The Best of the Realms, Book I

WARNINGS

The Year of the Dark Dragon (1336 DR)

The rosy light of early morning had scarcelybrightened into the full radiance of day, but the bard and her gaunt companionhad already been in the saddle for some time.

Storm Silverhand, the Bard of Shadowdale, was anadventurer of wide experience and fame. She was also a senior and respectedmember of the Harpers, that mysterious band always working for the good of theworld. A veteran of many perilous forays, always alert, she watched hersurroundings constantly as she traveled, hand never far from the hilt of hersword. Its blade had run with blood more than once already on that journey. Asshe rode, Storm sang softly to herself. She was happy to be in the saddleagain-even on a ride into known danger.

For two tendays she had ridden beside a white-hairedman 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-smellingpipe smoke wherever he went.

Though he didn't look it, the old man was an adventurereven more famous than Storm: the Old Mage, Elminster of Shadowdale. More thanfive hundred winters had painted his long beard white. His twinkling blue eyeshad seen empires rise and fall, and spied worlds beyond Toril, vast andstrange. 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 andhis tongue, and built his magic to a height that most mages could only dreamof.

The great wizard wore old, floppy leather boots, and,most of the time, an irritated expression. At night, on the far side of thefire, he snored like a crawhorn in torment-but he knew it and used magic tomute the noise for the sake of his friend and trail mate. Storm loved himdearly, snores and all, even if he tended to treat her like a little girl.

Despite their friendship, it was unusual for Storm tobe riding at the Old Mage's side. When Elminster left Shadowdale on prolongedtrips, it was his habit to trust the defense of the dale to the bard. Thistime, just before the mage's departure, a Harper agent had brought a requestfrom one of Storm's sisters: would she please guard Elminster when he went tothe magefair?

In all her years of adventuring, Storm had never heardof a magefair, but the very name sounded ominous. She had been surprised at theeasy good humor with which the Old Mage had accepted her announcement that thattime, when he left home, she'd be riding with him. In fact, she suspected he'dused horses for the trek, rather than whisking himself across Faerûn in a triceby magic, just to prolong their time together.

Every night Elminster settled himself and his pipedown beside their fire to listen to her pluck a harp and sing old ballads. Inreturn, when she lay down under the watching, glittering stars, he'd softlytell tales of old Faerûn until sleep claimed her. After years of riding the wastes withhearty, hardened warriors, Storm was astonished at how much she'd enjoyed hertrip with the odd mage.

But it seemed they had reached their destination,though it was nothing at all like the bard had imagined.

"Why here?" Storm Silverhand asked withtolerant good humor as she reined in beside Elminster on a ridge far fromShadowdale. The bright morning sun cast long shadows from the stunted trees andbrush around them. As far as the eye could see, rolling wilderness stretchedout, untouched by the hands of man. "We must be halfway to Kara-Tur bynow."

The Old Mage scratched his nose.

"Farther," he replied with seeminginnocence, "and 'here' because one we seek is close at hand."

As he spoke, a man appeared out of thin air, floatingin front of them. The horses snorted and shifted in surprise. Elminsterfrowned.

The man stood on nothing, booted feet far above theground. Midnight eyes glowered down out of a thin, cruel white face. He toweredimpressively over them, clad in a dark and splendid tabard adorned with glowingmystic signs and topped with an up-thrust high collar. A carved, gem-adornedstaff 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 Magereplied 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 thy first magefair!" He nodded inreflection and added dryly, "Ye made a most fetching toad."

Dhaerivus flushed.

"You know the rule," he said harshly, wavingthe staff.

Lights began to race along its length, brightening thecrystal sphere that topped it. With slow menace, the floating manbrought that glowing end down to point at the Old Mage.

"Aye," Elminster replied. He wagged a fingerback and forth and announced lightly, "Nicely!"

The staff that menaced them snapped back upright,forced away by the power of Elminster's sorcery. The sentinel who held itgaped at them in astonishment and fear before the muscles of his face rippledand lost their struggle against another dose of the Old Mage's spell-casting.

The magic made Dhaerivus giggle involuntarily for afew moments, then released him. His grin turned rapidly into a scowl of darkanger.

Elminster took no notice. "There ye go," hesaid jovially to the shaken sentinel as he urged his mount onward. "Happymagic!"

Storm looked back at the furious man as they toppedthe next ridge. The staff was flashing and flickering like a lightning storm atsea, and the sentinel was snarling and stamping angrily on the empty air.

Storm glanced at Elminster and asked wonderingly,"You cast a cantrip? Making him giggle is 'proving yourself'?"

Elminster nodded and said, "A wizard must proveto a magefair sentinel only that he can work magic. Er, to keep the rabbleout."

He rolled his eyes to show what he thought of thatattitude and calmly urged his horse down through a tumble of boulders and longgrass.

"Guests like thee are exempt from the testing,but each mage is limited to only one such compatriot. No mage can avoid thetest and be allowed into the fair. Generally, young bucks cast powerfulexplosions and the like, or exquisite and-ahem-voluptuous illusions, butin this case I, ah, well, ah … meant it as an insult."

Storm wrinkled her brow. "I see," sheobserved carefully, "that I'm going to have to be very careful at thisfair."

Elminster waved a hand and replied, "Ah, nay,nay. I must merely get a certain magical key from someone who isn't expected tobe insane enough to bring it here-or to have anything at all to do with it-andhave a bit of fun. Certain Harpers asked me to come here to protect this friendI must meet. No doubt ye were asked to come along too-to keep a certain OldMage out of trouble."

