"I dwelt here a year and more," El replied, "learning magic."

The silvery eyes hardened. "Not so," came the swift reply. "Speak truth, man, if you would live!"

"Yet I dwelt here as I told ye, and what is more, six elves swore to aid me should I try to destroy the magelords."

The elf's eyes narrowed. "I swore such aid, but to a woman, not to a man."

"I am that woman," Elminster said firmly, and kept to his seat amid the merry laughter that followed.

Then he looked mildly around at their scoffing faces. "Ye use magic mightier than most mages but don't believe a wizard can take the shape of a man or a maid?"

The elf's eyes flickered. "Not can't-won't," came his reply. "Humans never do such things for more than a night's lark, or a desperate escape. 'Tis not in their natures to be so strong in themselves."

Elminster spread his empty hands slowly. "Tell Braer-Baerithryn-that I am stronger now than I was then . . . and the master of a few more spells."

The elf's eyes flickered again before he turned his head. "Go," he said to one of the other archers, "and bring Baerithryn to us. If this man is who he claims to be, Baerithryn will know it-and tell us all we need to know of him, too." The archer turned and slipped back into the mushroom-studded dimness under the trees.

El nodded and peered into the depths of the crystal-clear pool. For a moment, he thought he saw a pair of thoughtful eyes looking up at him . . . but no, there was nothing there. He sat calmly, ignoring the arrows trained tirelessly on him, until his spell-shield flickered again. He let it drop deliberately, and immediately felt a feather-light touch in his mind. Then the probing contact was gone, and Braer was striding out from under the trees, looking just as he'd done when El had last seen him.

"Time seems to have wrought some small changes in you, Elmara," he said dryly.

"Braer!" El sprang to his feet and rushed down the slope to embrace his old teacher, who kissed him as if he'd still been a maid and then slipped free of Elminster's arms and said, "Easy there, Prince! Elves are far more refined-and delicate-than men."

They laughed together, and the watching elves put away their shafts. Braer looked keenly into Elminster's eyes-and then nodded as if he'd seen something there. "You've come for our aid against the magelords. Sit and tell us your desires."

When they returned to the stone, El found himself surrounded by almost a score of silently watching elves. He looked around at them, found no answering smile to his own, and drew a deep breath. "Well," he began-but got no farther.

The elf who'd first challenged him held up a hand. "First, Prince, be aware that Braer and we who pledged to thee hold it our duty to do whatever you ask of us ... but we are reluctant indeed to hazard others of the People. Outside the forest, elves are all too easily slain, and when we die, so do the last of our folk in this fair corner of Faerun. Men-even mages-spring up like so many weeds in spring. Elves are rarer flowers ... and so the more precious. Do not expect a marching army, or a score of elven archmages flying at your shoulder."

Elminster nodded and looked at Baerithryn. "Braer, d'ye feel the same way?"

His old teacher inclined his head. "I would not like to lead a march on Hastarl under the open skies of day, with mounted hosts of armsmen and dragon-riding magelords waiting to harry us ... that is not our way of war. What have you in mind?"

"That you shield folk-primarily myself and another mage, but also a few knights and street folk of Hastarl-from slaying spells cast by the magelords ... and perhaps a few seeking and farspeaking magics, too. Shield us, and we'll fight."

"How powerful are you?" one of the archers asked. "There are a lot of magelords, and it would be folly indeed to support you in an attack on Athalgard ... only to find ourselves beset by all the angry wizards after you've fought one or two-and then fallen."

"I destroyed the archmage who ruled the Calishar not so very long ago," El said calmly.

"We've heard several tales as to how he met his end-even the magelords have claimed to have worked his destruction, though they say several of them had to work together to do it," said another elf. "With respect, we must see your powers for ourselves."

El did not sigh. "What sort of a test d'ye have in mind?"

"Slay a magelord for us," another elf said firmly, and there was a murmured chorus of agreement.

"Any magelord?"

"One-Taraj, he's called-keeps watch over our forest and amuses himself by taking beast-shape to hunt. He slays for the love of killing, and mauls not only his prey, but any creatures of the forest he meets. He seems to have some protection against our spells and arrows. If you could destroy Taraj, most of the People would feel beholden to you . . . and you'd gain more aid than the bows and veiling spells of a handful of foresworn."

"Take me to where Taraj hunts, and I will destroy him," El-minster promised. "What does he like to hunt?"

"Men," Braer replied quietly, as he set off down the slope into the forest. Without ceremony the other elves followed. Elminster rolled his eyes once, but kept pace among them, feeling a strange exultation rising in him. The familiar weight of the Lion Sword b.u.mped against his chest, and El's fingers sought it and gripped it almost fiercely. At last-at long last-the scouring of Athalantar had begun....

"Release him," the magelord ordered, swirling the dregs of the wine in the depths of his goblet.

