Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [34]
Obediently they thought of the lady Knight. Storm's eyes were closed, her face calm. Lhaeo and Jhessail both frowned, their faces creased in concentration. This time, linked to the Simbul, they could feel her drawing in her power, feeding on their thoughts, emotions, and yearnings.
Power swirled around the kitchen. Then the Simbul hurled her questing, searching thought out a long way. She fell, like a fisher's hook plunging into dark waters, somewhere into a void of seeking where those linked to her could not follow.
After a long, tense silence of tight breathing and gathering weariness, the Simbul suddenly shook herself like a dog coming up out of water and said brusquely, "We need more. The Art twisted wild. Sylune… please?"
Two pairs of wondering eyes saw Storm's fingers and the Simbul's separate where they had been linked. Out of empty, smoky air between them, two slim, faintly glowing hands seemed to grow, gaining substance in ghostly silence. Each of these hands clasped a living one. A gentle whisper said, "I am here. Try now, sister."
Lhaeo and Jhessail stared at the half-seen, ghostly figure between Storm and the Simbul. Then they exchanged one quick glance and, as one, closed their eyes and threw themselves again into seeking Sharantyr.
An eternity passed. The candles burned lower. They breathed as one, low and deep. Toril, with awesome slowness, rolled steadily beneath them.
Then someone whimpered, and the circle was broken. Storm held only empty air, and the Simbul fell heavily facedown on the table, upsetting one of the decanters. "Storm?" Lhaeo asked anxiously, half rising. "Is she-?"
"Exhausted," the Bard of Shadowdale said faintly, leaning back in her chair. "As am I. It's a magic few know -thankfully, or there'd be mindless mages across half of Faerun in short order."
Jhessail rescued the fallen decanter and silently held it out to Storm. The bard stared at it dully for a breath or two, then deliberately grasped it, unstoppered it, and took a long pull. When she replaced the stopper and handed the bottle back, it was almost empty.
"Storm," Lhaeo asked quietly, his voice almost steady, "was that-?"
"Our sister Sylune," Storm answered as quietly. "Yes, and what we tried did more harm to her than to either of us." She turned dark eyes up to theirs and added, "So now you know. Take up the weight of another secret, for the good of the dale."
Two intent faces nodded silently. Then the Simbul stirred and said into the table, "Is any of that firequench swill left?"
After the laughter had died away, Lhaeo dared to lay tender hands on perhaps the most powerful sorceress alive in Faerun, raising her and wiping her sweat-soaked brow. The Simbul smiled silent thanks up at him and said, "Well, you know we failed. Know more; there's worse news."
Lhaeo and Jhessail both looked at her sharply. "Tell," Elminster's scribe bade her simply.
"All Art in the Realms is going rogue," the Simbul answered, "for all who wield it, everywhere. We can unleash it, but our control slips and fades, and most of the time is lacking entirely. Magic has gone wild, and we can do nothing, it seems, to stop that. El and Shar are truly beyond our reach and aid."
Dread came and went on her white face, and she reached thoughtfully for the decanter again. "Across Faerun," she added softly but firmly, "not a single mage, archmage, or hedge-wizard can rely on spells anymore."
Lhaeo and Jhessail exchanged looks and then spoke together, framing the same question as one. "In the name of all the gods, why?"
Storm answered softly, eyes on the flame of the nearest candle. "That's just why. All the gods have been cast down into the Realms to contend among us, struggling and striving as we do. With Mystra gone, there's none to control magic.