He favored her with a level look. Storm smiled andnodded ruefully.

The Old Mage chuckled, "These magefairs areprivate little gatherings. I haven't been to one in years, and we're far enoughfrom home that my face won't be well known. Certain rules govern those whoattend, rules meant to keep things from sinking into a general spell-brawl, butye'd do well to keep in mind that most everyone here can wield magic-quitewell. Walk softly. Drink things that are offered to ye only if I am present anddeem it wise. Draw thy magical blade only if ye must. Some come here to gainnew spells, but most come to show off what they can do, like children at play.Cruel, over-powerful children, a lot of them."

He scratched at his beard and looked thoughtful.

"As to those who work against us," he added,"the names and faces of their servants at the magefair are unknown tome." He grinned suddenly. "Suspect everyone, as usual, and ye shoulddo all right."

"What is this key we seek?" Storm asked,"and why is it so valuable?"

Elminster shrugged and said, "It's precious onlybecause of what it opens. Its form and purpose ye'll learn soon enough-which isanother way of saying I scarce remember what it looks like and haven't thefaintest idea why, after so many years, its importance has risen so suddenlyand sharply." He cast a dry look at her and added, "Mysterious enoughfor ye?"

Storm replied with a look that had, over the years,plunged more than one man into icy fear.

Unperturbed, the Old Mage smiled at her as they rodeup the heather-clad slope of another ridge.

"Sorry, my dear, but I got quite a lecture lasttime-from thee, as I recall-on speaking freely about all sorts of littledetails that should be kept secret in matters like this, so I'm flapping myjaws as little as I can this time around and acting as if only I know the great secretupon which the safety of the entire world rests-oh, there I go. Ye see, I justcan't help myself. 'Tis so hard to do all this intrigue and world-saving withgrim and solemn seriousness when ye've done it so often down the centuries.Now, where was I? Ah, yes …"

There were worse fates, Storm reminded herself with aninward smile, than traveling across half of Faerûn with Elminster. To buoy herspirits, she spent some time trying to remember what some of them were.

That dark reverie took them across several scrub-coveredridges, to the lip of a deep, bowl-shaped valley. A narrow trail wound downinto it from somewhere on their right, crossing in front of them to enter agrove of trees. The trees hid the rest of the valley from the two riders.

It was then that a man in rich purple robes sailedinto view. Floated would be a more accurate term, since he perched serenely ona carpet that undulated through the air like an eager snake, following thenarrow trail far below. And as the bard and wizard watched, the man on the flyingcarpet sailed into the trees. Their leaves promptly changed color from theirformer green to a bright coppery hue, and several voices could be heard, raisedin cries of praise of the new arrival.

They had obviously reached the magefair.

Far off, on the heights that rose on the other side ofthe still unseen valley, Storm saw balls of fire bursting in the air.

Elminster followed the direction of her stare andsaid, "Ah, yes-the fireball throwing contest, d'ye see? Magelings get allexcited about it. . something about impressing their peers. No doubt we'llend up there all too soon. They're allowed to challenge us olderdweomer-crafters, ye see, to prove their manly mettles by beating feebledodderers. Er, womanly mettles too, mark ye, though many maids have senseenough to avoid such vulgar displays of power."

Storm raised an eyebrow and asked, "How does onefireball impress more than another? As the saying goes, aren't all that hit youthe same?"

The Old Mage shook his head patiently.

"If a few words of the incantation arechanged," he explained, "the spell becomes more difficult to cast andthe size and force of its blast mirrors the power and experience of the onethrowing it. One wizard can boast that his is bigger than that of the nextwizard, y'see. An archmage's firesphere can be quite impressive."

He paused meaningfully, then added, "I mean toget in and get out of the fair, mind ye, with a minimum of dallying. Tossingfire about is more a sport for the green and foolish. Try not to seek outtrouble by challenging anyone. Stay close and speak not. It's safer."

And with these melodramatic words the Old Mage kickedhis heels and sent his horse galloping down the steep track in reckless haste,raising dust. At the bottom, Elminster plunged his mount into a crowd oflaughing, chatting mages. Storm, close on his heels, had time for one starebefore she entered the assembled mages.

The gorge was full of folk standing shoulder toshoulder. Their robes formed a moving sea of wild colors, and the chatter wasnearly deafening. There were men and women of all shapes, ages, and sizes-and afew whose gender the bard wasn't sure of. Traditional dark, flowing,wide-sleeved robes were amply in evidence, but most of the mages wore stranger,more colorful garments. Storm, who had seen much in the way of garb over manyyears of wandering, stared in wonder. It is widely held in Faerûn-amongnon-mages, at least-that those who work Art are all, in varying degrees, crazy.In eccentricity of dress, Storm saw, that was certainly correct.

All manner of strange headpieces and body adornmentsbristled and sprouted around her, shimmering and sparkling and in some casesshifting shape in fluid movements. One lady mage wore nothing but a gigantic,many-feathered snake, which moved its slow coils continuously around her lithebody. A man nearby seemed clad only in dancing flames. The wizard he wasspeaking to wore a shifting, phosphorescent fungus, out of which grew smallleafy ferns and thistles. Next to them stood a half-elf maiden clad in aflowing gown of gleaming, soft-polished gems strung upon many silken threads.She was arguing with a long-haired dwarf wearing furs and leather upon which apair of insect-eating lizards crawled ceaselessly, long tongues darting. Asnatch of their conversation came to Storm's ears:

"Well, what did the Thayan do then?"

