Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [154]
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 Tassabra 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. Tassabra 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 gods 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 passage 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 passage.
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