"Sir," the servant said with a bow and hurried away. Taraj watched him go and smiled. He was the magelord who'd come the farthest to rule in this splendid land of forests and gra.s.s-girt hills . . . lovely hunting country. If only Murghom had been like this, he'd never have to endure these accursed winters.

He went to the window to watch the terrified peddler from far Luthkant flee across the courtyard into the brush beyond. Sometimes he hunted his prisoners as if they were stags, felling them with lances hurled from horseback. He scorned armor, but always rode shielded with warding spells. Today though, he felt like a beast run. He'd take the shape of a lion, perhaps, or ... yes, a forest cat! 'Panther,' they were called back home.

Taraj set down the empty goblet, threw off his robe, and strode naked into his spell-chamber to study the shape-change spell. It would give the man more time to run.

The spell coiled and burned comfortably in his mind. Taraj felt the same quickening excitement he always did when a hunt was about to begin. He bowed to his reflection in the wall-gla.s.s. "Taraj Hurlymm from far Murghom, magelord and cruel man," he introduced himself to an imaginary feasting-company, smirking. His image smirked back, looking just as satisfied as he was. Taraj winked and moved his arms so the corded muscles of his shoulders rippled. He admired them for a moment, then slid on a robe and rapped with his knuckles on a wall-gong. The servant was slow; Taraj told himself to remember to rake her with a claw when he returned, to put a little fear into her.

"See that a feast awaits me at my return," he said, "at moon-rise. And at least four women I've not seen before, to share it."

He waved a hand in dismissal, and watched her bow and hurry away. Well, now . . . make her this night's fifth consort, and teach her fear that way. Being abed with a man who can change his shape has its own delights-and dangers.

Taraj grinned and strode down the steps to the garden. He liked to begin every hunt here, under the watchful statue of the Beastlord. As usual, he hung his robe over its snarling head and strolled down the many-flowered gra.s.sy paths, speaking the spell slowly, savoring the moment when his body would flow, surge, and change. The moment came. Teeth lengthened to fangs, thighs sank and thickened, shoulders shifted powerfully, and a glossy black panther leapt away into the tall gra.s.ses at the end of the garden.

At the garden door, the watching servant shivered. The magelord liked to hunt down and devour men who'd displeased him ... and deal with women in other ways. She was sure he'd withdrawn from the intrigues of Hastarl to make his home here in far Dalniir at the edges of the realm because it offered him a countryside to hunt in. That peddler was doomed, and any woodcutters or hunters her master met with, too. She hoped he'd find none, and be a long, wearying time at his chase.

She sighed and went in to order the feast made ready... and then to the south wing to personally choose the maids who might die tonight. More than once she'd seen that bed and the carpet beneath it awash in blood and torn to shreds . . . sometimes with a gnawed foot or other remnant left tauntingly for the staff to find. She shuddered and prayed silently to whatever G.o.ds might be watching that Taraj Hurlymm would meet his own doom this night.

Folk would pray much harder to the G.o.ds, she thought to herself as she got up off her knees, if they gave proof that they listened to the fervent desires of mortals more often. Tonight, for instance.

She sighed. That peddler was doomed.

The Calis.h.i.te's fine silk shirt was soaked through with sweat; it stuck to him, dark and slick, as he puffed wearily up a slope, forced a way through bushes that clawed and tore at his finery, and hurried on, gasping for breath. The man wasn't in very fine form . . . and now, covered with sweat and grime and with his long mustache drooping with sweat and smudged with dust, the magelord liked his looks even less.

The man's appearance had been the reason Taraj had ordered this trader seized in the first place. That and the appeal of the exotic; merchants from as far away as Luthkant found Athalantar seldom and ventured out of Hastarl even more rarely. This exotic prey, however, didn't look to be able to provide him with much sport at all... already the trader was wobbling along in exhaustion, his breath coming in fast, sobbing gasps.

Skulking along a ridge not far behind the terrified man, Taraj decided he was becoming increasingly bored. Time to make his kill.

He bounded down into the brush, a sleek black panther feeling fast and deadly and alive! Exulting in his power, he leapt across a narrow, deep gully, his paws scrabbling in crumbling earth for one exciting moment on the far side before they gripped . . . and then he was safely across and into the thicket beyond.

Bursting out of cover atop a bank, he soared right over the Luthkantan, who howled in fear and s.n.a.t.c.hed out a belt-knife, slashing uselessly at the air, well in his wake.

So that was the only fang the man had? Well, then ... Taraj turned, sleek coat rippling, and rushed back at the man, dead leaves rustling as his racing paws hurled them aside.

The Calis.h.i.te dodged, eyes wide and white with terror, slashed wildly at Taraj's nose-and then turned and ran.