"Blew up the entire castle, of course. Whatelse?" Other voices crowded in, drowning out the previous speakers.

"What was that? Purple zombies? Why purple?"

"She was bored, I guess. You should have seen theprince's face the next morning. She made a dozen tiny red hands appear out ofthin air and pinch him in all the places he had pinched her … in front of allthe court, too!"

Elminster was riding steadily through the throng. Heseemed to know where he was going. Storm followed, past a man who was balancinga full bottle of something dark and red on his large nose and protesting inmuffled tones to those watching that he wasn't using any magic to help him. Shelooked away just before the bottle toppled and spilled all over him, but couldnot resist looking back at the damp result. She was careful not to smile.

"How many times must I tell thee? First you kiss,then cast the spell-or it stays a frog forever!"

Storm shook her head, trying to concentrate on Elminsterand ignore such talk. A terrific din of conversation, strange music, humming,and weird little popping noises raged over the crowd. Wizards gestured toimpress those they were speaking with, and varicolored smokes and many-huedglobes of radiance obediently bobbed or writhed in the air over their heads.Enspelled birds sang complicated melodies, and some flew graceful aerial ballets.Storm peered this way and that, trying to see everything, watching for danger.

Everywhere folk stood talking, arguing, laughing, ordickering, with goblets and flagons of varying sizes and contents in theirhands, or floating handily in midair at their elbows. Some sort of rule, Stormguessed, kept the mages themselves from flying, floating, or teleporting about. Mostlythey just stood in groups, talking. Storm threaded her mount carefully amongthem. Three olive-hued tentacles slid out from under a mage's hood as shepassed. Small, glittering eyes opened at their ends, surveyed her, and winked.She tried not to show her involuntary shudder as she rode on, past a man withbright green hair and beard who was juggling a ring of hand-sized balls of firein the air. The lady mage he was trying to impress was in the act of stifling ayawn.

The next group was made up of old and wrinkled croneswith cold dark eyes and sinister-looking black robes. They were chuckling andswigging beer from clear glass tankards that didn't seem to empty.

"First babe I ever saw that was born withwings," one was saying delightedly. "Flew around the nursery, giggling,the little scamp. Well, the king nearly swallowed his crown, I tell thee!"

Storm left the women behind, riding across a littleopen space where rising smoke and ashes suggested someone had experienced awarm and possibly fatal accident very recently. Beyond it, she plunged intothe chatter once again.

"You must understand, old friend, that taking theshape of a dragon is an experience that changes one forever-forever, I tell you!"

A mage in florid pink and purple, lace at his wristsand throat, was underscoring that point by flicking a long, forked tongue atthe mage he was speaking to-a wizardess with white, furry hair running downher arms and the backs of her hands. Her skin was a deeper purple than the garbof the wizard speaking to her. Her reply to his claims about dragonshaping wasan eloquent snort.

Then Storm was threading her way past six enchantinglybeautiful half-elf sorceresses, whose heads were bent together in low-voicedintrigue. One looked up alertly, only to relax and give the bard a relievedsmile. The others, intent on deal-making, never saw her.

"Well, just change the name and the way you castit, and he'll never know. I mean, anyone could have come up with a spell likethat. Teach it to me, and I'll not tell where I got it. In return, I'll showyou that trick of Tlaerune's, the one that makes men swoon and-"

Shaking her head, Storm hurried on through the magicalbedlam, trying to catch up with the Old Mage. Where had he gone? She looked upand down the crowded gorge-there were hundreds of mages there! Yet, thanks toher keen eyes, she managed to find Elminster again. The Old Mage continued tocut through the gathered wizards without slowing or dismounting-until he cameto a tree-shaded corner on the far, rocky wall of the gorge. There, in thedappled gloom, a short, stunningly beautiful lady mage was talking with five orsix obviously smitten men of the Art.

Storm saw laughing black eyes, flowing black hair, anda gown whose scanty front seemed to be made of glowing, always-shiftingflowers.

Then the Old Mage vaulted, or rather fell, straightfrom his horse into the arms of the lady, with the words, "Duara! My dear!Years have passed! Simply years!"

Dark eyes sparkled up into his, and the Old Mage'seffusive greetings were temporarily stilled by a deep kiss. Slim hands wentaround his neck, stroked his tangle of white hair, and moved downward, in atight, passionate embrace.

After Elminster's glad greetings and the long kiss,Storm heard a low, purring voice replying enthusiastically. On the faces ofthe men around she saw astonishment, then anger, resignation, or disgust, andfinally resigned disinterest. Storm also noticed Duara's fingers at the mage'sbelt, moving nimbly.

Other eyes had seen it, too-particularly those of atall, hook-nosed man in a dark green velvet doublet with slashed and puffedsleeves. He'd been watching the Old Mage's affectionate greeting closely, hisexpression hidden by the smoke from his long, slim clay pipe.

When Elminster finally bid the smiling beauty a noisy adieu,the hook-nosed wizard let his pipe float by itself as he strode forward,gesturing wordlessly. In response, Elminster's pouch levitated upward andopened in midair. Silence fell among the mages standing near. It was obvious bytheir expressions that the green-clad wizard's spellwork was a serious breachof etiquette.

