Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [85]
"I shall do the same. Until something befalls to shift who holds power, spellfire and otherwise, there's no need to inform Manshoon. Those who come to the notice of our Dread Lord are wise to do so only in ways that please him."
Drauthtar inclined his head. "Indeed. I have no other news."
"And I, no orders for you at this time. You have leave to depart."
Drauthtar bowed his head again, and turned to go.
He took two steps, then looked sharply to his right, to where the shadows were deepest. There had been the slightest of flickers – "You're alone, Eirhaun?" he snapped, turning to face the disturbance. "No other mages?"
"None. Who could cleave all these shieldings? I was warned of your approach a dozen times, as you ascended." The Maimed Wizard strode forward, frowning in alarm even as his disbelieving denials rang out. His gargoyles sprang into the air, to swoop where he was heading.
"Arrsarundae!" he snapped.
Obediently the air shimmered and burst into brightness as a magical field collapsed, flooding the chamber with the harsh white light of its slow dying.
A figure stood revealed beyond it, man-shaped and robed – and hidden again in an instant, as Drauthtar and Eirhaun both furiously snarled out incantations and moved their hands in lightning-swift gestures, hurling deadly magics at the intruder.
Scores of tiny fireballs whirled to assail that mysterious target, dozens of lightning bolts leaping past them or stabbing through them in an unleashing of fury that would have been fool-work indeed to loose in even the stoutest of castles, had Eirhaun's dozen shieldings not been there to shape and contain their destruction.
As it was, the room shook, dust showering down, and an entire row of flagstones heaved and rippled as if some giant mole were racing along beneath them.
Ears were smitten with the shrieks of shieldings torn asunder, gargoyles were hurled away like leaves flung along in a gale to be shattered and broken on far walls, the very air crackled and scorched the skins of the two wizards… and when the smoke and stones had fallen away, the mysterious intruder stood unscathed.
Unscathed, and stepping slowly forward, smiling.
"Hesperian!" Drauthtar spat, rage still his master.
"The same," replied the feeble old man with that amused look that Drauthtar knew so well. He was clad in the dusty maroon robes he always wore – perhaps the only clothes he had – and the same long, pointed, ridiculous shoes. They seemed relics of another age, just as the Old Man of the Zhentarim was. Our Old Mage. Not for the first -time, Drauthtar wondered if Hesperdan and Elminster were cousins, brothers, or even one and the same man…
That thought always made him shiver, and he shivered now. Hesperdan strolled unconcernedly between Drauthtar and Eirhaun, giving them both the same patronizing smile, and the Maimed Wizard said heavily, "You heard all the words that passed between us." Again, his words were not a question.
"Of course."
"W-what will you tell Manshoon?" Drauthtar dared to ask.
"Nothing. I, too, enjoy a good spellstorm."
A little silence followed his reply, until Eirhaun asked almost reluctantly, as if fearing the answer he'd receive: "How did you pass and hide from my shieldings?"
"Ah, yes. A fair question. When you can answer it for yourself, you'll finally be competent to perform the scouring-the-Brotherhood duties you've taken upon yourself, Eirhaun Sooundaeril. I hope that competence comes soon, Eirhaun. More than that, I hope it comes in time."
Drauthtar told himself to remember Eirhaun's family name, which the Maimed Wizard never used and he'd never known. Hesperdan took another step and was abruptly not there, gone as if he'd never been present.
Drauthtar stared at the empty air that had held him, then at the scorched walls and sprawled dead gargoyles. He said feelingly, "I hate that man."
"No," the Maimed Wizard said slowly, "you don't, and neither do I. No one in the Brotherhood quite dares to hate Hesperdan, I think. We all