The Sorcerer

CHAPTER TWO

10 Flamerule, the Year of Wild Magic

Beyond the shadowshell, Takari Moonsnow saw only dark forms-nebulous disks and hazy pillars that could be monster or mineral, that could be beholders and bugbears or boulders and broken blocks of stone.

They never appeared to move, which favored the inanimate, but whenever she glanced away for a moment and looked back the shapes were in different places. That favored the animate-the sinister, even, and the dangerous. Providing, of course, that the change was not just her imagination playing tricks on her. Reconnoitering through the shadow-shell was like peering through an obsidian window. She could tell that something lay on the other side, but what it might be was anyone's guess.

Takari cursed and started back toward camp, her flesh warming in the hot Anauroch sun as she moved away from the shell's icy darkness behind. According to the latest news from within the Shaeradim, a trio of phaerimm had been seen several days before herding an army of mind-slaves in Takari's direction. Unfortunately, that was all anyone knew. Spying on the phaerimm was invariably lethal, so every report from inside came at a steep price.

Nor could the high mages sent by Evermeet scry the information. While the phaerimm's deadwall had long since fallen victim to the Shadovar shadowshell, the shadowshell itself remained strong enough to turn any spell on itself. Fortunately, the Chosen's ability to hear their names spoken anywhere on Faer?n had returned with the fall of the dead-wall-apparently because the Shadovar had not thought to weave their shell against the god-gifted abilities of the Chosen. Khelben Arunsun and Laeral Silverhand, who remained trapped with Evereska's besieged defenders, were able to relay messages out through Storm Silverhand or another of the Chosen.

Takari reached the field where her reconnaissance company was camped and found it in a bustle, with wood elves strapping on armor, stringing bows, and rushing to assemble at the gathering circle. Her second-in-command, a sloe-eyed male with a sinewy build and a shad-mouthed grin, rushed up to her with their helms and battle cloaks in hand.

"What is it, Wagg?" Takari asked, taking her cloak from him and swinging it around her shoulders. "Shadovar?"

Wagg-actually Wizzle Bendriver, but everyone called him Wagg because he shook his head whenever he smiled, frowned, or spoke-shook his head.

"Lord Ramealaerub has issued the call." He waved a helm over her shoulder, toward the shadowshell, and said, "He thinks it's coming down."

Takari closed the throat clasp of her cloak and turned to find that the black shadowshell had faded to gray-blue. Even from a hundred paces away, the barrier was unbelievably immense, a dark wall stretching beyond the horizon in both directions, the curve of its dome imperceptible as it climbed higher into the air than she could see. Before her eyes, the gray-blue shell faded to just gray. She began to see the terraced crests of the hills of the Desert Border South and looming beyond, the unmistakable crags of the High Shaeradim.

Just inside the fading shell, a broad ridge rose gently away from the desert, snaking its way deep into the foothills before ascending to a high mesa that would serve as the elven army's first staging ground inside the Shaeradim. Takari was relieved to see that the foot of the ridge lay directly in front of her company's campsite. When suggesting campsites to Lord Ramealaerub, she had been forced to recall the terrain inside the shadowshell from memory and guess at good staging points for each arm of the elven advance. That her own company was in proper position meant the others would be, too.

Takari took her war helm from Wagg and with a sigh put the thing on her head. It was one of those gaudy-some would say ornate-pieces of armor made by Gold elves. Gilded in silver and trimmed in gold, it was as heavy as a rock and about as comfortable. A circle of Evermeet's high mages had bestowed on it several useful enchantments, including their most powerful mind-guarding magic and the ability to stay in constant contact with her commander.

Wagg snickered. "You look like a bandit bird-only louder and uglier."

That's not all bad. Maybe now you'll stop begging me to play night games."

"You're going to wear that awful thing at night?"

"And so are you." Takari pointed at Wagg's helm, then at his head. "The phaerimm don't care when they take their mind-slaves."

Wagg frowned. Shaking his head, he sneered at the adornments hammered into the metal.

"Ships," he grumbled. "If s always ships and sails with that bunch. What's wrong with a few trees?"

"Who knows?" Takari was as genuinely puzzled as her deputy. "Maybe they don't have trees on Evermeet."