Storm half drew her sword, but Elminster's bony handstayed her firmly.

In merry tones, he asked, "Lost thy magic,colleague? Want to borrow a cup of this or that?"

The wizard in green looked narrowly at him and at thelone item the pouch held: a twig. "Where is it, old man?"

"The powerful magic ye seek? Why, in here,"replied Elminster, tapping his own head with one finger. Unsettled, Stormpeered at him; his voice seemed thicker than usual, but his eyes were as brightas ever. "But ye can't get it with a simple snatching spell cast in amoment, ye know. Years of study, it took me, to master even-"

The green wizard gestured curtly. The twig flew towardhis open, waiting hand. Before it got there, Elminster snapped his fingers andwiggled his eyebrows. As a result, the twig shot upward, curved in a smootharc, and darted back toward the Old Mage.

The wizard in green frowned and gestured again. Thetwig slowed abruptly, but continued to drift toward the smiling face ofElminster. The wizard's hands moved again, almost frantically, but the twig'sflight-and Elminster's gentle smile-held steady as the wood settled into theOld Mage's hand.

Elminster bowed to the white-faced, shaking wizard.

Pleasantly, the Old Mage said, "But if it's thismagical staff ye want-" the twig instantly became a grand-looking,ten-foot-long, smooth black staff with brass ends wrought in coiling-snakedesigns-"by all means have it."

And the staff flew gently across empty air to theastonished man's hands.

"But. . your staff?" Storm asked inwonder as she watched the sweating, dumbfounded wizard in green catch the staffnot four paces away. "How will you replace it?"

"Cut myself another one," the Old Magereplied serenely. "They grow on trees."

Clutching the staff and eyeing Elminster anxiously,the velvet-clad wizard reclaimed his pipe, muttered something, andrapidly gestured. Abruptly, he was gone, staff and all, as though he had neverbeen there at all.

Elminster shook his head disapprovingly.

"Bad manners," he said severely. "Very.Teleporting at the magefair! It just wasn't done in my day, let me tellye-"

"When was that, old man? Before the founding ofWaterdeep, I'll warrant," sneered a darkly handsome young man who stoodnearby.

Storm turned in her saddle.

The speaker was richly dressed in fur-trimmed silks.His black-browed, pinched face was always sneering, it seemed. Storm recognizedhim as one of the wizards who'd been speaking with Duara when Elminsterarrived.

His voice and manner radiated cold, scornful power ashe curled back his lip a little farther and said, "By the way, graybeard,you may call me 'Master.'"

Gripping his own staff-one made of shining red metal,twelve feet long and adorned with ornaments of gold-the dark-browed magereached for the reins of the Old Mage's riderless horse.

Storm kicked out at his hand from her saddle. The toeof her boot stung his fingers and smashed them away from Elminster's mount. Thehandsome mage turned on her angrily-to find a gleaming sword tip inches fromhis nose.

"Heh, heh," chuckled Elminster in thick,rich tones. "Not learned to leave the ladies alone yet, YoungMaster?"

The mage flushed red to the roots of his hair andwhirled away from Storm's blade to face the old man again.

"Why, no, grandsire," he said sarcastically."Though it's obvious you've been without one for many a year!"

The loud insult brought a few snickers from theyounger mages standing near, mingled with gasps and whistles of shockedamazement from older wizards who evidently knew Elminster. The murmuringintensified as some mages shoved closer to watch the coming confrontation,while others suddenly recalled pressing business elsewhere and slipped away toa safe distance.

Elminster yawned.

"Put away thy blade," he said softly toStorm. Then he said more loudly and almost merrily, "It appears boastfulstriplings still come to magefairs for no greater purpose than to insult theirbetters."

The Old Mage sighed theatrically and went on, "Isuppose, cockerel, that now ye've picked a quarrel and will challenge me, eh?Nay, nay, that's not fair. After all, I've the wisdom of ages with which tomake the right choices, whereas ye have only the hot vigor of youth … um,pretty phrase, that… so I'll even thy odds a trifle: I'll challenge thee!Fireball-throwing, hey? What say ye?"

A cheer arose.

The red-faced mage waited for it to die, then saidscornfully, "A sport for children and, I suppose, old lack-wits."

Elminster smiled, very like a cat gloating over corneredprey, and said, "Perhaps. On the other hand, perhaps ye are frightened oflosing?"

The mage's face grew redder still. He cast a lookaround at the interested, watching faces, and snapped, "I accept."Then he struck an ostentatious pose and vanished.

An instant later, amid a puff of scarlet smoke, hereappeared on the edge of the gorge and made an insulting gesture at the OldMage from afar. Elminster chuckled, waved a lazy hand in reply, and climbedclumsily back up onto his long-suffering horse. Storm saw him salute Duara witha wink. Then Duara's eyes met her own, and Storm could read the silent plea inthem as clearly as if the young sorceress had shouted it in her ear: Lookafter him, lady-please.

By the time they had ridden up out of the valley tothe meadows beyond, many wizards had gathered to watch. Haughty young sorcerershad been hurling fire about all day, but the expectant silence hanging over thescene seemed to indicate that the mage with the red staff had won a reputationat the fair, or many elders remembered Elminster, or perhaps even both.

With more haste than grace, Elminster fell from his saddle.He hit the ground at a stumbling run, staggered to a halt, and dusted himselfoff.

Then he saw his waiting opponent and, with obviouspleasant surprise, said, "Well… lead off, boy!"