Taraj gave him a throaty snarl and bounded after him. The man heard and spun around to prevent being hamstrung, that tiny blade gleaming again as he brandished it desperately. Taraj snarled and kept coming, not slowing... and the terrified man backed away.

After a few hurried, unseeing paces, of course, he stumbled on something underfoot, and fell hard on his behind. Taraj leapt at him, jaws opening wide for that first playful bite, but the man kicked out with frantic savagery-and the magelord felt sudden tearing pain. He snarled and recoiled, bounding away and then whirling back to face his victim.

G.o.ds curse the man! The trader's boots had suddenly sprouted toe-daggers. Vicious little blades; one gleamed at him as the exhausted man stayed on his back, feet up-and the other was wet and dark with Taraj's blood.

The magelord snarled again and loped off into the nearest tall gra.s.s. Dragon at the gate! You couldn't even trust fat Calis.h.i.te merchant traders to fight fair these days! Well, you'd never been able to, he admitted wryly as the panther's body fell away, flowing and changing again. A brief visit to the Luthkantan in the shape of an acid-spitting snake should do away with the man's weapons so he could be killed slowly and enjoyably afterward. The snake reared up, coiling experimentally, shaking as the magelord settled into this new shape.

A black crow that had been scudding along unseen behind the panther dived earthward, starting to change even before it struck the gra.s.sy ground below.

Something huge and dark rose up out of the gra.s.s where it landed, batlike wings unfolding and long tail switching ... a black dragon crouched amid the crushed gra.s.s, leaning forward over the suddenly hissing, coiling snake.

The snake spat. The smoking acid struck the dragon's snout and dripped; black dragons are never harmed by acids. The dragon smiled slowly and opened its own jaws. The acid that streamed from the dragon's maw consumed a tree and left the snake itself smoking and writhing in the scorched gra.s.ses beyond, throwing coils about in its agony. The dragon strode forward, slowly, heavily ... and tauntingly.

From somewhere in the trees ahead came a despairing scream as the Calis.h.i.te trader saw the dragon, and crashing sounds as he struggled through trees and thick brush in frantic flight.

The snake grew larger and darker, and wings began to sprout from it. As its shape built and stretched, it grew a human hand and mouth for an instant. The ring flashed, and the mouth cried, "Kadeln! Kadeln! Aid me! By our pact, aid me!"

The dragon lumbered forward, extending claws to rend the snake that was rapidly becoming another black dragon. Another pace, and another .. . and the dragon that was Elminster reached out and slashed with one black-taloned claw to rend still-forming scales. Blood spattered, and the magelord-turned-dragon squalled in pain.

Elminster extended his head to bite down hard on the other dragon's neck and end this wizard for good-but suddenly a mage stood beside the still-growing dragon, where the only crushed gra.s.s had been a moment before. Elminster had a glimpse of this new magelord's dark, glittering eyes as he reared and backed hastily away. The wizard was already casting a spell; there was no time to shift shape into something else.

Elminster beat his wings once to hurl the man off his feet and ruin his spell, but tree limbs got in the way. He was still struggling to lunge forward and bite down on the newcomer when something streaked from the mage's outthrust hand, and roaring fire erupted on all sides and rolled over him.

El's curse of pain came out as a rumble as he hastily backed away, turned, and lashed out with his tail so the magelord had to dive ingloriously into the dirt to avoid being struck. El grunted and bounded aloft.

This body was heavy and ungainly, but the large wings beat strongly. He put some effort into flight, and the wind was whistling past his head when he turned and plunged back down through the air in a dive, waiting for just the right moment to spit acid.

The other dragon was almost fully formed now, but thrashing about in pain, all tangled up under the trees. El could deal with this fire-hurling wizard first!

Snarling, Elminster roared down out of the sky, teeth flashing.

The wizard's hands were making complicated pa.s.ses-and then he leapt back to watch in triumph ... and Elminster knew sudden fear. He tried to unfold a wing and veer away-but couldn't! His wings were bound by magic!

Helplessly he plunged down into the trees, bracing himself for the crash he knew would come. The wind whistled past him. And then he saw his true doom. Before him a shimmering wall of bright, swirling colors was growing; a rainbow of deadly magic directly in his path. El could only turn his eyes in horror to look at the magelord who stood watching as he fell to death. "Aid me, Mystra," he whispered, as the swirling colors rushed up to meet him.

Kadeln Olothstar, magelord of Athalantar, laughed coldly. "Ah, I love a good fight! Taming a mageling, too! My thanks, Taraj!"

The dragon hurtled helplessly down into his prismatic wall. Kadeln threw up a hand to shield his eyes from the blast he knew would come as the huge beast pa.s.sed through his spell and they destroyed each other.