"You think?"

Wagg’s eyes widened at this frightening thought, and Takari shrugged.

The shadowshell had faded from gray to a transparent damson, and it had become more of a struggle to see the flickering barrier than the terrain behind it. Takari saw nothing but boulders, and scattered across the hillside, leafless smokethorn trees and the withered silhouettes of a few spiny soapleafs. The soapleafs she would have to watch. In the two decades she had spent patrolling the Desert Border South with Galaeron Nihmedu and his Tomb Guards, she had never seen one this close to Anauroch.

When Takari didn't see anything else of interest, she turned her thoughts inward and activated her helm's sending magic by picturing Lord Ramealaerub's stern face.

"Lord High Commander," she said.

The image in her mind grew more substantial, assuming the scowling visage of a sharp-featured Gold elf with a dagger-thin nose and eyebrows arched as sharply as ship keels.

Moonsnow, the Gold elf said, his words echoing in her mind. I was beginning to think something had happened to you.

"I was at the shadowshell, milord." Takari glanced at Wagg and rolled her eyes. Ramealaerub was a typical Gold, full of himself and the way things ought to be. "Looking for those mind-slaves Khelben warned us about."

Ramealaerub's expression grew impatient.

And?

"I couldn't see a thing, Milord." Annoyed by his attitude, Takari was not going to make anything easy on him. "That was before the shadowshell fell. Everything was too dark."

The shell is not dark now, Ramealaerub said.

"But now I'm back with my company." Takari's tone was innocent. "Didn't you call us to arms?"

A storm cloud came over Ramealaerub's face. Irritated, he said something to someone beside him then composed himself and turned back to Takari.

Moonsnow, the Lady of the Wood and I agreed that the wood elves would serve as the army's reconnaissance company. Though Ramealaerub's eyes looked as though they were about to pop free of their sockets, he spoke in a deliberately patient tone that suggested he did not realize how Takari was playing with him. Would you be kind enough to take your elves and see if there is any sign of the enemy?

"Of course-all you had to do was ask." Takari was beginning to worry that Ramealaerub truly did not understand that she was playing a game with him. If so, that did not bode well for the elven army. "But I can tell you already they know we're here."

You can see them?

He was worried.

"Not exactly," Takari said. "It's the trees."

The trees?

"A few shouldn't be here, this close to the sand," Takari explained.

At least Ramealaerub was enough of an elf to understand what that meant.

He grew thoughtful, then asked, Which ones?

"The soapleafs," Takari said. "They're the-"

I know what a soapleaf is, Moonsnow.

He looked away and spoke to someone else, then returned to her.

We have a few here, but not enough to slow us down. They're probably just sentries.

"Probably," Takari said, "but with the phaerimm, you can never-"

That's why you need to secure our flank, he said. We'll be going in fast and hard, but once the shadowshell comes down there's no telling how long it will take the phaerimm to regain their strength. You must stay ahead of us-and let me know when you run into problems.

"Oh, is that what a reconnaissance company does?"

/ mean it, Moonsnow, Ramealaerub said. Toy with me if you like, but not with your mission. You know better than any of us how quickly this can turn into a disaster.

Maybe this Lord High Commander did have more sense than Evermeet's previous generals.

Takari gave him a coquettish smile and said, "Lord Ramealaerub, I can't imagine why you think I've been toying with you."

She glanced toward the shadowshell and, seeing that it had faded to transparent shimmer, she said, "Well cross over as soon as we can. If you don't hear from me every quarter hour… consider that an alarm."

Very sensible, Ramealaerub answered. And Moonsnow, do try to avoid getting yourself killed. You're the only scout who really knows this part of the Shaeradim.

Ramealaerub's image vanished from her mind, and Takari turned to find her company waiting at the gathering circle. Though all of the rangers had fastened their battle cloaks and strung their bows, not one had donned the gaudy war helms sent by Evermeet Most of the helms lay tossed on the ground, and some were being used as footrests or stools.

Takari tapped her own helm and said, "Put 'em on."

"But they're ugly," complained Jysela Whitebark.

"And heavy," added Grimble Oakorn.