"One side, old man," said the young magedarkly, waving his staff. "Or have you no fear of dying in a ball offlame?"

Elminster stroked his beard.

"Yes, yes," he said eagerly, his mindseemingly far away. "Well do I remember! Oho, those were the days … greatbursts of fire in the sky…."

The young mage pushed past him.

"Now, how did that one go, eh? Oh, my, yes, Ithink I recall…." Elminster burbled on, voice thick and eyes far away.

Contemptuously the young mage set his staff in thecrook of his arm, muttered his incantation in low tones so the Old Mage couldnot hear, and moved his hands in the deftly gliding gestures of the spell. Aninstant later, above the grassy meadow, fire grew from nothingness into a greatred-violet sphere. It seethed and roiled, rolled over once, and burst in orangeruin 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 theOld 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 and replied, "Oh, yes."

"Would it be possible to see thee perform thisawesome feat?" the mage inquired with acidic courtliness, his voice amocking, over-pompous parody of Elminster's own thickened tones.

The Old Mage blinked.

"Young man," Elminster said disapprovingly,"the great mastery of magic lies in knowing when not to use the power, else allthese lands would long ago have become a smoking ruin."

The young mage sneered again and said, "So youwon't perform such a trifling spell for us, O mightiest of mages? Is that theway of it?"

"No, no," Elminster said with a sigh."We did agree, and ye have done thy little bit, so I-" he sighedagain-"shall do mine."

He gestured vaguely, then paused and harrumphed.

"Ah, now," the Old Mage said, "how doesthe rhyme go?"

There were a few titters from the watching crowd as hescratched his beard and looked around with a puzzled air. The young magesneered at his back, and 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 wintrylook of her own.

Elminster suddenly drew himself up and shouted:

"By tongue of bat and sulfur's reek,

"And mystic words I now do speak,

"There, where I wish to play my game,

"Let empty air burst into flame!"

In answer, the very air seemed to shatter with anear-splitting shriek. A gigantic ball of flame towered over the meadow, itsheat blistering the watchers' faces.

It was like the sun had fallen.

As mages cried out and shaded their eyes, the fireballrolled away from the awed crowd for a trembling instant, then burst in ablinding white flash, hurling out its mighty energies in a long jet of flamethat roared away to the horizon. The ground shook and seemed to leap upward,throwing all but the Old Mage to their knees.

When the shaking had died away, Storm found herselflying beside the horses on the turf. By the time she had struggled to her feetand shaken her head clear, the roiling smoke had died away and everyone couldsee what Elminster's magic had wrought in the meadow. Or rather, what had beenthe meadow. Where a broad expanse of flame-scorched grass had stretched amoment before, a smoking crater yawned, large and deep and very impressive.

"Umm … nice, isn't it?" Elminster saidrather vaguely. "I'd forgotten how much fun hurling fire is! How does thespell go again?"

The Old Mage merely waved a finger.

His young opponent, clinging to a red metal staff thathad been bent in six places, was just getting to his knees when another ball offlame as big as the first roared over the meadow. That was enough to send himtumbling again, and the young mage soon found himself atop a dazed and rotundCalishite sorcerer. When he could see clearly again, the mage saw a secondcrater smoking in the distance. Awed murmuring could be heard from the watchingwizards all around.

"Now," Elminster said mildly, drawing thestunned young mage to his feet with a firm hand, "was there aught else yewanted to speak of? Sendings and such, or prismatic spheres-pretty, aren'tthey? I've always enjoyed them. Or crafting artifacts, say? No? Ah, wellthen… fare thee well in thy Art, Young Master of the Cutting Tongue, andlearn a trifle more wisdom, too, if ye've the wits to do so. Until next wemeet."

Elminster patted the young mage's arm cheerily,snapped his fingers, and vanished. A moment later he reappeared beside ananxious Storm.

"Mount up," he said cheerily. "We'verealms to cross tonight."

"Realms?" asked Storm. As they rode up theridge and left the magefair behind, she did not look back. "I thought youhad 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 thelandscape was gone, replaced momentarily by shifting, shadowy grayness. Thetravelers seemed to be standing on nothing, but the horses trotted as if it wassolid 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 sizescrashed together endlessly, tumbling and rebounding as they hurtled throughthe emptiness. There was a constant thunderof stone smashing into stone, the scenelit by flashes of phosphorescence from each violent impact.

Storm took one look at the scene and tore her weathercloakfrom behind her saddle, flinging it over the head of her mount to prevent itsrearing and plunging forward off the rather small area of rock they'd appearedon. The Old Mage's mount stood calm, controlled by his magic, no doubt.

Storm stared around at the endless destruction andfound herself ducking low as a large, jagged boulder thundered toward them. Itwas easily as large as four horses and tumbled end over end as it came at them.

Elminster gestured, unconcerned, and the boulderveered off to strike another, larger rock nearby. A deafening crash filled theair, and a shower of stone chips rained down upon the bard. Storm shook herhead. Whatever the place was, they were no longer in Faerûn.

"The green-clad dolt thought he had taken ourprize," the Old Mage continued casually. "He suspected Duara mightpass me the key, but he's found by now that his mighty staff is indeed just atwig. Now he'll have to go on watching her for the rest of the magefair, tryingto see if she passes the key on to someone else. And for all he knows, anyonemight be me, just wearing another shape. Duara'll lead him a merry dance. Shelikes hugging young men, and all that." He chuckled. "Shining schemesoft 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 againstflying stone shards, and asked, "Duara? You got the key from her, didn'tyou? I saw her hands at your belt."