It came. The world rocked, and a blinding flash clawed at his eyes even through his tightly shut lids. Kadeln landed hard on his back and spat a curse at the G.o.ds for putting a hard tree-root under his spine. Then he blinked his eyes until he could see again and rolled to his feet. Broken trees and smoking gra.s.s surrounded him, with nary a dragon in sight... and stumbling sightlessly out of the smoke came a fat Calis.h.i.te in tattered silks, a dagger clutched in one trembling hand.

Hah! He could even rob Taraj of his quarry this night! Kadeln smiled a thin, cruel smile and raised his hand to slay the man. It would take only the least of his spells. Then a dark form melted out of the air in front of him-Taraj, tattered and blackened with soot.

"Out of my way, Hurlymm," Kadeln said coldly, but his dazed fellow magelord seemed not to hear. Hmm . . . perhaps an accident might befall Taraj here, with no watching eyes to speak later of Kadeln's treachery. Or would it be wise to fell this lazy, blood-hungry idiot, and have perhaps a stronger mage rise to take his place in the councils of magelords?

Kadeln made his decision, sighed, and stepped around the bemused Taraj, raising his hand again to hurl a death bolt at the sobbing merchant. As he pa.s.sed, the dark tatters seemed to ripple. Kadeln Olothstar had been a magelord for many years. He turned to see what shape Taraj was taking-just in case.

Cold blue-gray eyes swam out of the melting form to meet his own, around a hawk-beak of a nose, and a mouth that smiled at him without warmth or mirth.

"Greetings, Magelord," that mouth said, as one dark arm rose up to strike aside Kadeln's raised hand. The dark form's other arm streaked up to his mouth. "I am Elminster. In the name of my father Prince Elthryn and my mother Princess Amrythale, I slay thee."

Kadeln was gabbling the words of a desperate spell as the stranger, still smiling that steely smile, thrust a finger into the magelord's mouth. Flame burst forth in a sphere that rolled down the magelord's throat, and found no ready room to expand.

A moment later, Kadeln Olothstar burst apart in flames that briefly outshone the sun . . . and then swiftly died away into drifting smoke. Silence fell-followed a moment later by the Calis.h.i.te, who gave a despairing moan as his eyes rolled up and he thudded limply to the scorched turf.

The lady who glided into view atop the nearest ridge made a face at the blood covering Elminster. He looked up at her quickly, raising a hand to blast another foe if need be-and then relaxed, and called, "My thanks-again-for my life."

Myrjala smiled as she came up to him and spread her hands. "What, after all, are friends for?"

"How did ye do it this time?" El asked, striding forward to embrace her. She whispered something and made a small sign with one hand-and the magelord's gore was abruptly gone. Elminster looked down, shook his head, and then wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

"Let me breathe, young lion," Myrjala said at last, pulling her head back. "To answer you-I used that spell you're so fond of, switching folk about. Taraj was the dragon who struck the wall-spell, and I guided you into his semblance."

"I needed ye after all," Elminster said, looking into her dark, mysterious eyes.

Myrjala smiled at him. "There's much more to do for Athalantar yet, O Prince ... and I need you whole to do it."

"I'm-losing my thirst for killing magelords," Elminster said.

Myrjala's arms tightened around him. "I understand, and respect you the more for that, El-but once begun, we must take them all ... or all we'll achieve for the folk of Athalantar is changing the names and faces of those who rule them iron-hard. Is that all you want to have done to avenge your mother and father?"

When Elminster looked up at her, his eyes were bright and hard. "Who's the next magelord we should slay?" he snapped.

Myrjala almost smiled. "Seldinor," she said, turning away.

"Why he, of them all?"

Myrjala turned back. "You have been a woman. When I tell you his latest schemes, you will understand why, better than most brash young men who call themselves wizards."

Elminster nodded, not smiling. "I was afraid ye'd say something like that."

Elves were suddenly all around them, seeming to melt out of the trees. Braer met Elminster's eyes, and asked, "Who is this lady mage?"

Myrjala spoke for herself. "Al hond ebrath, uol tath shantar en tath lalala ol hond ebrath."

El looked at her. "What did ye say?"

"A true friend, as the trees and the water are true friends," Myrjala translated softly, her eyes very dark.

The elf who'd first challenged Elminster by the pool said, "A proud boast, lady, for one who lives and then is gone, while the trees and streams endure forever."

Myrjala turned her head, as tall and as regal as any elf, and said, "You may be surprised at my longevity, Ruvaen, as others of your folk have been, before."

Ruvaen drew back a pace, frowning. "How is it that you know my name? Who-?"

"Peace," Braer said. "Such things are best spoken of in private, one to another. Now we have much to plan and prepare. The test has been set and pa.s.sed. Elminster may not have prevailed alone, but two magelords are no more, not one. Do any challenge this?"

Silence answered him, and he turned wordlessly to Ruvaen.