Takari shrugged and said, "Suit yourselves, but tell me now what you want done when the phaerimm make mind-slaves of you. Would you rather be killed or let them stick you with an egg?"

There was a scramble for the helms. Takari waited for them to go on, then explained their mission and led the way along a well-beaten trail to what had been the shadowshell. No sign of the barrier remained. The path just ended, and few paces later the rocky slope of their ridge emerged from the sand and began to rise in a jumble of boulders and barren ground toward the distant peaks of the High Shaeradim.

Takari dug into the sand until she found a pebble. Half-expecting it to vanish in a flare of darkness as had the hundreds of others she had tossed through the shadowshell, she threw it as hard as she could.

The stone clattered to the ground thirty paces up the ridge.

She studied the pebble for a moment, not quite able to believe that it had actually landed in the Shaeradim, then turned to her company. They were standing together looking nervous and a little frightened.

"After all this waiting, I guess expected something more somehow."

"I'm just happy it didn't melt or something," Wagg said.

As Wagg spoke, Takari began to speak in fingertalk, her hands issuing silent instructions that were being studied much more attentively than her deputy's ramblings.

"From what you've said about these Shadovar," Wagg continued, "I didn't think it would just disappear. I was sure it was going to explode or something and kill us all."

"Then I thank Rillifane Rallathil you were wrong," Takari said. Her fingers continued to weave commands, warning her warriors to be wary of other things aside from soapleafs. This job is harder than I bargained for as it is."

Now! she signaled.

Nocking arrows as they moved, the company scattered and loosed. The shafts flew over Takari's head with a low droning whistle, and the slope behind her erupted into pained squeals and strange gurgling howls. She turned.

Where the soapleafs had been a moment earlier, she found half a dozen illithids collapsing to the ground, their bodies peppered with arrows and their mouth tentacles writhing in anguish.

The rest of the slope remained as still as before.

Nocking an arrow in her own bow, Takari dropped into a crouch and rushed forward. Taking cover behind the first boulder she came to, she scratched the surface with the tip of her arrow to make certain it really was a boulder, then looked left and right down the foot of the ridge. Camouflaged as they were by the magic of their battle cloaks, it took a few moments to find the nearest members of her company hiding behind boulders similar to hers. She did not attempt a head count. With the company spread across the width of the entire ridge, she would have been hard-pressed to find them all even had they been standing on tiptoe and waving their arms.

She envisioned her company waiting in the gathering circle a few moments earlier, then whispered, "Reconnaissance company, anything to report?"

When no reply came, she breathed a sigh of relief, then reported their progress to Lord Ramealaerub. He congratulated her on her success, informing her that the moon elves protecting the other flank were advancing as well, then reminded her that the main body of the army would start its advance in five minutes and urged her to keep moving. Takari bit back a sour reply and gave the order to ascend the ridge in two waves, each covering the other as it advanced.

Grimble Oakorn-her partner in this tactic-emerged from behind a boulder thirty paces to her right and raced another thirty paces ahead before ducking back into cover. Takari quickly left her own hiding pace, and weaving erratically to make herself a difficult target, ran sixty paces before finally kneeling behind the big trunk of a dead smokethorn. It was hard work, especially with the hot Anauroch sun beating down on the heavy helm she wore. Sweat began to trickle over her brow.

There was a three-second pause before Grimble and the others in the first wave emerged from new hiding places. Only fools left cover in the same place they entered it, and wood elf scouts were not fools. They raced sixty paces uphill and dropped back into cover. Takari and the second wave crawled to new starting points and rushed up the slope.

The depredations of the strange war had reduced this desert wonderland to a dismal ghost of its former self, leaving hundreds of smokethorns strewn across the hillside, their trunks snapped off at the base or their root-fan ripped whole from the rocky ground. The trees that remained standing were naked and bare, their dagger-shaped leaves scattered around their bases like withered gray skirts. Even the tough thorn-brambles, which seemed to flourish best in ground that was more rock than dirt and blossomed only in the worst of droughts, were withered and drooping, their tiny leaves brittle and brown.