Elminster nodded and replied, "Aye, she gave itto me. All three of our foes at the fair saw it, too: the two who challengedme, and one who did not dare come forward."

He fended off six small stones hurtling toward themand continued, "The third mage was there only to watch what transpired, nodoubt, and report where we went. I used magic to blind him-and the young masterof fire-hurling, too-under cover of my firesphere blast. They're bothfortunate magefair rules prohibit spells that enfeeble the wits, or they'd bestaring at nothing for a long time, indeed. The blindness will wear off soonenough, but they'll find us safely gone, and the key with us."

"What-and where-is this key?" Storm askedpatiently, reaching into a saddlebag for some cheese. "Why did they notknow where you'd hidden it?"

"They saw, but they did not see," the OldMage 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 witsare."

He reached into his mouth and drew out a small spindleof metal set with a large emerald.

"The key," he said grandly, his voicesuddenly its usual clear-edged, fussy self again. "It's been in theresince Duara first kissed me." He licked his lips and added, "Shestill 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, theworld shifted again.

In the blink of an eye, the darkness and crashingrocks were gone. Their horses stood on a crumbling stone bridge in the midst ofa fetid swamp, ringed by vine-hung trees. Slimy stone statues protruded fromthe still, black waters on all sides. Storm could see they perched on a raisedavenue, part of an ancient city that lay drowned in the mire around them.

As Storm glanced behind her, several glistening blacktentacles rose lazily from the inky waters and rolled in languid curls acrossthe stone span. After the questing limbs bobbed and swayed-almost as if theysniffed the air-they slid slowly into the water again.

The bard pointed to a trail of ripples, which seemedto mark the path of something large moving toward them just under the water'ssurface. Elminster nodded, smiled, and waved a hand casually-and they weresomewhere else again. The horses were on an old, sunken road in the heart of adark forest.

Storm sighed.

"The Harpers wanted me to protect you?" she began to ask.

But when she spied the dull glint of many eyes watchingthem from dim, shadowed places under the trees, Storm reached for her sword.

Elminster grunted and pitched himself heavily from hissaddle. Then he reached up and laid gentle fingers on the wrist of her swordarm.

"Nay," he said softly," 'Tis morelikely, far, they wanted ye to protect others from me."

Storm rolled her eyes. Smoothly she swung herself downfrom her saddle.

"I shouldn't be here," she said. "Keyor no key. This hopping from place to place, world to world, is neither safenor wise."

Elminster grinned and said, "And coming to themagefair with me was? I've taken us this way home, jumping so often, to givethe slip to any mages who might have followed us. Few have the breadth of mindto shift from one world to another as often as we have." The Old Magepatted her arm. "Thanks for thy patience, lass. 'Tis not long now beforewe'll be at ease, and ye can chat with a good friend."

As Elminster led the way on foot down an uneven paththrough the trees, bright morning dawned upon the old, unfamiliar forest. Therosy light seemed to make the Old Mage recall something. He turned and gesturedbehind them. Storm looked back in time to see their horses vanish. She lookedat Elminster. He answered her wordless question only with a merry grin andheaded back down the path again.

Holding her tongue, Storm followed. And she drew hersword, despite the Old Mage's words; knowing Elminster, his 'friend' could be ablue dragon-or worse.

The path led between two old, moss-covered stones. Asthey drew near, Elminster reached back and took Storm's hand. They steppedbetween the stones together, and the bard felt an odd, tingling chill.

They were somewhere else again. Somewhere familiar.Storm knew almost at once that she was in Shadowdale.

Elminster let go of her hand and strode away, reachinginto his robes for his pipe. Storm stood staring after him for a moment. Then,in two quick strides, she caught up to him. Setting a firm hand on hisshoulder, the bard spun Elminster around.

"Not a step farther," she warned. "Notuntil you tell me just what's going on. Where are our horses? Why'd we have toride across half of Faerûn for the key, anyway? Can't this Duara teleport? Andwh-"

Elminster laid a finger over her mouth and said,"The need for haste is past. I doubt anyone could have followed us throughall the places I took us-not yet. Our mounts have preceded us to the Twisted Tower's stables. Come to my home. There ye'll meet a friend to us both: Lhaeo."

The Old Mage lit his pipe and said not a word moreuntil they were strolling up the flagstone path to the door of his ramshacklestone tower.

It opened at his approach, and he turned and said,"Put away thy blade, Storm, and be welcome."

As they went in, his scribe Lhaeo called from thekitchen, "Tea shortly, Old One!"

"For Storm, too," Elminster said softly.

By some trick of magic, Lhaeo heard his master andcalled out, "Welcome, Lady Bard!"

"Hello, Lhaeo," Storm replied, looking atthe Old Mage with amusement.

Elminster was calmly shoving piles of papers onto thefloor, emptying a chair for her to sit in. Dust curled up in thick tendrils.Muttering, he gestured, and it was gone.

"A mite dark in here for me to see beautiful ladyguests," the Old Mage murmured, then reached out to touch a brass brazier.

He made a popping sound, and flames flared up, castinga warm, dancing glow on the chair. Elminster gestured with courtly grace,indicating that Storm should sit down. The bard stared at the brazier inpuzzlement.

"How does it burn," she asked, "withoutany fuel?"

"Magic, of course."

