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She looked out the window, stiffened as she saw the elves standing on a nearby rooftop, and then made what might have been a sob as they waved to her in salute. Solemnly, feeling her heart rising within her, she waved back, and spun from the window in sudden fierceness. "And what better cause can there be? Athalantar needs us! We can be free!"

Farl nodded, a slow smile building on his face. "You speak truth," he said quietly, and looked up at Elminster. "El, you can depend on the Velvet Hands." He raised his blade in salute; it flashed as moonlight leapt down its steely length. "What will you have us do?"

"Tomorrow even," El said, "I'll call on ye. I need Tass to make contact with the knights-'tis best if she looks like a pleasure-lass, to go to the camp outside the walls by the burning pit.

Then, all the night through, I'll need your folk to work with the elves… stealing magic items and the small things they use to work spells-bones and rust flakes and gems and bits of string, ye know-from magelords all over the city. The elves'll cloak ye and guide ye as to what to take."

All three of them grinned at each other. "This is going to be fun," Farl said, eyes shining.

"I hope so," Elminster replied quietly. "Oh, I hope so."

*****

"Have they attacked us yet, Old One?" Malanthor's tone and raised eyebrow were sardonic. "Or did I miss it? I did spend a few moments in the jakes this morn."

Ithboltar's smile was thin and wintry. "The threat is real, and remains so. You would do well to set aside a trifling amount of that arrogance, Malanthor. Pride usually precedes disaster, especially for mages."

"And old men start to see things, until the shadows of their dreams seem more real than what is truly around them," Malanthor replied cuttingly, "if we're trading platitudes."

Ithboltar shrugged. "Just be sure to prepare yourself with spells, wands, and the like as if for battle against mage-foes, in the days ahead."

"Athalantar under attack again?" Chantlarn's tone was breezy as he strode into the room. "Armies at our gates and all that?"

"I fear so," Malanthor said, putting a hand to his brow and affecting the broken tones of a hysterical matron. "I fear so."

"And I do too," Chantlarn said heartily. "How does the morning find you, Ithboltar?"

"Surrounded by idiots," the old wizard said sourly, and turned back to the spellbook on the table in front of him. The two younger magelords exchanged amused glances.

* * * * *

"How do I look?" Tassabra asked, lifting her arms and twirling. Small brass bells chimed here and there on the web of leather straps that displayed, rather than clothed, her body. Strips of ruby-hued silk proclaimed her trade to any eye; even her thigh-high boots were trimmed with red.

Elminster licked his lips. "I should never have gone away," he said sadly, and she laughed delightedly.

El rolled his eyes and settled her ruby-red cloak around her shoulders. As he'd suspected, it was pierced by many daring cutouts, and trimmed with lace. Tass strutted, bare knees peeking through the cloak as she approached him.

"Ye're supposed to look as if ye can't make enough coins in Hastarl, and have to go to the traders' camp," El protested, "not bring the whole city to a tongue-dangling halt!"

Tass pouted. "This was supposed to be fun, remember?"

El sighed and took her in his arms. Her eyes widened, and then she reached up her head eagerly and kissed him. Their lips were about to touch when he whispered the word that whirled them away from the dim room to behind a pile of barrels in the garbage-strewn alley along the walls.

Tass clung to him, wrinkled her nose, and then teased, "I've never been kissed like that before!"

"Let it be a first, Lady," El said with a bow, as his form faded from view. "My likeness of Helm-'tis still clear in your mind?"

Tass nodded. "Vivid… a wonderful spell, that."

"Nay, lass; it takes years to learn magic enough to cast it- and the teleport, too. Tyche smile upon ye… try not to get yourself killed or half-crushed under the rush of amorous men before ye find Helm