The sight filled Takari with a cold anger, and not only because it pained her to see the Shaeradim defiled by war. The two decades she had spent patrolling the area with Galaeron Nihmedu had been the happiest of her life-even if he had spent the entire time refusing to acknowledge their spirit-bond-and the sight of the land withering away reminded her that her memories were also fading, that eventually she would be left only with the dry fact of the matter: that she had been a Tomb Guard on the Desert Border South and she had been in love with her princep. But the love itself-the simple joy of being always near him, the flutter that had stirred in her heart with his every smile-that would be gone, carried off by war and as lost to her as Galaeron himself.

Takari lost count of the times she and Grimble took turns rushing up the slope, but her breath began to come in ragged gasps, and her hair grew so sweaty it made squishing sounds under the helm. She kneeled behind a broken boulder and wiped her eyes on the shoulder of her cloak, then watched the slope above as Grimble raced ahead and kneeled behind a fallen smokethorn. His battle cloak turned the same pearly gray as the bark, a pair of streaks across his shoulders matching a band of furrows in the trunk. Half wishing she had picked a slower partner, Takari scrambled across the broken ground on all fours, emerged from behind a square boulder, and began her dash.

Takari had taken no more than three steps before her eye was drawn back to Grimble's hiding place. His cloak had turned dark and dappled, and so had his hair, ears, and boot soles-all she could see from behind. As she drew nearer, she could see that both he and his cloak seemed oddly rigid and were covered with tiny flecks of black and red.

Takari dropped behind a knee-high outcropping ten paces below Grimble, then used her helm to call the company to a halt. Without looking out from behind her cover, she pictured Grimble's handsome face.

"Grimble?" she whispered.

There was no reply.

Takari's pulse began to pound in her ears-just when she really needed to hear. She closed her eyes, set her weapons aside, and took a few calming breaths. When the noise finally died away, she picked up a good-sized rock, and rising from behind her outcropping, threw it at Grimble's back.

It struck with a stony clink.

Takari dropped back into her hiding place and activated her helm's sending magic.

"Reconnaissance company, watch yourselves. We're under attack-something turned Grimble into a statue."

Wyeka, too, Wagg whispered. Didn't see what happened.

"Me either," Takari answered. "Anybody?"

No one reported anything. Takari was not all that surprised. The phaerimm cast their spells entirely with their thoughts- no gestures or words required-and the eye-magic of their beholder servants was just as silent

"We need to figure out where this is coming from," Takari said. She lifted her head just high enough to peer over the outcropping. "I'm just below Grimble, and I can see half a dozen good places to hide, starting with a clump of daggerhedge off to the left and ending with a three-boulder pile on the right"

I'm even with Wyeka, Wagg said through her helm. I can't see the daggerhedge on the left, only the roots of the overturned smokethorn.

"Then it's somewhere between the roots and the boulder pile," Takari said. "Everyone who can't see that keep advancing and circle a-"

Wait. An image of Alaya Thistledew's rosy-nosed face came to Takari's mind along with her voice. Something's hissing. Maybe it's nothing, but I'll take-

Her image vanished from Takari's mind.

"Alaya?"

Turned to rock, said Alaya's partner, Rosl Harp.

Though the two were lovers, Rosl didn't sound overly frantic. With a hundred battle wizards and three circles of high mages in the elven army, there were worse things that could happen to a warrior than being turned to stone.

It got her when she looked around the boulder, he continued. She couldn't have seen any of the cover you were talking about.

It's moving around, then, Wagg said.

You mean walking around, Rosl said, his voice coming to Takari's mind as a barely audible whisper.

"You're sure?" Takari asked. "Phaerimm float. Beholders, too."

/ hear it, Rosl said. Moving away.

"A lot of feet?" Takari asked. She was beginning to think she knew what they were facing. "Maybe a tall dragging?"

Sounds like it, Rosl said. / can't see anything, though.

Takari rolled her eyes and replied, "You might have to risk a look, Rosl."

/ am looking, Rosl spat / can't see anything but rocks and…

"It's invisible!" Takari and Rosl reached this conclusion at the same time, then Takari asked, "You're sure you're behind it?"

I'm sure, Rosl said. What do you think I am, a human? Be ready to cover, everyone. I'll do a cast-and-run.

