'Now, how did that one go, eh? Oh, my, yes, I think I recall….' Elminster burbled on, voice thick and eyes far away.
Contemptuously the young mage set his staff in the crook of his arm, muttered his incantation in low tones so the Old Mage could not hear, and moved his hands in the deftly gliding gestures of the spell. An instant later, above the grassy meadow, fire grew from nothingness into a great red-violet sphere. It seethed and roiled, rolled over once, and burst in orange ruin over the meadow, raining down small teardrops of flame onto the grass. Heat smote the watchers' faces, and the ground rocked briefly.
As the roaring died away, the quavering voice of the Old Mage could still be heard, murmuring about the triumphs of yesteryear. He broke off his chatter for a moment to say mildly, 'Dear me, that's a gentle one. Can't ye do better than that?'
The young mage sneered. 'I suppose you can?'
Elminster nodded calmly. 'Oh, yes.'
'Would it be possible to see thee perform this awesome feat?' the mage inquired with acidic courtliness, his voice a mocking, over-pompous parody of Elminster's own thickened tones.
The Old Mage blinked. 'Young man,' he said disapprovingly, 'the great mastery of magic lies in knowing when
The young mage sneered again. 'So you won't perform such a trifling spell for us, O mightiest of mages? Is that the way of it?'
'No, no,' Elminster said with a sigh. 'We did agree, and ye have done thy little bit, so I-' he sighed again '- shall do mine.' He gestured vaguely, then paused and harrumphed.
'Ah, now,' he said, 'how does the rhyme go?' There were a few titters from the watching crowd as he scratched his beard and looked around with a puzzled air. The young mage sneered at his back, and then turned to favor Storm with the same disdain. The bard, who stood close by, hand on the hilt of her sword, met his gaze with a wintry look of her own.
Elminster suddenly drew himself up and shouted:
'By tongue of bat and sulphur's reek,
And mystic words I now do speak,
There, where I wish to play my game,
Let empty air burst into
In answer, the very air seemed to shatter with an ear-splitting shriek. A gigantic ball of flame suddenly towered over the meadow, its heat blistering the watchers' faces.
It was like the sun had fallen.
As mages cried out and shaded their eyes, the fireball rolled away from the awed crowd for a trembling instant, then burst in a blinding white flash, hurling out its mighty energies in a long jet of flame that roared away to the horizon. The earth shook and seemed to leap upward, throwing all but the Old Mage to their knees.
When the shaking had died away, Storm found herself lying beside the horses on the turf. By the time she had struggled to her feet and shook her head clear, the roiling smoke had died away and everyone could see what Elminster's magic had wrought in the meadow. Or rather, what had been the meadow. Where a broad expanse of flame-scorched grass had stretched a moment before, a smoking crater now yawned, large and deep and very impressive.
'Umm … nice, isn't it?' Elminster said rather vaguely.
'I'd forgotten how much fun hurling fire is! How does the spell go again?'
This time, the Old Mage merely waved a finger.
His young opponent, clinging to a red metal staff now battered and bent in six places, was just getting to his knees when another ball of flames as big as the first roared over the meadow. That was enough to send him tumbling again, and the young mage soon found himself atop a dazed and rotund Calishite sorcerer. When he could see clearly again, the mage saw a second crater smoking in the distance. Awed murmuring could be heard from the watching wizards all around.
'Now,' Elminster said mildly, drawing the stunned young mage to his feet with a firm hand, 'was there aught else ye wanted to speak of? Sendings and such, or prismatic spheres-pretty, aren't they? I've always enjoyed them. Or crafting artifacts, say? No? Ah, well then.. fare thee well in thy Art, Young Master of the Cutting Tongue, and learn a trifle more wisdom, too, if ye've the wits to do so. Until next we meet.'
Elminster patted the young mage's arm cheerily, snapped his fingers, and vanished. A moment later he reappeared beside an anxious Storm. 'Mount up,' he said cheerily. 'We've realms to cross tonight.'
'Realms?' asked Storm. As they rode up the ridge and left the magefair behind, she did not look back. 'I thought you had to get a key-or was it the twig? Did that mage take the key from you?'
'Oh, no,' replied Elminster merrily. He rode close and touched her forearm.
Abruptly the landscape was gone, replaced momentarily by shifting, shadowy grayness. The travelers seemed to be standing on nothing, but the horses trotted as if it were solid ground. Even before Storm could gasp a breath, there was another jolt, and they were somewhere else again-a place of darkness where rocks of all sizes crashed together endlessly, tumbling and rebounding as they hurtled through the emptiness. There was a constant thunder of stone smashing into stone, the scene lit by flashes of phosphorescence from each violent impact.
Storm took one look at the scene and tore her weather-cloak from behind her saddle, flinging it over the head of her mount to prevent its rearing and plunging forward off the rather small area of rock they'd appeared on. The Old Mage's mount stood calm, controlled by his magic, no doubt.
Storm stared around at the endless destruction and found herself ducking low as a large, jagged boulder thundered toward them. It was easily as large as four horses and tumbled end over end as it came at them.
Elminster gestured unconcernedly, and the boulder veered off to strike another, larger rock nearby. A deafening crash filled the air, and a shower of stone chips rained down upon the bard. Storm shook her head. Whatever this place was, they were no longer in Faerun.
'The green-clad dolt thought he had taken our prize,' the Old Mage continued casually. 'He suspected Duara might pass me the key, but he's found by now that his mighty staff is indeed just a twig. Now he'll have to go on watching her for the rest of the magefair, trying to see if she passes the key on to someone else. And for all he knows, anyone might be me, just wearing another shape. Duara'll lead him a merry dance. She likes hugging young men, and all that.' He chuckled. 'Shining schemes oft come to naught, ye know.'
Boulders rolled and crashed right in front of them. Storm bit her lip to quell an involuntary shriek, shielded her eyes against flying stone shards, and asked, 'Duara? You got the key from her, didn't you? I saw her hands at your belt.'
Elminster nodded. 'Aye, she gave it to me. All three of our foes at the fair saw it, too: the two who challenged me, and one who did not dare come forward.'
He fended off six small stones hurtling toward them. 'The third mage was there only to watch what transpired, no doubt, and report where we went. I used magic to blind him-and the Young Master of fire-hurling, too-under cover of my firesphere blast. They're both fortunate mage-fair rules prohibit spells that enfeeble the wits, or they'd be staring at nothing for a long time, indeed. The blindness will wear off soon enough, but they'll find us safely gone, and the key with us.'
'What-and where-is this key?' Storm asked patiently, reaching into a saddlebag for some cheese. 'Why did they not know where you'd hidden it?'
'They saw, but they did not see,' the Old Mage replied, using magic to float the cheese she held out deftly to his mouth. 'They knew not that Duara and I were old friends- or how quick her wits are.'
He reached into his mouth and drew out a small spindle of metal set with a large emerald. 'The key,' he said grandly, his voice suddenly its usual clear-edged, fussy self again. 'It's been in there since Duara first kissed me.' He licked his lips consideringly and added, 'She still likes almonds.' The waiting cheese slid into his mouth. He chewed, made an approving face, and took Storm's hand. Around them, at his will, the world shifted again.
In the blink of an eye, the darkness and crashing rocks were gone. Now their horses stood on a crumbling stone bridge in the midst of a fetid swamp, ringed by vine-hung trees. Slimy stone statues protruded from the still, black waters on all sides. Storm could see they perched on a raised avenue, part of an ancient city that lay drowned in the mire around them.
As Storm glanced behind her, several glistening black tentacles rose lazily from the inky waters and rolled in
