Elminster scratched his nose. "The headstrong la.s.s-Jannath, d'ye call her?-ran into a servant and slew him before she gave herself time to think . . . but her elven shadow flew the body out and gave it to the river. Otherwise, all is quiet, unfolding as we foresaw."

"Who's left to do?"

"We leave the tower of Ithboltar alone," Myrjala's voice came quietly out of the night beside them. "So that leaves only Malanthor for you."

Farl nodded. "Right... where's Ta.s.s?"

Elminster grinned. "I made her change out of her ruby-red costume-"

"I'll bet you did," Farl and Myrjala said in unison, and then looked at each other and laughed.

"-so she was a trifle late getting started," Elminster continued smoothly, as if the interruption hadn't occurred. "She's in Alarashan's turret now; her shadow hasn't reported anything amiss."

Farl sighed in relief, and sprang to his feet. "Lead me to this Malanthor, then."

Myrjala raised her eyebrows, and gestured at Elminster to cast the first spell. Obediently El stepped forward, pointing across the dark rooftops of the city. "See ye that turret, there? We're going to fly you across to the window ... the smaller one; it's his jakes, whereas the other is sure to have alarm spells and probably traps."

"Fly me?" Farl said, and rolled his eyes. "I'm still not quite used to you being a mighty mage, El-or a prince, for that matter."

"That's all right," Myrjala said soothingly. "El's not really used to being either of those things himself, yet."

"You surprise me," Farl said dryly, striding to the edge of the roof. Behind him, the two mages exchanged an amused glance.

Farl reached for the ring. This was almost too easy. "The wine's all gone," a pettish female voice complained, from the bath on the other side of the curtain.

"Well, get some more," the magelord replied from the other end of the bath. "You know where it is."

Water splashed. Farl's fingers closed on the ring-and a wet, long-fingered hand reached through the curtain, closing on ...

Farl's knuckle! Farl s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away and spun. The time for stealth was past. The woman screamed piercingly. Yes, long past.

Farl heard the magelord's startled curse as he sprinted for the jakes. "Get me out of here!" he snarled, vaulting a low chair. "Now!"

There was a chorus of splashing sounds from behind him, and a man's voice, chanting quickly.

Farl cursed despairingly. "Elminster!" he cried, dodging around a table. Then he felt a tingling in his limbs. He faltered, saw light flickering around him like dancing flames, and then fell through the door into the jakes. Lie still, a calm elven voice said in his mind. Farl shivered, and did so. What other chance did he have?

"Shielded!" the magelord spat in disbelief. "A spell-shielded thief in my own chambers! What's this realm coming to, anyway?"

Dripping, he strode across the room, tiny blue lightnings playing between his hands. "Well, I think I'll get a few answers before he dies ... Nanatha, bring me some of that wine too!"

Oh, G.o.ds help me, Farl prayed, forehead on the floor. El, where are you? I knew this would h- There was a sudden burst of light, and then a disgusted sigh. "Right in the chamberpot," Elminster told the room angrily. "It's not that small a room, but I have to appear right in the-"

"Who in the Nine Blazing h.e.l.ls are you?"

Malanthor was flabbergasted; there were not one, but two intruders in his jakes, and with no sign of how they got there. He shook his head, but decided not to wait for a reply. Blue lightnings spat from his fingertips. They struck the hawk-nosed man-wait! This was one of the mages Ithboltar had been gibbering about!-and rebounded, leaping back at the magelord before he had time to do anything. They struck home. Malanthor grunted as his body was hurled back, jerking and spasming uncontrollably, and fell backward over a couch. Nanatha screamed again.

"Alabaertha . . . shumgolnar," he gasped, writhing on the carpet. Chantlarn'd demand a high price for this aid, but it was call on their pact-link or die!

"Myr?" El called. "Are ye ready?"

"I'll come for him," was the soft reply. "We've got a patrol of armsmen up here."

"Is that why I'm visible?" El said, suddenly realizing that the magelord had seen him instantly.

El stepped out of the chamberpot, deciding not to look down at whatever mess he must be making, and strode toward where the magelord had vanished. A bottle sailed across the room at his head; he ducked, and it touched his shoulder and shattered against the door behind him.

