The field around it flickered, and I saw the axe energized with a red burst of energy shooting down to its wielder. Sungar and the naga both writhed in pain, and both seemed on the verge of collapse. The naga desperately swung around its tail, but Sungar, the agony obvious in his every move, sliced through its flank with his axe, sending the stinger flying off into the crowd of orcs. Sungar collapsed from the pain, letting the axe fly away. The naga came about and prepared to rip his throat out with its fangs. I watched helplessly.

A rain of Uthgardt spears, hammers, and throwing axes flew at the naga's thin, serpentine length, a few of them striking their mark exactly. The creature writhed in pain and let out a sharp scream that could have shattered gla.s.s. The Uthgardt at last penetrated the row of orcs behind us, and I felt arms strain to lift me from the ground onto the back of a horse. It was Thluna.

"You saved a mage," I said weakly.

"The second time I've done that," he answered.

I saw one of the other barbarians pull Sungar from the ground and bury a warhammer into the naga's ugly face, killing the monster at last.

Thluna brought his horse around and started charging away from the battlefield. I turned my eyes to the orcs and saw that it was happening just as I predicted. When orc after orc realized that it was armed and standing beside a member of a rival tribe, its instinct was not to ask questions. By the time we were clear of the area, orc-on-orc fights were breaking out like a string of Shou firecrackers.

Only fourteen of us left the battle, about a third of those who entered it. Sungar was the most badly wounded and took up most of the shaman's spells, so the rest of us were left to heal on our own. We set up camp nearby. Food was running scarce, the Fallen Lands offering little in the way of vegetation or wildlife. Whatever the orcs usually ate, it was likely consumed by the naga's army, so several of the most able-bodied Uthgardt set off for the Greypeak Mountains to the west to hunt.

Thluna, myself, and a few of the others went back to the battlefield to recover the honored dead from among the piles upon piles of orc corpses. Surely there were some survivors of the battle, but sofew that the Uthgardt considered this among the most glorious victories in their tribe's history, one about which great songs would be sung. I doubted, somehow, that Arklow the Civilized Mage would get a verse.

I inspected the ruin and found it was even more badly damaged than before. However, I did notice for the first time that the wall that the naga had brought down was marked with a single star etched into the stone, an ancient symbol of Mystra. Perhaps the ruin was once a piece of her temple, part of some ancient city. A new feeling rose in me, a quite blissful peace. I smiled, and I felt privately certain that someone divine had taken measures to ensure our victory.

"Here it is!" one of the barbarians shouted, and we all rushed over to see.

He found Sungar's great axe, lying beneath a dead orc.

"Wonderful," said Thluna. "We can present it to the chieftain when he awakens."

I asked Thluna about the axe, and he explained that it was ancient, going back many generations among the chieftains of the Thunderbeast tribe. No one could remember where it came from or when it was forged.

The hunting party returned with game and plenty of firewood just in time for Sungar to awaken. I wasn't there at the time, but I heard that his first words were, "Was the battle won?"

"Yes," he was a.s.sured, "the battle was won with Uthgardt steel."

A feast was held as soon as the chieftain was well enough, a final celebration before the tribe would go back north, back home. For my valor in battle I was allowed to take part, and I was gratified that even the gruffest of the barbarians accepted my presence. All attended the feast in their frequently bloodstained armor, fresh from battle.

Sungar offered a prayer. "We thank Uthgar for the victory he has given us, and in Uthgar's name we ask that we may be strong in battle against our enemies. May we resist the unholy temptations of civilization, of magic, and may we keep the North pure, always."

That night, as the festivities continued, my mind started wandering and I gazed intensely at Sungar's huge battle-axe. I remembered how it hurt Sungar when he swung it at the dark naga, just as my magic missile came back at me, and in a flash I understood why.

I should not have done what I did next. I'm not entirely sure why I did it. Maybe it was an act of spite. I cast a spell, one that would show the aura of enchanted items, and the axe started glowing a light blue. All around us, too, some of the barbarians' weapons, armor, and gear glowed. There was silence, and all eyes turned on me.

"It's magic, Sungar," I said. "Your battle-axe is enchanted, a magical weapon. That's why it hurt you when you struck the naga. You may not approve of magic, tat whoever forged that axe certainly did."

"What have you done, mage?" threatened Sungar. "Nothing. I've done nothing. I've changed nothing. I've merely revealed what was always there. You have always used magic. You just didn't realize it. Don't you see, chieftain? That battle was not the first time magic saved your tribe. It probably has hundreds of times before."

