Realms of Shadow - Lizz Baldwin [101]
"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 tallglass, 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 titles. It's me, lass, 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 muffled 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. How fares 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