What's more dangerous than a mage out to rule the entire world? Why, a mage at play, of course.. .
Year of the Dark Dragon (1336 DR)
The rosy light of early morning had scarcely brightened into the full radiance of day, but the bard and her gaunt companion had already been in the saddle for some time.
Storm Silverhand, the Bard of Shadowdale, was an adventurer of wide experience and fame. She was also a senior and respected member of the Harpers, that mysterious band always working for the good of the world. A veteran of many perilous forays, always alert, she watched her surroundings constantly as the she traveled, hand never far from the hilt of her sword. Its blade had run with blood more than once already on this journey. As she rode, Storm sang softly to herself. She was happy to be in the saddle again-even on a ride into known danger.
For two tendays she had ridden beside a white-haired man as tall as herself, but thinner. The man was aged and a clumsy rider. He wore simple, much-patched robes covered with old food stains, and trailed sweet-smelling pipesmoke wherever he went.
Though he didn't look it, the old man was an adventurer even more famous than Storm: the Old Mage, Elminster of Shadowdale. More than five hundred winters had painted his long beard white. His twinkling blue eyes had seen empires rise and fall, and spied worlds beyond Toril, vast and strange. He knew more secrets than most wizards- and simpler, more honest men, too-might ever suspect to exist. The years had sharpened Elminster's temper and his tongue, and built his magic to a height that most mages could only dream of.
This great wizard wore old, floppy leather boots, and, most of the time, an irritated expression. At night, on the far side of the fire, he snored like a crawhorn in torment- but he knew it and used magic to mute the noise for sake of his friend and trail mate. Storm loved him dearly, snores and all, even if he tended to treat her like a little girl.
Despite their friendship, it was unusual for Storm to be riding at the Old Mage's side. When Elminster left Shadow-dale on prolonged trips, it was his habit to trust the defense of the dale to the bard. This time, just before the mage's departure, a Harper agent had brought a request from one of Storm's sisters: would she please guard Elminster when he went to the magefair?
In all her years of adventuring, Storm had never heard of a magefair, but the very name sounded ominous. She had been surprised at the easy good humor with which the Old Mage had accepted her announcement that this time, when he left home, she'd be riding with him. In fact, she suspected he'd used horses for the trek, rather than whisking himself across Faerun in a trice by magic, just to prolong their time together.
Every night Elminster settled himself and his pipe down beside their fire to listen to her pluck a harp and sing old ballads. In return, when she lay down under the watching, glittering stars, he'd softly tell tales of old Faerun until sleep claimed her. After years of riding the wastes with hearty, hardened warriors, Storm was astonished at how much she'd enjoyed this trip with the odd mage.
But now, it seemed, they had reached their destination, though it was nothing at all like the bard had imagined.
'Why here?' Storm Silverhand asked with tolerant good humor as she reined in beside Elminster on a ridge far from Shadowdale. The bright morning sun cast long shadows from the stunted trees and brush around them. As far as the eye could see, rolling wilderness stretched out, untouched by the hands of man. 'We must be halfway to Kara-Tur by now.'
The Old Mage scratched his nose. 'Farther,' he replied with seeming innocence, 'and 'here' because one we seek is close-at-hand.'
As he spoke, a man appeared out of thin air and floated in front of them. The horses snorted and shifted in surprise. Elminster frowned.
The man stood on nothing, booted feet far above the ground. Midnight eyes glowered down out of a thin, cruel white face. He towered impressively over them, clad in a dark and splendid tabard adorned with glowing mystic signs and topped with an upthrust high collar. A carved, gem-adorned staff winked and pulsed in one of his many-ringed hands.
'Challenge!' He addressed them with cold, formal dignity, raising his empty hand in a gesture that barred the way. 'Speak, or pass not!'
'Elminster of Shadowdale,' the Old Mage replied mildly, 'and guest.'
The man's eyes narrowed, and he said even more coldly, 'Prove yourself.'
'Ye doubt me?' Elminster asked slowly. 'Why, Dhaerivus, I recall my first magefair!' He nodded in reflection and added dryly, 'Ye made a most fetching toad.'
Dhaerivus flushed. 'You know the rule,' he said harshly, waving the staff. Lights began to race along its length, brightening the crystal sphere that topped it. With slow menace, the floating man brought that glowing end down to point at the Old Mage.
'Aye,' Elminster replied. Then he wagged a finger back and forth and announced lightly, 'Nice-
The staff that menaced them snapped back upright, forced away by the power of Elminster's sorcery. The sentinel who held it gaped at them in astonishment and fear before the muscles of his face rippled and lost their struggle against another dose of the Old Mage's spellcasting.
The magic made Dhaerivus giggle involuntarily for a few moments, then released him. His grin turned rapidly into a scowl of dark anger.
Elminster took no notice. 'There ye go,' he said jovially to the shaken sentinel as he urged his mount onward. 'Happy magic!'
Storm looked back at the furious man as they topped the next ridge. The staff was flashing and flickering like a lightning storm at sea, and the sentinel was snarling and stamping angrily on the empty air. Storm glanced at Elminster and asked wonderingly, 'You cast a
Elminster nodded. 'A wizard must prove to a magefair sentinel only that he can work magic. Er, to keep the rabble out'
He rolled his eyes to show what he thought of that attitude and calmly urged his horse down through a tumble of boulders and long grass. 'Guests like thee are exempt from the testing, but each mage is limited to only one such compatriot. No mage can avoid the test and be allowed into the fair. Generally, young bucks cast powerful explosions and the like, or exquisite and-ahem-voluptuous illusions, but in this case I, ah, well, ah … meant it as an insult'
Storm wrinkled her brow. 'I see,' she observed carefully. 'I'm going to have to be very careful at this fair.'
Elminster waved a hand. 'Ah, nay, nay,' he replied. 'I must merely get a certain magical key from someone who isn't expected to be insane enough to bring it here-or to have anything at all to do with it-and then have a bit of fun. Certain Harpers asked me to come here to protect this friend I must meet. No doubt ye were asked to come along too-to keep a certain Old Mage out of trouble.' He favored her with a level look. Storm smiled and nodded ruefully.
The Old Mage chuckled. 'These magefairs are private little gatherings. I haven't been to one in years, and we're far enough from home that my face won't be well known. Certain rules govern those who attend, rules meant to keep things from sinking into a general spell-brawl, but ye'd do well to keep in mind that most everyone here can wield magic-quite well. Walk softly. Drink things that are offered to ye only if I am present and deem it wise. Draw thy magical blade only if ye must. Some come here to gain new spells, but most come to show off what they can do, like children at play. Cruel, overpowerful children, a lot of them.'
He scratched at his beard and looked thoughtful. 'As to those who work against us, the names and faces of