Rosl's voice vanished as he prepared his spell. Takari looked to her right. Fifty paces away, Wagg was turning in Rosl's direction, his bow slung across his back so his hands would be free to use his own magic. Though Takari could see none of the other scouts, she knew that everyone within two hundred paces of Rosl's position would be doing the same.

She was just beginning to wonder what was taking so long when a spark of silver cracked down the slope from somewhere above and flashed out of existence. An instant later, a low boom rumbled across the ridge.

"Rosl?" Takari asked.

He's down, Jysela Whitebark, appearing in Takari's mind, said. Her copper-colored eyes were opened wide in shock and horror. Lightning bolt, I think. It wasn't that powerful. He's still smoking, and alive enough to be thrashing around.

"Did you see where it came from?" Takari asked.

Jysela shook her head. Though she was undoubtedly the closest elf to Rosl, she did not volunteer-and Takari did not suggest-going to his aid. Their unseen attacker was waiting for just that, and Jysela would only have ended up lying on the ground beside him.

Moonsnow? Lord Ramealaerub's sharp features appeared in Takari's mind. We heard a bang.

"We've run into trouble," Takari reported. "An invisible basilisk, I think, and something protecting it."

Just one protector?

"Possibly."

Probably. Gwynanael Tahtrel and her rangers are having trouble with a phaerimm on the other flank. It keeps falling back, fighting to delay the advance. We think they're trying to buy time to recover their magic. You can't let that happen.

"Easily said, milord," Takari replied. "Not so easily done. We don't even know where it's at."

Find out, Ramealaerub ordered. We're moving into the valley now, and we need you to stay ahead of us.

"We're taking casualties…"

And you'll continue to take them until you eliminate the problem! Ramealaerub's voice softened when he added, You're a reconnaissance company, Moonsnow. You're supposed to take casualties. Move up.

The Lord High Commander's face vanished, leaving Takari's curses to fall on no ears but her own. She peered over her outcropping and studied the slope above but could find no hint of where their attacker might be lurking. Were she the one up there, she would be hiding in the dark cavities within the boulder pile, but she was not. She was not even of the same race. She was an elf, and they were… she had no idea what they were facing. It was rare that beholders used lightning bolts, but the attacker could easily be a mind-slave from Evereska or Laeral Silverhand's relief army. Or it might be a phaerimm, as Gwynanael and her moon elves were facing.

Takari found no hints on the slope above.

She pictured Jysela in her mind and said, "Jysela, can you…?"

When her memory of the face did not coalesce into a solid image, Takari realized there was no one there and let the sentence drop. She felt bile burning her throat and tried to swallow it back down. It returned two breaths later.

Hoping her voice did not sound too shaky, she had the entire company report by name. Only Jysela was missing, but as she took the roll call, the basilisk-or whatever it was-turned another scout to stone. Ramealaerub was right about one thing, at least. Hiding in the rocks was not going to spare them any casualties.

"I'm afraid we have to do this like the Golds would," Takari announced.

You mean a charge? Wagg asked.

More accustomed to hunting than fighting, wood elves preferred stealth and ambush to speed and ferocity- especially when speed and ferocity meant charging into the teeth of the enemy's defense.

"Advance in two waves," Takari clarified, "and keep a careful watch up that slope. There isn't much point in this if we don't see where the enemy's hiding. First line, go!"

The first wave had barely left their hiding places before another bolt of lightning crackled down the slope. This one was a little stronger than the first, loud enough that Takari actually felt the crack in the pit of her stomach. It struck about a hundred paces away, just close enough that she saw it blast one of her scouts off his feet. The injured elf s partner left her hiding place to help and was instantly struck by a flight of golden bolts of magic.

Both attacks came from somewhere far to the right of the ridge. Takari focused her attention in that direction but did not bother bringing her arrow to her cheek. Even if the angle were good-and it was not-she still had only a vague idea of where to aim.

The rest of the wave advanced only ten paces before the enemy struck again, this time with a lightning bolt powerful enough that the tip blasted through the victim's body and came out the other side. To Takari, it seemed that the flash had danced down the jagged ridge crest on the far right side, but she still failed to catch exactly where it had come from.