Sungar's face gradually turned from anger to resignation. "You have done us a service, mage. We know what needs to be done."

He stood, taking his axe in hand. He walked away from the camp, raised it above his head, and with impossible strength, hurled it far away onto the barren earth of the Fallen Lands.

One by one, the others followed suit. This is an image that will never leave me. They took their swords, axes, spears, hammers, their helmets and their armor, anything that radiated magic, and threw them all away, Soon, a veritable treasure trove of magical items lay in the dirt. Thluna was among the last to go up. He flashed a sad but nevertheless quite determined glance at me before removing his father's helmet and hurling it to join the rest.

I never shared another word with Sungar, but the next morning, Thluna gave me a horse and escorted me to the edge of the High Gap. From there, I could travel on down the banks of the DelimbiyrRiver to Loudwater, if such a place existed any longer. Perhaps there I could join another adventuring company. Perhaps I would end up at Evereska after all.

"Our people have a story," Thluna told me. "It is that this region you call the Fallen Lands was once a kingdom of magicians who lived in shining cities. They grew in power till they no longer did anything for themselves. Instead, they would have magic do it for them. They were proud and thought themselves capable of anything. Then one day, the well that they drew their magic from went dry. Their civilization crumbled overnight, and those who survived were set upon by orcs and other foul creatures. All that was once their shining cities has vanished beneath the dirt.

"I cannot tell you if that story is true, mage, but I do know this: Uthgar commands us to resist civilization wherever we find it. Civilization breeds leisure and decadence and magic, all of which seem like strengths but will eventually prove weaknesses. We Uthgardt will outlive all civilization. All civilizeds will eventually become like us."

I sat in silence for a long time, pondering what he had told me, and what I had done. I wanted to tell him everything I knew about Netheril and about the creation of Anauroch, that possibly his ancestors, and very likely mine as well, were survivors of a civilization dead from magic.

Somehow I said nothing.

As I rode away from Thluna, I felt my spellbook under my robes. For a brief moment, I wondered if I would ever take it out again.

Oh, Lady Mystra! Command me. How could you grant us a gift so destructive, a gift we so rarely use properly? For Thluna was right. It is magic that might some day turn all of Faerun into the Fallen Lands.

When Shadows Come Seeking A Throne

Ed Greenwood

1 Kythorn, the Year of Wild Magic

A hundred tiny stars flashed and sparkled, their reflections crawling silently along bright-polished silver all around the room.

The Queen of Cormyr set down her tallgla.s.s, plucked aside the dark shimmerweave cover even before the Lady Laspeera could ready a royal spellshield, leaned forward, and asked gently, "Yes, Mreen? Are you well?"

The Lady Lord of Arabel looked haggard in the depths of the crystal ball. The dark, ragged line of a recent sword-cut across her cheek was all Queen Filfaeril and the senior war wizard needed to see to know the truth.

Myrmeen Lhal shrugged, smiled, and replied simply, "Highness, I live."

Myrmeen was still in full armor, and they could see the large, well-worn hilt of her warsword where it lay on the table within easy reach.

Filfaeril shook her head at the grim jest. "Not good enough, Mreen-and lay aside my t.i.tles. It's me, la.s.s, Fee. Your old friend, remember?"

"Highness," the Lady Lord of Arabel said stiffly, "I perceive that you're not alone."

It was Laspeera's turn to sigh. "Myrmeen," she said with just a hint of weariness, "it's just the two of us. Put your boots up on the table, fill your goblet, and tell us: how fares Arabel?"

There was a m.u.f.fled thud as two mud-caked boot heels crashed into their field of view, daintily crossing at the ankles, and swiftly-moving gold flashed back candlelight as a man-sized goblet was plucked up from out of sight beneath a table edge.

"Very well," Myrmeen said flatly, saluting them both with the drink in her hand. "As you command."

The Queen of Cormyr chuckled in the same soft, deep way her husband had so often done. The Lady Lord of Arabel almost shivered at the sound. Azoun was dead and buried, yet any moment she expected him to stride around the corner, laughter in his eyes, and- "Mreen," Filfaeril said softly, as if she could read minds, "I miss him too. More than anyone, though I know full well how much I shared him. For his sake, I go on, day after day, to keep Cormyr strong. Howfares Arabel?" "My Queen, I'm so sorr-Fee." The Lady Lord of Arabel slapped the table in anger at herself, took a quid sip-no, a warrior's gulp-of wine, and said crisply, "The city's retaken. Steady patrols remounted, Crown law restored, we're done fixing roads and bridges, and most of your troops are now out among the crofters, with barn-raisings well underway and folk lifting their voices in thanks for your generosity. Now the real rebuilding can begin."

