Belkram put an arm around his shoulder. Weeping, the rangers watched Khelben, Laeral, and even Storm join the circle of wizards. The mages joined hands around Sharantyr's broken body, then looked to the Old Mage.
Elminster said softly, 'Do it.'
For a breath or two, it seemed nothing was happening. In silence the wizards stood, unmoving, as warriors craned their necks to look. Next came gasps here and there as folk noticed the radiance silently forming in the air above the circle. Small motes of light twinkled, grew, and shone more brightly. Swiftly the light swelled until a great sphere of white radiance blazed above the wizards.
They heard Elminster and Khelben grunt in unison-and a shaft of light stabbed down from the sphere to strike the still form of Sharantyr.
The wizards trembled, and on the bodies of the three unclad mages the watchers could see sweat streaming. The wizards strained as the beam slowly rose from the ground, taking the lady ranger's body with it.
Through their tears the two Harpers held each other, wild hope leaping within them, and saw the body of their lady disappear into the light.
One of the war wizards cried out, and slumped over, but Luthtor firmly held one of his hands and Irendue clung like grim death to the other, and the circle was not broken. The mages wavered. More than one sagged to his knees, but held fast to the hands of the chain.
Then a great, collective gasp went up from them, the light faded, and out of its heart something sprang.
Something soft and shapely and whole-and alive!
Sharantyr fell from the sky as naked as the day she was born, and something seemed to boost her abruptly sideways-of all the assembly, only Mourngrym saw Elminster's momentary grin-in her fall, so that she landed, heavily, atop Belkram.
He went to the ground with a startled 'Whumpf!' A moment later, Itharr, Belkram, and Sharantyr were rolling over and over in a happy embrace, weeping and kissing and laughing for joy.
Khelben looked down at them and frowned. 'Must they?' he complained to his lady. 'And her without a stitch on, too!'
Laeral grinned happily up at the lord mage of Waterdeep through the sweat glistening on her face-and bowled him over with her own sudden embrace.
'Whumpf!' Khelben said as he hit the ground. 'Get off!' he shouted when he had breath enough to speak again. Grinning faces of armsmen and dalefolk surrounded him. 'I said get off!' Shadowdale, Midsummer Night
The fire spat sparks in the kitchen hearth, and Sharantyr put her bare feet up on Storm's kitchen table, crossed one shapely ankle over the other, and sighed in satisfaction. A huge tankard of strong home brew was ready at her elbow, and she was leaning back against Belkram. Itharr smiled and reached out a hand to stroke her foot.
'Ahh,' Sharantyr said happily, 'all this, and we're done with the Malaugrym for now, too!'
'We are,' Storm agreed. 'Elminster rode the shadows through their castle this afternoon, and tells me it is a place of confusion and back-stabbing disorder. Only three of them know what befell here, and plan any sort of revenge.'
'Oh, joy,' Belkram said, raising his tankard.
'Oh, joy, indeed,' Storm said with a smile, turning from her cooking cauldron and crossing her arms. Itharr decided not to tell her that her ladle had decided to drip all down her hip. 'That means, Harpers bold,' she continued briskly, 'that it's time for your next assignment.'
Belkram choked, and brought his tankard down onto the table with a crash as he sputtered and coughed. There were titters from some of the other Knights at the table.
'Which is?' Itharr asked, giving his companion an amused look.
Storm noticed the spill, ran a finger up her hip, and licked it. 'Aid embattled Randal Morn in Daggerdale,' she told her ladle.
'A simple matter,' Belkram said with airy dignity.
'Well, after battling Malaugrym, aye,' Mourngrym agreed, 'but you'll no doubt have the lord-devouring Sir Tantor and Luthtor's war wizards to contend with.' Shaerl dealt her lord's shoulder a mock blow, and he put an arm around her with a chuckle.
'Does this mean your students are taught, and they'll be leaving Shadowdale?' Sharantyr asked quietly.
Storm nodded. 'It does.'
Sharantyr swung her feet down from the table and stood up. 'Then I have to tell all of you something.' She looked around the table at the assembled Knights, from Florin and Dove at one end to Jhessail and her new apprentice, the shyly silent Irendue, at the other. 'Whether it costs me my place among you or not, I will go with Belkram and Itharr… because'-her voice sank almost to a whisper, but she stared across the room at Elminster's encouraging smile, where he sat in a dark corner, and continued steadily-'I can't bear to be parted from them.'
And as the room erupted with cries of 'Well said!' 'Of course!' and 'A Knight forever, wherever you go!' the tears came.
Sharantyr leaned on the table and wept until two pairs of strong arms went around her, and Belkram and Itharr said into her ears in unison, 'The Rangers Three-forever!'
The crystal ball glimmered, and Laeral turned away from it with misty eyes and a sigh of satisfaction. 'She did the right thing,' the lady mage of Waterdeep told Khelben happily. 'She's following her heart.'
'That's nice,' Khelben said absently, his attention deep in a spell tome. Laeral looked at him, shook her head fondly, and grinned impishly as she rose.
Three gliding steps brought her to the table, and a little jump and turn brought her behind down firmly atop the open book, even before her arms went around her man in a fierce embrace.
She fondly kissed the balding pate of the lord mage of Waterdeep, and felt his muffled roar as he snarled into her bosom, 'Get off! I said, get off!'
It was very late when the floating, disembodied head said to Elminster, 'You promised me another body of my own, Old Mage.'
'Aye,' he said as they stood together in the dusty, paper-choked main room of his tower. 'Would n-'
The front door flew open, startling them both, and a wild-eyed woman, garbed in the black tatters of a once fine gown, strode in. Without slowing, the Simbul smiled at Sylune, took Elminster's hand in her own, and practically snatched him up the stairs to the bedchamber.
'My body?' Sylune asked softly.
'It will be the first act I set him to when we awaken,' the Simbul told her sister as they vanished around the first curve of the stair. 'I'll see to it.'
'Perhaps I should get to it now,' Elminster's voice came floating down the stairs, sounding a trifle anxious.
'I have other uses for you first,' the Simbul told him fiercely. 'Gods, El, I've missed you!'
Her arms went around him hungrily. In the room below, Sylune listened, a smile growing on her face. Then she chuckled softly, and flew out into the night.
Lhaeo bid her a pleasant night as she drifted down the path. The floating head turned to face him. 'Lhaeo? I thought you were abed!'
'I was,' Elminster's scribe said dryly, 'until the Queen of Aglarond arrived. Then I suddenly found myself dressed, awake, and out here-with this bottle of elverquisst to keep me company.' He sipped at the glass in his hand and sighed appreciatively. 'Superb stuff.'
Sylune hesitated, looking out over the moon-drenched, placid pool toward the flickering torches on the walls of the Tower of Ashaba. 'Would you mind if I stayed to talk for a bit?'
The scribe looked up at her. 'Lady,' he said softly, 'I would be honored. Stay with me so long as it pleases you.' He drained his glass and added slyly, 'You can tell me what it's like to get a head in this world!'
The floating head growled at him. 'You may be surprised to learn,' the Witch of Shadowdale said sweetly as she drifted nearer, 'that I can still tickle.'
'Ah, no,' Lhaeo said with a groan, putting his glass carefully out of harm's way. 'No…'