The elves managed another dozen paces before Takari finally saw a ball of red flame appear in the middle of a small cliffs jagged silhouette and streak over the ridge crest to strike a target somewhere beyond. She started to call the location out over her helm, but then a steady stream of dark shafts started to fly back toward the cliff, and she knew the target had been found.

Not that it did them a lot of good. By the time the first wave finished its leg of the advance and began dropping behind cover, an elf in the second wave had been turned to stone by the basilisk, and the hidden attacker had slain yet another in the first

Each attack seemed just a little more powerful than the last, and Takari didn't think it was only because the victims kept moving closer. The lightning cracked more loudly, the magic bolts grew more numerous, the balls of fire grew larger and burned more brightly. The Weave was repairing itself in the Shaeradim, and as it did so, the enemy was growing stronger.

Their attacker had to be a phaerimm.

Takari's turn to advance came. She crawled a few paces on her hands and knees, then started up the slope at a run. As with the first wave, a lightning bolt lashed down the slope the instant they rose and blasted Yaveen Greenee-die-Takari's closest friend from Rheitheillaethor-into scorched pieces. Takari screamed, not only for Yaveen, but for ail of the company's lost elves. These were more than the scouts she had trained to fight phaerimm. These were her childhood friends, her dancing partners and would-be lovers, the sons and daughters of parents who had begged her to bring their children home safe. Each time one died, a little of her died with them, but there was nothing to be done about it except kill the phaerimm and lose more friends doing it.

By the time Takari's wave was ready to find cover, she had lost three more friends. She was also close enough to their attacker to see that it had hidden itself in a rift in the cliff face. Her company's arrows were ricocheting off the opening one after the other, no doubt because the occupant had sealed the crevice with a missile guard and spell shield so it could watch over its invisible pet from safety. A crooked line of elven statues was angling up the slope toward the left side of the ridge, where the attacker's view would soon be blocked by the lip of its own hiding place.

The phaerimm was sending the basilisk to guard its flank. Like Ramealaerub, it was worried about what it could not see.

Again, the first wave of elves rose to renew their charge, and again the phaerimm took one of their number the instant he left cover, sending a ball of fire smoking and hissing into a big smokethorn tree. Young Harla Elmworm came staggering out of the conflagration, engulfed in flames and screaming in agony.

The spells were coming faster, a sure sign that the enemy was recovering all too quickly.

The attack on Harla was also a sign, Takari realized, that her company's camouflage was of little use against this foe. Phaerimm could literally see magic, and given all the magic her scouts were wearing they had to be about as obvious to the enemy as a lantern in the Underdark.

Takari activated her helm's sending magic and said, "Company halt! Find good cover and take it. Here's what I want you to do…"

As she explained her plan, Takari was unclasping her cloak and removing her boots, slipping off her rings and bracers, and shedding everything else that carried the faintest dweomer of magic. By the time she was finished, she was stripped down to her leather armor and not much more.

"Ill try to be fast," she finished. "Just keep the enemy's attention focused on you until you see me on top of the cliff, and in the name of the Leaflord, if you hear that basilisk creeping up behind you, don't look! Just fling a magic bolt at the sound and run the other way. I'm sure our good Lord High Commander thinks he has better uses for his battle wizards than turning us all back into people."

The last thing Takari removed was her helm. She bundled it with her cloak and other magic. Wagg and a dozen others began to pelt the phaerimm's hiding place with blasting spells, and the rest of the company began to crawl-very slowly and very cautiously-toward the rift.

The phaerimm countered by targeting its own spells at those advancing on its hiding place. Though scouts took care to stay behind solid cover as much as possible, their enemy was a deadly one, and all too many of its spells struck home.

When Takari judged the assault to be blinding enough, she stood and raced up the hill in her bare feet, carrying no magic at all and little else aside from her weapons. Twenty steps later, a solemn-faced wood elf startled Takari by suddenly falling in at her side. He was a century or two older than Takari, and like her he was stripped down to armor and weapons.

Takari cocked a brow and said, "This is a job for one, Yurne. Two only doubles the risk of being noticed."

"You hear me coming?"

"No," Takari admitted.

"Well, then."

