the lad as he reached for a saddle skin, and Argast followed. Ornthar kept his eyes and his wand trained on them all the time. Malaug's curse on all well-trained warriors, Amdramnar thought, and worked magic that called forth fire.
Flames flared up right behind Malarnus, who heard the hiss and crackle, looked around with a frown, and jumped up with an oath. 'Fire! Magic!' He spun around, eyes narrowing. 'There's none here but y-'
He was, of course, too late. A tentacle whipped lash-like around his throat, jerked, and broke his neck. He joined Felus and Ornthar, who'd been distracted for one fatal moment by Malarnus's shout. All three lay broken on the ground.
'Take anything that looks magical,' Amdramnar said. 'We can discard things later. We'll ride two of their horses.'
'And eat them later, too,' Argast agreed, bending to the work of feverishly examining the camp.
They found three wands and an old cup… and that was all. If this Cult of the Dragon band carried heavy magic, it was in use beyond the ridge, where green smoke was drifting and the bright flashes of spells could still be seen.
Figures ran toward the ruined keep, now! Three… more… a dozen, but still small distant dots. Time to be gone.
'Come,' Amdramnar snapped. He turned toward the nearest horse.
Argast hesitated for a moment, looking as if he was about to refuse and go his own way. Then he peered back at the running men, shrugged, and followed.
Amdramnar frowned, and was not gentle with his horse.