"Yes, that's why," Myrjala answered him calmly. "Next time, just pour me a gla.s.s, all right?"

El stared at the frightened woman who'd hurled the bottle- did all these magelords walk about naked? Nay, she was dripping wet, just as the man had been: bath time, then-and then turned back to see Myrjala touch Farl.

"Be back," she said to El, and the two of them vanished. El looked back at the woman, and then over to where the magelord was struggling to his feet.

"For the deaths of my parents," he said softly, "die, Magelord!" And a spell roared out of him. Silver spheres poured across the room and began to burst, one after another, shaking the room. The magelord tried to scream.

"My, what a dramatic speech," said a new voice at El's elbow.

Elminster turned, and a smug-looking, mustachioed man in purple robes who hadn't been in the room two breaths before smiled pleasantly at him and triggered the wand in his hand. The world went dark, then red. Dimly El heard a splintering crash, his own body striking a wall and demolishing a mirror. He heard bones shattering as he bounced back out into the room, half-crushed, and fell forward into oblivion....

Chantlarn of the magelords nodded in satisfaction and sauntered forward to inspect the stranger's body. Perhaps there'd be some salvageable magic ... he didn't spare a single glance for the sobbing apprentice or the smoking ruin of the couch, where Malanthor's contorted, blackened bones were still writhing in an eerie, futile struggle to stay upright.

"Elminster?" The voice from the doorway of the jakes was low and quiet, but definitely female. Chantlarn turned, and heard the speaker gasp. The other intruder Ithboltar had warned them of! He smiled tightly and triggered his wand again, aiming at her face. The wand flashed again, and Chantlarn opened his eyes. He'd have to stop firing at folk so close to him, or ... it was his turn to gasp.

The woman still stood in the doorway, eyes alight in fury and grief. The magic had done nothing to her! Chantlarn gulped and triggered the wand again. She reached right through its blaze to touch him. Chantlarn had time for one strangled cry before his hurtling body crashed out through the balcony window. He was still high above the castle courtyard when he thrust the wand into his own mouth, thrashing and struggling as he fought the terrible compulsion, and triggered it again.

The b.l.o.o.d.y explosion set the wand into a wild discharge. Its bolts burst in all directions, hurling flaming spell forces at the castle wall, and scattering a terrified patrol of armsmen.

The apprentice screamed again. Myrjala looked up at her tear-streaked face once, and then turned back to Elminster again, murmuring an incantation. A blue-white glow rose around her hands and flowed out to envelop Elminster's twisted form. She gestured, and he rose into the air, lying limply as if on a bed. The blue-white glow brightened.

Nanatha backed away, moaning in fear. Myrjala turned again to face her . . . and smiled. The dumbfounded apprentice watched her features swim and flow, reshaping themselves into-the mage royal! Undarl Dragonrider sneered at her, dropped his cold gaze down her nakedness and then up again, and then waved a mocking salute. The light flared until it blinded her ... and when she could see again, they were gone.

There was a pattering sound from across the room. Nanatha looked there in time to see Malanthor's bones collapse and topple down into the ashes. It seemed like a good time to faint- so she did.

"You'll be all right, my love," Myrjala said softly.

El tried to nod ... but seemed to be floating back from somewhere far away, on a succession of gently rolling waves that left him powerless to move.

"Lie still," Myrjala said, laying a hand on his brow. Her fingers were cool... . Elminster smiled and relaxed.

"Did ye ... clean my boots?" he managed to ask.

She exploded with laughter, mirth that ended in a sob that betrayed just how worried she'd been.

"Aye," she said, voice steady again, "and more than that. I took the semblance of the mage royal and let Malanthor's apprentice see me. She thinks the whole thing's his work."

"One magelord against another," El murmured, satisfied. "I hear ye...."

A moment later, it was obvious he didn't. Sleep had claimed him, a deep, healing sleep that left him oblivious when Myrjala burst into tears and embraced him. "I almost lost thee," she sobbed, her tears falling onto his face. "Oh, El, what would I have done then? Oh, why couldn't your vengeance have been something lesser?"