Elminster turned away, raising yet another dust cloudon his foray through more piles of parchment.

"Of course." Storm reached out and tappedhis shoulder, "Elminster," she said coldly, "talk."

Her tone held the sudden ring of steel.

The Old Mage seated himself calmly on thin air, puffedon his pipe, and grinned at her through the rising smoke.

"Ye deserve to know, lass. Right, then, Duara wasbriefly an apprentice of mine. She dwells in Telflamm these days, and joinedthe Harpers a summer back." He puffed his pipe, and a blue-green smokering rose slowly up into the low-ceilinged gloom overhead. "She can't usea teleport spell because she hasn't the power yet. Like all young, overeagermages, she took to adventuring to gain magic quickly-and unlike most magelings,came across a dragon's hoard."

Another smoke ring rose up from the pipe. The Old Magewatched its drifting journey, nodded approvingly, and went on.

"Er, the hoard had a dragon attached to it, ofcourse, but that's another tale. Among the baubles, she found my key, so shesent word to me by caravan letter that she had it and would bring it to themagefair if I was interested."

"Who are your mysterious foes, then? How did youlose the key?" Storm asked. "And why was Duara so dim as to send openword to you?"

Elminster shrugged and replied, "She'd no ideaanyone save me would be interested in the key-or even know what her letter wasabout. When I got her note, I used magic to farspeak with her, telling her I'dbe coming to the fair. She told me that since sending the letter, she'd beenattacked several times, twice found her tower ransacked, and even beenthreatened one night in her bedchamber by a mysterious whispering voicedemanding the key."

Storm rolled her eyes. "So what is thiskey?"

"The key to this closet, of course,"Elminster said calmly, reaching out a long arm into the dusty gloom behind him.

The key gleamed in his hand as it slipped through aslyly smiling dragon head carved into the wall. Lines appeared in the stonearound the small carving, outlining a door. It began to swing open by itself.

Elminster pulled the key out and waved it at her.

"This was stolen from me by an unscrupulous man,long ago, who was-very briefly, mind ye-my apprentice. He was an ambitiousCalishite, I recall, named Raerlin. I suppose he ended up in the jaws ofDuara's dragon."

"Well, what do you keep in there, that mageschase after the key?" Storm asked, looking at the closet's dusty door.

"Old spellbooks, picked up over the years whilewandering the world," Elminster replied as the door swung wide.

Storm saw an untidy pile of thick, moldering tomes.

Eerie green and white light flashed suddenly frombehind her. As it lit up the Old Mage's face, Storm saw his look of surpriseand whirled around, upsetting her chair.

The eerie light came from a flickering oval of flame.It hung upright in the air, in the middle of the tiny, cramped room. Itspresence defied the mighty magic that guarded Elminster's tower, magic, Stormknew, that kept the place safe from the archmages of the evil Zhentarim, theRed Wizards of Thay, and worse. No one should have been able to open a gateinto the tower.

But the oval of flame was, Storm decided, most certainlya gate. When the bard looked through the flickering magical doorway, she saw along, stone-lined hall, stretching away into darkness. And something wasmoving in the gloomy passageway….

Elminster strode forward, frowning, hands weavingspells out of the air.

"Impossible," he murmured.

A shadowy figure was walking slowly toward them, outof the darkness of the phantom hallway. The creature was tall and very thin.Its eyes were two cold, glittering points of light set in dark pits. As it camenearer, Storm could see that the robes it wore hung in tatters, eaten away byrot.

The bard's heart sank. It must have been a lich, awizard whose magic was so powerful that he lived on, beyond death. Few couldfight a lich and hope to survive, few even among the ranks of the greatarchmages of Faerûn.

The lich came still nearer, and Storm met its fellgaze, staring into the cold, flickering lights of its eyes. They danced in theempty sockets of its skeletal face, measuring her, and turned from hercontemptuously to Elminster.

"Death has come for you at last, Old Mage,"the lich whispered, its hissing voice surprisingly loud. It was still far downthe hallway.

"D'ye know how often I've heard those words?Every murderous fool in Faerûn tries them on me at least once." Elminsterraised an eyebrow and added, "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 andkept coming. Elminster's other eyebrow went up. His hands moved swiftly inseveral intricate gestures.

A barrier of shimmering radiance sprang into beingacross the mouth of the portal. Raerlin's hands moved in response, and thebarrier burst into tiny motes of light that scattered like dancing sparks froma campfire, then winked out.

The lich's fleshless skull managed, somehow, to sneer.

"You thought yourself very clever, duping my twoservants 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," the lich went on."Your blindness spell failed against me, of course, and you did not evensee through my spell-disguise. Are such simple sorceries beyond yourunderstanding 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 linesof crackling power form between his fingers before he cast forth a bolt at thelich. As the energy flashed away from his hands, it lit up his face in tints ofgrowing worry.

The lich laughed hollowly as Elminster's bolt crackledaround 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 ofits own.

Storm looked back at Elminster in alarm-and saw one ofthe books in the open closet behind the Old Mage glow suddenly with the samegreen and white radiance as the flames of the lich's gate. And when she glaredat the lich, its eyes glinted at her in triumph. Ghostly gray tendrils of forcewere moving from the undead mage, toward them both. Raerlin was very close, onlypaces away from entering the room.

"Flee, Storm!" Elminster snapped. "Icannot 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 encircleand destroy each reaching tendril in crackling fury. Yet the lich merelyshrugged, and its bony fingertips wove another silent spell. The book in theopen closet glowed again.