Filfaeril smiled, and Laspeera sat back, nodding in satisfaction. "Ah, Mreen, it's such a pleasure to talk with someone who thinks, sees, and speaks directly. You've no idea... these courtiers...."

"Oh, yes, I do," Myrmeen Lhal replied fervently. "Were it not for the peril their recklessness and treasonous ambitions would bring down upon us, with the Stone-lands so close and this new dark magic outdoing the Zhents, I'd press you to agree to my old pet plan."

It was Laspeera's turn to chuckle. "Clap all our courtiers in armor and ship them out to you, to work their hands dirty and face war-fear and hear a few harsh orders? Don't think we haven't been tempted."

"So do it," the commander of Arabel said. "If I make loyal and useful men out of half a dozen courtiers and die in the doing, that's six replacements for one down-and a lesson that might just cow the rest into keeping mute and out of the way, lest they be Volunteered' to follow."

"And lose Arabel again?" Filfaeril asked gently. "How many good men would pay the price of winning it back even one more time?"

Myrmeen nodded, took a long drink from her goblet, and said, "Right enough, your see. G.o.ds d.a.m.n, Filfaeril, but I just can't call you"

"Oh, yes, you can," Filfaeril said, sudden iron in her voice. "Courtiers down here call me 'the Wh.o.r.e of Ice' behind my back, just loud enough to make sure I hear, and I was 'Lonelybed Longtresses' for years to throw Azoun's amours in my face, and I'll be flayed on the altars of Loviatar before one of my few true friends can't call me by my own fate."

"Don't let the lords who linger at Court hear you use that expression," Laspeera said with another chuckle. "So few ideas fall into their heads as it is."

Filfaeril rolled her eyes. "So true. I've tried dropping choice phrases where their spies can overhear, to start them thinking, and all they do is wonder what I meant-aloud and over drink after drink, until they get the words all wrong and twist what they thought I meant all around-and I have to watch Lous fight down the urge to strangle them barehanded, one more time."

It was Myrmeen's turn to chuckle. "Doth the Steel Regent's temper grow ... more tempered?"

The queen sighed. "Yes, more credit to her, yet being away from the saddle and the sword and her young lords to fence with smiling lies every day ... I can see it building in her. Someone, someday soon, is going to say one wrong word or do something small and only slightly offensive-and the storm inside Lous is going to break." "It won't be the only thing in the realm to break that day, I doubt not," the commander of Arabel agreed. "But I fear I waste too much of your time, Fee. You should know some other things, of events up here." The queen nodded and smiled.

"Speak."

"Sightings of terrified Zhents fleeing out of the Stonelands," Myrmeen replied. "Oh, yes, hard to believe, but I saw some myself. They've apparently been babbling about great magical battles, therein, between mighty wizards and horrible flying beasts."

A royal eyebrow lifted. "Apparently?"

"So the jailers say, and they're good ones. I'll make tune tomorrow to question the lone live captive we have." Laspeera had been watching the Lady Lord of Arabel intently through the crystal.

"That was your better news," she said quietly. "Now tell us the rest."

Myrmeen held up one scarred, long-fingered hand. "Just one thing, G.o.ds be thanked for small mercies. Our patrols have scoured the east."

"And?" The queen's voice was as gentle as if she'd been soothing a crying child.

"Tilverton is gone," Myrmeen said bluntly. "Truly, utterly gone."

"Destroyed," Filfaeril murmured. It was not a question. The Lady Lord of Arabel nodded sadly back at her through the scrying-gla.s.s, as the queen sighed, threw back her head, and added evenly, "Thank you, Mreen. It's good to hear truth, and not...""Courtiers' honeyed words," Laspeera said quietly. "Our thanks, Myrmeen. Get some sleep."

The Lady Lord of Arabel gave them a wry smile and a derisive grunt together. This was my sleep, ladies. G.o.ds keep you well, and Cormyr better." She raised her goblet in salute, swung her legs back down to the floor, took up her sword-and the crystal went dark.

"G.o.ds keep you, Mreen," the queen said quietly, staring at it. "One of the few true blades we can trust. Oh, they are so few..."