Yurne took the lead, and that was the end of the matter. One of the hermit elves who lived alone in the depths of High Forest, Yurne had wandered into Rheitheillaethor after the reconnaissance company had completed its training and announced he would be coming along. Lord Ramealaerub's officer had made the mistake of suggesting it was too late then promptly found his sleeve pinned to a tree by one of Yurne's throwing daggers. The hermit had stepped over very close and began to quote the officer's lessons word by word, then asked the sputtering Gold what business he had leading a company of wood elf scouts when he could not even tell when he was training one.

After that, no one ever dared tell Yurne what he could or could not do, and a steady chorus of Green elf snickers had driven the affronted Gold elf back to the main army where he belonged. Lord Ramealaerub had transferred command of the company to Takari-who, as a ranger in Galaeron Nihmedu's Tomb Guard patrol, was the only one in the group with any experience that could be considered remotely military.

The conflagration outside the phaerimm's hiding place continued at no small cost in elf lives as Takari and Yurne ascended the slope. As soon as they were higher than the phaerimm's hiding place, Takari dropped to her haunches and, determined to put an end to the costly spell battle as quickly as possible, began to creep toward the little cliff.

Yurne continued up the hill, and Takari flashed an order for him to follow, but he did not see her fingertalk-or chose to ignore it-and proceeded as before. She cursed the hermit's stubbornness and resumed her advance, until she recalled the ease with which he had spied on the reconnaissance company during their training.

Takari cursed the hermit again, this time for his reticence, and followed him up the slope.

Several minutes later, they dropped to all fours and crept across the slope to a fallen smokethorn about twenty paces above the little cliff. They spent a few moments studying the rift from above, though Takari could see nothing in its depths except the constant flash of battle magic.

Yurne closed his eyes and began to sniff the air, and she finally understood why the hermit had insisted on approaching from above. There was not much of a breeze, but what there was came up the slope from Anauroch's hot sands.

Takari could smell nothing but the stench of brimstone and charred flesh, but Yurne's nose was more discerning. Eyes widening, he dropped behind the smokethorn and began to fingertalk in the clumsy gestures of one who seldom practiced the art

Mime flamer guard!

"Mind flayer?" Takari asked. "An illithid?"

"Yes! "The gesture was sharp. "That's wham I seed!"

"Where?"

How should I nose? I smelled it, not seam it.

Takari peered over the log and saw only rock and dead scrub brush, though that meant nothing. The illithid could be in hiding or simply invisible, and using a spell to find it would be like shouting their presence to the phaerimm. On the other hand, the spell battle was continuing unabated and had diverted the attention of the sentry as well as that of the master. Takari dropped back behind the log.

"Anything else down there we can't see?" she signed.

"A hare, paralyzed by fear, "Yurne answered. "Nodding else."

" Really? "Takari raised her brow. "That's some nose you have."

"Why do you thing I lib alone?"

Recalling what a hundred wood elves could smell like after three days of drinking and dancing, Takari made a face and nodded her understanding, then turned to the matter at hand.

I don't think the illithid has noticed us. We need to keep it that way, or the phaerimm will just teleport up the hill and keep attacking.

You have a plant?

Takari nodded and explained her idea.

I lick it, Yurne said. Except the captain shouldn't go first.

With that, he slipped over the smokethorn's trunk and crawled down the slope, moving so quickly and gracefully that Takari barely had time to ready her bow before he was at the rift. He dropped to his belly and peered over the edge, doing a convincing job of pretending not to know there was an illithid lurking somewhere nearby. When nothing happened, he rose to a knee and took his bow from his shoulder.

Still lying behind the smokethorn, Takari nocked two arrows on her bow and began to regret she had not tried a more direct plan. Had they just rushed the rift, they would have been attacking by then. The phaerimm might even be dead. Apparently, the illithid's attention remained focused on the battle, and it was unaware-

Yurne gurgled in pain, then let the bow slip from his hands and reached for his head. Takari remained utterly motionless, quietly searching for the source of the attack. She found no hint. The illithid remained as invisible as before, with no telltale footsteps or shuddering bramble twigs to give away his location. Yurne's eyes went blank, and he began to crawl around on his knees, holding his temples and groaning incoherently.

