once.' Elminster raised an eyebrow. 'Or in thy case, Raerlin, twice.' With one hand he traced a glowing sign in the air.
The lich gave him a ghastly, gap-toothed smile and kept coming. Elminster's other eyebrow went up. His hands moved swiftly in several intricate gestures.
A barrier of shimmering radiance sprang into being across the mouth of the portal. Raerlin's hands moved in response, and the barrier burst into tiny motes of light that scattered like dancing sparks from a campfire, then winked out.
The lich's fleshless skull managed, somehow, to sneer. 'You thought yourself very clever, duping my two servants at the magefair, Elminster,' came that hissing whisper again, 'but I am not so easily fooled or defeated.'
The skull seemed to smile. 'I was at the fair, too. Your blindness spell failed against me, of course, and you did not even see through my spell-disguise. Are such simple sorceries beyond your understanding now?'
From the kitchen, muted by its stout, closed door, came the sudden rising, incongruous shriek of Lhaeo's kettle coming to a boil.
Elminster's hands were moving again. Storm saw lines of crackling power form between his fingers before he cast forth a bolt at the lich. As the energy flashed away from his hands, it lit up his face in tints of growing worry.
The lich laughed hollowly as Elminster's bolt crackled around its desiccated form. Tiny lightnings spat and leaped around its body, but seemed unable to do any harm. The lich raised a bony hand and cast a spell of its own.
Storm looked back at Elminster in alarm-and saw one of the books in the open closet behind the Old Mage glow suddenly with the same green and white radiance as the flames of the lich's gate. And when she glared at the lich, its eyes glinted at her in triumph. Ghostly gray tendrils of force were moving from the undead mage, toward them both. Raerlin was very close now, only paces away from entering the room.
'Flee, Storm!' Elminster snapped. 'I cannot protect thee in what will follow!' His hands were moving in another spell.
Storm shook her head, but stepped back out of the way. Shimmering light burst from the Old Mage's fingers, lancing out to encircle and destroy each reaching tendril in crackling fury. Yet the lich merely shrugged, and its bony fingertips wove another silent spell. The book in the open closet glowed again.
Storm saw a sheen of sweat on Elminster's forehead as his hand darted to his robes and drew forth some small talisman. Then the talisman was gone, vanished right from the Old Mage's hand. As if in reply, a red-glowing band of energy shot out from the lich's shoulders as it stepped over a toppled chair into Elminster's study. The ghostly magical arm reached menacingly forward.
A shield of shimmering, silver-blue force suddenly hung in the air in front of the Old Mage, guarding him. The red arm swung easily, almost lazily around it, reaching for, not Elminster, but the closet behind him.
The lich was reaching for the book, Storm realized, then lashed out at it. There was a sudden hissing shriek of horror from the portal, and the red glow rose around her.
The lich's spell-arm clawed at her, trying to hold her back. Leather was torn away, and Storm felt sudden, searing pain across her breast. Thin, dark ribbons of her own blood curled past her eyes, borne upon the energy of the lich's sorcerous arm as it enveloped her.
The Bard of Shadowdale set her teeth and struck backhanded with her magical blade, trying to free herself from the crimson band of force. There was a sudden flash and a roar. Sparks snapped and flew. The riven shards of her blade glinted brightly before Storm's eyes as she was flung back into a stack of dusty tomes. Blood ran into her eyes, and her breast felt like it was on fire.
Dimly Storm heard Elminster groan. Blinking furiously to clear her sight, she struggled to her feet. The Old Mage was crumpled to the floor, a thin beam of light from one out-flung hand reaching toward her. Behind him, the lich stood triumphant, outlined in a flaming crimson aura. Hands on hips, it laughed hollowly.
The light of Elminster's spell touched Storm, and she felt warm, fresh strength flowing into her. Her fingertips tingled, and the blood was suddenly gone from her eyes and brow.
The lich gestured sharply, and the red cloud around it became a forest of tendrils, overwhelming the darkening spell-shield over the Old Mage. As Storm watched, the shield crumbled and was gone-and the crimson force swirled around Elminster. He gestured weakly, then fell onto his face and lay still.
The blue-white energy of the Old Mage's last enchantment was drawn up into the red cloud. The mystic aura blazed brighter as the lich stepped over the Old Mage's body and strode toward the bard. Raerlin was draining Elminster's magic to power his own dark spells!
Another crimson arm lashed out from that cloud, smashing the bard aside with casual, brutal force. Storm was flung into another pile of books. She saw the red arm reaching in a leisurely manner for the tome inside the hidden room.
Storm got up from the tumbled heap of books as quickly as she could, panting, the smell of her own singed hair strong in her nostrils. Blood still trickle down her chest, and she still held a blackened, twisted sword-hilt in her hand. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she flung the ruined blade at the lich and dove for the tome for which the creature had risked so much. Redness swirled around her, but the book was clenched tightly in her fingers.
Raerlin's voice rose into a hollow, fearful shriek as Storm clutched the book to her bloody chest. 'Myrkul take you, wench!' the lich cried. 'You'll ruin it!'
And at last Storm was sure of her course.
She tore at the pages with trembling fingers and thrust the crumpled scraps into the flames of Elminster's magical brazier.
Raerlin's magic struck. Red claws tugged and tore at her. Storm snarled and fought to hold her position, one arm crooked around the brazier. Flames licked greedily at the crumpled pages she held.
Storm felt hair being hauled out of her scalp, yanking her head back. Tears blinded her, and something-her own hair! — tightened around her throat, driven by the lich's magic. The Bard of Shadowdale set her teeth to hold back a scream as she hauled the book up, wrestling against the lich's dark sorcery with all the strength in her arms. And she thrust the tome into the brazier.
There was a hungry roar, and Storm was hurled away. She had a confused glimpse of flying bones and the brass brazier tumbling end over end, away from a rolling, motionless ball of bright flame. Then she crashed again into Elminster's chair with bruising force. Hair blinded her for a moment. Impatiently Storm raked it aside and stared at the ball of fire.
It hung a few feet above the floor of the study, roiling and crackling. At its heart, the blackening, still-glowing book was wreathed in many-colored flames. As she watched, the tome crumbled to ashes and was gone. Off to Storm's left, there was a hissing sound.
She turned time to see the lich's skull crumble to pieces. The red glow of Raerlin's magic flickered and faded away to nothing. In a moment, the lich was only so much eddying dust.
In the sudden silence, Storm closed weary eyes, wondering when her burned hands would stop trembling.
From somewhere to her right came a loud cough. The bard blinked her eyes open and tried to rise. Elminster was shaking his head as he got slowly up off the floor, patting at smoldering patches on his robes.
'I must not forget, lass,' Elminster said with dignity, 'to thank ye properly, at some future time, for once again saving my life.'
Storm sputtered in sudden mirth, despite her pain. A moment later, they were laughing in each other's arms, eyes shining. As they shook together in a tight embrace, a door opened, spilling kitchen sounds into the devastated study. The sudden clatter of crockery was followed by Lhaeo's cheerful voice saying, 'Tea's ready! You were making quite a racket in-' He sobered suddenly and blinked at the two singed and wounded friends. 'Wh-what happened?'
Elminster pushed Storm away and waved his hands with incredible agility for one so old. An instant later, Storm found herself on her chair again, wearing a splendid gown. The raw pain in her chest and hands was gone. Across a round table set for tea, Elminster sat facing her, clad in splendid silken robes embroidered with dragons. He was smiling gently, his lit pipe ready in his hand.
'Nothing,' the Old Mage said airily, 'more than a visit between old friends.'