Seventeen.

FOR ATHALANTAR.

In the name of a kingdom many fell things are done.

In the name of a love fairer things are won.

Halindar Droun, Bard of Beregost from the ballad Tears Never Cease Year of the Marching Moon The magelord's words made Ta.s.sabra bite her lip. She froze, listening, her fingers only inches away from the glowing armlet.

"I have her with me," the Magelord Alarashan went on almost jovially as he leered at the trembling Nanatha, "and she insists the woman revealed herself as the mage royal-and Undarl even waved farewell to her before he left, taking the other one with him."

"That hardly seems possible." The sour old voice coming from the scrying-crystal grew stronger. "Bring her to me."

Alarashan bowed his head. "Of course, Old One," he said, taking hold of Nanatha's wrist. "It shall be done."

He touched the crystal, murmured a word, and they both vanished. Ta.s.sabra risked a peek around the edge of the table to stare at the empty air where they'd both been a moment before.

She was alone. She sighed and then shrugged, swept the armlet and a scepter she'd been eyeing earlier into her sack, turned away-and then turned back, gave the scrying-crystal an impish grin, and tipped it into the sack too.

"All done here," she said gaily, and felt the tingling of a spell flood through her as her elven shadow brought her home....

The last failing rays of moonlight were falling into the cobbled courtyard as Hathan strode across it, toward the tower where his spell chamber waited. Those useless idiots of apprentices had better be standing ready at their places around the circle when he got there. . . . Farjump spells always held risk, even without three ambitious young wild-wands and their clever little plots in- Hathan stiffened in midstride and came to a sudden halt. His face paled, and then he spun around and stared up at the highest tower of Hornkeep, frowning in concentration. He'd never heard the Old One sound so insistent before; something bad had happened.

In a dark chamber high in that tower, glowing water splashed. Its reflections danced across the intent face of Undarl Dragonrider, mage royal of Athalantar.

The griffons struggled in the water, fighting his spells. If he could ever get them to mate in this vat of enspelled giant crab fluids, a few simple spells afterward should give him what he was after. The offspring would be flying armor-plated killers ruled by his will. . . and he'd have taken his first step beyond what the most powerful sorcerers of his family had ever achieved. The G.o.ds above knew he was growing weary of waiting, though. Undarl sighed and sat back in his chair, listening to the water surge up over the edge of the vat, the overflow slapping against the wall beyond.

He dare not waste many more days here with that lizard-kisser Seldinor and the others so hungry for his high seat, and . . . Undarl froze as Hathan's mindsend stung him. It was loud because his senior apprentice was only in the courtyard below, and high with excitement and a little fear. He'd have a headache for sure. The mage royal listened, curtly bid Hathan return to his own affairs, and broke the contact.

Forgotten, the creatures splashed and gurgled in the tank behind him as he strode out. Undarl hastened down a dark pa.s.sage to a certain spot where he laid one hand on the bare wall and murmured a word. The wall swung open with the faintest of rumbles; he reached into the revealed darkness, felt the iron lid, and laid his hand on it. It glowed briefly, tracing his hand, and then swung open, its interior glowing with a faint radiance of its own. Undarl took four wands from it, thrust them into his belt, and reached into a pocket on the lid of the chest. He plucked out the handful of gems he felt there, closed the chest and closet with two quick gestures and a word, and went on down the pa.s.sage.

One of his junior apprentices looked up, startled, from the scroll he was copying. "Lord Master?" he asked uncertainly.

Undarl strode past him without a word and stepped around a motionless four-armed gargoyle squatting on its block, to mount the stairs beyond. They rose to a dusty, seldom-used balcony, where a bare stone pedestal stood among strange hanging things of wire and curved metal and winking gla.s.s. Undarl halted before the pedestal, laid his handful of gems on it, traced a certain sign around them with a finger that left a glowing trail behind, and murmured a long, complicated incantation under his breath.

The apprentice half-rose in his seat to get a better look at what Undarl was doing, and stiffened in that awkward pose, swaying, as the spell took hold.