Storm saw a sheen of sweat on Elminster's forehead ashis hand darted to his robes and drew forth some small talisman. Then thetalisman was gone, vanished right from the Old Mage's hand. As if in reply, ared-glowing band of energy shot out from the lich's shoulders as it steppedover a toppled chair into Elminster's study. The ghostly magical arm reachedmenacingly forward.

A shield of shimmering, silver-blue force hung in theair in front of the Old Mage, guarding him. The red arm swung easily, almostlazily around it, reaching for-not Elminster, but the closet behind him.

The lich was reaching for the book! Storm's swordflashed out and she slashed at its pages. There was a sudden hissing shriek ofhorror from the portal, and the red glow rose around her.

The lich's spell-arm clawed at her, trying to hold herback. Leather was torn away, and Storm felt sudden, searing pain across herbreast. Thin, dark ribbons of her own blood curled past her eyes, borne uponthe energy of the lich's sorcerous arm as it enveloped her.

The Bard of Shadowdale set her teeth and struck backhanded withher magical blade, trying to free herself from the crimson band of force. Therewas a sudden flash and a roar. Sparks snapped and flew. The riven shards of herblade glinted brightly before Storm's eyes as she was flung back into a stackof dusty tomes. Blood ran into her eyes, and her breast felt like it was onfire.

Dimly Storm heard Elminster groan. Blinking furiouslyto clear her sight, she struggled to her feet. The Old Mage was crumpled to thefloor, a thin beam of light from one out-flung hand reaching toward her. Behindhim, the lich stood triumphant, outlined in a flaming crimson aura. Hands onhips, it laughed hollowly.

The light of Elminster's spell touched Storm, and shefelt warm, fresh strength flowing into her. Her fingertips tingled, and theblood was suddenly gone from her eyes and brow.

The lich gestured sharply, and the red cloud around itbecame a forest of tendrils, overwhelming the darkening spell-shield over the OldMage. As Storm watched, the shield crumbled and was gone-and the crimson forceswirled around Elminster. He gestured weakly, then fell onto his face and laystill.

The blue-white energy of the Old Mage's last enchantmentwas drawn up into the red cloud. The mystic aura blazed brighter as the lichstepped over the Old Mage's body and strode toward the bard. Raerlin wasdraining 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 anotherpile of books. She saw the red arm reaching in a leisurely manner for the tomeinside the hidden room.

Storm got up from the tumbled heap of books as quicklyas she could, panting, the smell of her own singed hair strong in her nostrils.Blood still trickled down her chest, and she still held a blackened, twistedsword hilt in her hand. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she flung the ruinedblade at the lich and dived for the tome for which the creature had risked somuch. Redness swirled around her, but the book was clenched tightly in herfingers.

Raerlin's voice rose into a hollow, fearful shriek asStorm 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 andthrust the crumpled scraps into the flames of Elminster's magical brazier. Thefire flared, and the bard held the parchment in the rising flames, heedless ofthe searing pain in her hand.

Raerlin's magic struck. Red claws tugged and tore ather. Storm snarled and fought to hold her position, one arm crooked around thebrazier. Flames licked greedily at the crumpled pages she held.

Storm felt hair being hauled out of her scalp, yankingher head back. Tears blinded her, and something-her own hair! — tightened aroundher throat, driven by the lich's magic. The Bard of Shadowdale set her teeth tohold back a scream as she hauled the book up, wrestling against the lich's darksorcery with all the strength in her arms. And she thrust the tome into thebrazier.

There was a hungry roar, and Storm was hurled away.She had a confused glimpse of flying bones and the brass brazier tumbling endover end, away from a rolling, motionless ball of bright flame. Then shecrashed again into Elminster's chair with bruising force. Hair blinded her fora 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 waswreathed in many-colored flames. As she watched, the tome crumbled to ashes andwas gone. Off to Storm's left, there was a hissing sound.

She turned in time to see the lich's skull crumble topieces. The red glow of Raerlin's magic flickered and faded away to nothing. Ina moment, the lich was only so much eddying dust.

In the sudden silence, Storm closed weary eyes, wonderingwhen her burned hands would stop trembling.

From somewhere to her right came a loud cough. The bard blinkedher eyes open and tried to rise. Elminster was shaking his head as he gotslowly up off the floor, patting at smoldering patches on his robes.

"I must not forget, lass," Elminster saidwith dignity, "to thank ye properly, at some future time, for once againsaving my life."

Storm sputtered in sudden mirth, despite her pain. Amoment later, they were laughing in each other's arms, eyes shining. As theyshook together in a tight embrace, a door opened, spilling kitchen sounds intothe devastated study.

The sudden clatter of crockery was followed by Lhaeo'scheerful voice saying, "Tea's ready! You were making quite a racketin-" He sobered suddenly and blinked at the two singed and wounded friends."Wh-what happened?"

Elminster pushed Storm away and waved his hands withincredible agility for one so old. An instant later, Storm found herself on herchair again, wearing a splendid gown. The raw pain in her chest and hands wasgone. Across a round table set for tea, Elminster sat facing her, clad insplendid silken robes embroidered with dragons. He was smiling gently, his litpipe ready in his hand.

"Nothing," the Old Mage said airily,"more than a visit between old friends."

As the tea tray descended, Elminster winked at thebard. Storm shook her head, smiling helplessly.