"Lady Queen," Laspeera said crisply, "we can only wallow in despair when the needs of the realm permit us time for such indulgences."

Filfaeril's head snapped around, her eyes blazed up into flames, and she gave the senior war wizard a twisted smile.

The queen bowed her head, and murmured, "Right you are, Laspeera. Command me."

"My Queen!" Laspeera said, truly shocked.

Filfaeril rolled her eyes and said, "Well then, good Lady, what now is your advice?"

"Alusair must be informed," Laspeera said, nodding at the crystal. "As must the Mage Royal, so she can best order the War Wizards to proceed."

The Queen of Cormyr lifted both her eyebrows. "You've forgotten how to give orders?"

The senior war wizard sighed. "She was Vangy's choice, and we can't expect her to stand strong and loyal when next our need is greatest, if we don't let her so much as give a simple command here and there. I don't want to be Court Wizard, High-Fee. I never have. And what's better, Caladnei doesn't either."

The Queen nodded.

"The reluctant serve the best." Laspeera nodded at the old maxim instead of making face or sticking out her tongue, as she might have done at another time and in another mood. She merely added in thin, tired tones, There's still a ghazneth out there, and I don't think any of us are hungry, just now, for any more magical tumult in our back pastures."

Filfaeril nodded again, and rose in a shifting of silk "I'll tell Alaphondar as much as he needs to know." Laspeera smiled. "Leaving Lous for me? Thank you."

"You're welcome," the Queen of Cormyr replied sweetly. She swept out of the room, in the s.p.a.ce of an instant somehow becoming every inch the grand dowager once more.

Laspeera gave the serene royal back a crooked smile, and turned in another direction to go out a darker door.

Offices breed, somehow. The huge, interconnected fortress of the Royal Court now sprawled larger than the palace itself, and almost entirely shielded-or cut rather-the seat of the Obarskyrs from most of the prod city of Suzail.

Yet, gargantuan though it was, courtiers bred faster They spilled out its great arched doors, across the court yard between, and over into the palace itself. Two of them, dandy-cloaks swirling brightly around them, stood by a shimmering tapestry-a lambent turquoise scene of crawling blue dragons that Laspeera had always liked. They were obviously waiting for her, so Laspeera strode on toward them, not letting them see the slightest hesitation in her step.

On their faces were the easy smirks of men who airily considered themselves masters of the realm, and for a moment, as she bore down on them, the senior war wizard hated them enough to turn them into mice-or ashes under her boots.

How dare they sidle into the private chambers of the royal family to warm themselves closer to the flame of power than their fellows, to whom they'd pretend that they enjoyed the personal confidences of the Obarskyrs. At what time had they lost their fear of guards, or for that matter, of swift-striding war wizards?

"Good Lady-" one of them began, as he moved to block her path, his smile almost a sneer."My lords," Laspeera interrupted, not slowing or moving aside, "have you personal business with the queen? Or are you merely lost?"

"Ha ha," the courtier replied, in the eager, empty mirth that by its tone announces that its utterer is about to say something important that should-nay, must-be heeded. "Lady Laspeera," the other courtier said firmly, stepping directly into her way, "it was actually you we came to see. It's a matter of some urgency and delicacy ... ah ... involving authority over magic."

Laspeera called on the power of the ring that adorned the hand she kept low and behind her-and marched straight into him.

Her shield, unseen and noticeable only as a faint, high singing sound, thrust the man back, startling him into momentary silence. The tall, slender woman in the dark gown was reputedly a powerful mage, yes, but he must weigh almost twice what she did, and how by all the G.o.ds- "Yes," the laughing courtier's voice sprang into the uneasy moment of his fellow's stumbling retreat, "you see, we need to see the Royal Mage."

"I fear you have the wrong realm, gentlesirs," Laspeera told them over her shoulder, as she strode on down the pa.s.sage. "In Cormyr we have a Court Wizard who is also our Royal Magician, also known as the 'Mage Royal.' We have no 'Royal Mage.'"

"Oh, come, come," the laughing courtier demurred. "Lady, you know well to whom we refer!"

Laspeera swung around, a warning in her eyes, and replied, "Yes, as it happens, I do-and am therefore puzzled as to why you've come to me. The Mage Royal grants audiences to all at times well known to you, and more private appointments with her may be made through the clerks of the court.

Their offices lie considerably to the south of here."

She leveled a pointing finger through a handy window at the impressive bulk of the Royal Court, then turned on her heel, and strode on.