Undarl smiled tightly and left the chamber. Three rooms away he found another apprentice sprawled on the floor, a key he wasn't supposed to have had fallen from his hand, the other clutching a scroll he'd been forbidden to read. Much good might it do him now.

The spell that brought down the sleep of ages would hold until Undarl ended it, the pedestal broke or crumbled away to break the sigil, or the magic consumed the gems-and that would take a good thousand winters or more. Anyone save Undarl himself who entered the Dragonrider's Tower would fall into enspelled stasis, a sleep that held them unchanged as the world aged around them.

Perhaps he'd leave them all that long and stay away from his tower for a time to see if Seldinor or other ambitious rivals would be tempted into entering it and be caught in his trap. It would be a simple matter to arrange things so that the spell that broke the stasis also slew them before they could arrange any defenses.

Musing, Undarl strode down the winding stone stair and out into the courtyard, the floating, empty suits of armor raising their halberds to let him pa.s.s through the door. "Anglatham-maroth!" he called. "To me!"

A step later, he was gone. When the huge shadow fell over the courtyard two breaths later, all it found were a few dwindling motes of light. It beat its wings once, the sound of a thunderclap breaking over the Horn Hills, climbed toward the stars, turned, and soared southeast.

The warm, sweet smell of bread rolled out over the arms-men. They sniffed appreciatively and hauled open the door of the bake shop, striding straight over to Shandathe, who was bent over pans of cooling loaves. One grabbed her arm; she looked up and screamed.

Her husband stepped through the door from the kitchens. He took two quick, furious steps toward his struggling wife, and was brought up short by two blades at his throat.

"Keep back, you!" one of the armsmen at the other end of those weapons ordered.

"What're y-"

"Silence! Keep back!" another armsman snarled, s.n.a.t.c.hing up a loaf of bread from the nearest pan. "Well have this, too."

"Shandathe!" the baker roared, as the two jabbing sword tips forced him back a step.

"Keep back, love!" she sobbed as she was dragged roughly toward the door. "Back, or they'll slay you!"

"Why are you doing this?" Hannibur snarled in bewilderment.

"The king has seen your wife and fancies her. Be honored," one of the armsmen said with cruel humor. Another armsman backhanded the baker's head from behind with a heavy, gauntleted fist. Hannibur opened his mouth in a last, trailing snarl, and crashed headlong to the floor....

"Get used to it," Farl said with a grin. "The sewers are the only way under the castle walls."

"Don't you know about the secret pa.s.sages?" Helm rumbled, glaring around at the dripping walls. Sc.u.m floated past his chin; he wrinkled his nose as one of the other knights, to the rear, started to retch.

"Yes," Farl said sweetly, "but I fear the magelords do too. Folk who try to use them always end up in the wizard's spell chambers as part of some fatal magical experiment or other. We lost a lot of compet.i.tors that way."

"I don't doubt it, clever-tongue," Helm said sourly, trying to keep his sword dry. Filth swirled and rolled past him as he forged ahead in the chest-high waters, wondering why it was that the elves, who could have pushed back the waters, had chosen to hide nearby, and do their cloaking from their hideaway ... which was somewhere drier.

"Here's the place," Farl said, pointing up into the darkness. "There're handholds cut into this shaft, because at its top is a chamber where six glory-holes meet and things sludge up; it all has to be raked clear every spring. Now remember, Anauviir: the Magelord Briost's chambers can be reached up either of the glory-holes off to the left ... that's this hand...."

"Thank you, thief," Anauviir growled. "I do know right from left, you know."

"Well, you are knights," Farl said merrily. "And if the n.o.bles of Hastarl are anything to go by ..."

"Where do the other holes up there lead to?" Anauviir interrupted. Helm grinned at his fellow knight's expression.

"Two rooms used by apprentices," Farl said, "but it's morning; they'll be up preparing morningfest and baths for their masters ... and the last hole runs to a sort of reading-chamber, which should be empty. . . . Helm and I will go on to the next shaft, which leads to Magelord Alarashan's rooms; and Prince Elminster's promised to show himself if the castle is roused, to draw the magelords into attacking him-and not attacking us.... Any questions?"