There was a one-sided lull as the phaerimm ceased spell-casting long enough to consult with its minion telepathically, then the conflagration resumed even more fiercely than before. Takari bit her lip and tried to avoid thinking about how many of her friends were dying while she lay there hiding. If the phaerimm was worried enough about its own safety to use invisibility magic so powerful it would keep an attacker hidden, it was worried enough to pick a guard who would not make foolish mistakes.

A seeming eternity later, Yurne lowered his hands and began to shake his head clear. The illithid remained hidden, at least until the hermit stumbled upon his discarded bow. Apparently forgetting he still had a full quiver hanging from his shoulder, he began to search the ground for an arrow he had never drawn. A bramble twig fluttered ten paces behind him, and Yurne's head snapped back as an invisible hand grabbed his hair and jerked him over backward.

That was all the target Takari needed. Rolling to her knees in one swift motion, she set her aim just behind Yurne's head and let fly.

The arrows were still in the air as she leaped over the smokethorn and charged down the hill. The shafts thumped to a stop behind Yurne, in what appeared to be empty air. A cascade of dark blood erupted around the heads of the arrows and poured down on the scout's head. He screamed and rolled away as Takari jumped over him, her bow discarded ten steps up the hill and her sword and dagger already in hand.

A huge mouth filled with fangs and ringed by four thin arms was just rising out of the rift and turning toward the fallen illithid.

Takari knew better than to hesitate. She simply lowered her head and dived past the fangs, slashing and hacking as the thing's dark mouth rose around her. Her sword slashed through something sinuous and tough, then her dagger sank into a mound of ooze as large as her head. The jaws started to close, and she brought her legs to her chest just in time to avoid having them bitten off.

A sour-smelling liquid burbled up from the depths ahead and coated her face in hot, caustic slime. Gagging, Takari pushed off against the back of its teeth, driving herself and her sword deeper into the thing's gullet and dragging her dagger beside her, stabbing and chopping at anything that seemed like it could be cut

The fleshy passage, now slick and warm with blood and other precious fluids, clamped down and began to push her back toward the mouth. Realizing she was about to be regurgitated, Takari spread her knees to wedge herself in place, then planted her dagger to the hilt and held on.

The muscles began to convulse, squeezing her so tightly she thought she would be crushed. Takari pushed her sword as far as she could reach, twisting the blade to and fro, circling the tip in awkward crescents that sometimes found nothing and sometimes cut through fleshy masses that could only be organs.

When her sword sliced through something soft and gauzy, the phaerimm stopped trying to expel her. A flood of warm blood rose up to fill the dark passage. Everything went limp, and Takari's stomach rose into her chest. She thought they were falling, but the feeling seemed to last forever-a timeless eternity-and a strange chill burned her flesh. She grew queasy and weak, her pulse hammered in her ears, and her mind began to reel.

Then she was simply somewhere else, someplace dark and foul, someplace filled with hot caustic slime. Her flesh was stinging, her eyes were burning. The stuff was in her nose and throat and lungs, suffocating her, choking her, drowning her. She coughed and felt hot flesh all around-not squeezing, merely touching and holding-and she recalled where she was.

Or rather, where she had been when the phaerimm teleported to safety.

Heart hammering, Takari pushed back up the dark passage. The flesh remained limp and motionless around her, but heavy and suffocating. She found herself fighting not to breathe and succeeding-fighting not to cough and failing. More of the phaerimm's foul bile gushed down her throat and made her want to vomit, but she managed to fight back the impulse by reminding herself that she would only end up swallowing more of the awful stuff. She came to the thing's teeth and, finding them clamped shut behind her, pressed her back against the roof of its mouth.

The teeth came apart A shaft of brilliant sunlight came pouring in from outside, bringing with it a much needed draft of cool mountain air. Inhaling through her fingers to avoid swallowing any more blood or bile, Takari sucked it in, coughed out a flagon full of red mucous that might have been hers or the phaerimm's, then filled her lungs again. Only then, after she had gained control of her reflexes, did she turn and peer out from between the creature's pebbly lips.

Below her lay a vast staircase of dead and barren vineyards, descending toward Evereska's embattled walls in a series of smoke-shrouded terraces, with no living thing in sight except the cone-shaped forms of fifty floating phaerimm.