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Mystra's protection.
Yes. Risky, but everything to do with magic held risk. And if a certain Darkspells
could stay ahead of the Old Mage of Shadowdale and snatch War Wizard magic by
being Caladnei's little agent on the one hand and Elminster's daughter on the other,
he could gain much ere it became necessary for Narnra to forever disappear.
The Red Wizard smiled thinly and waved his hand. The air beside him obediently
wavered into an image of the Waterdhavian thief he'd just slain.
He studied it carefully, peering and crouching to do so, before beginning the spell
that would give him Narnra's likeness.
Across a forest of rooftops, Glarasteer Rhauligan stared at the rising dust in
horror, his last glimpse of the frantically leaping Narnra as the stones came down
etched into his mind.
"Narnra!" he shouted, knowing that his cry was in vain. Nothing could have
survived that smashing blow from above, even if...
A movement caught his eye on another rooftop, and he found himself gazing at a
robed man who was just gaining a companion as Narnra's image appeared out of
thin air before him. The man studied it, frowning and ducking about to peer intently,
and started to work a spell. His shape rippled and started to change even as the
conjured Narnra rippled and started to fade.
Rhauligan burst into a run, leaping and racing across rooftops, jerking out daggers
to hurl and spitting furious curses non-stop, trying to get close enough to ...
Harnrim Starangh struck a pose and looked down at the hand-mirror he'd propped
against the husk of a long-dead pigeon earlier. Yes, he now looked like that pouty,
hawk-nosed lass.
He retrieved his mirror, stowed it in an unfamiliar pocket, and gave Suzail a
farewell smile. It was time to see Shadowdale again, cozy up to the oh-so-great
Elminster, and learn a few of his secrets at last.
The figure atop the roof vanished abruptly, and Rhauligan's first dagger flashed
through empty air to clink and rattle to a tumbling stop at the far end of an empty
roof. The Harper's roar of rage followed it.
* * * * *
The street full of rubble and running, shouting men suddenly gained another
occupant. This one was tall, gaunt, and dressed in shabby robes that vied with their
wearer's long white beard in looking old and the worse for wear.
Elminster raised one bristling brow and peered around, humming thoughtfully as
War Wizards and Purple Dragons came pelting up from all directions.
Barring spell barriers, his tracing spell should deliver him to a spot mere feet away
from Narnra, and that could only mean she was . . .
Oh, Mystra. Oh, bleeding merciful Mystra.
Heedless of shouts calling on him to surrender or identify himself and to lay aside
all weapons, the Old Mage knelt by the great pile of shattered and tumbled stone that
reached to the very toes of his worn old boots and muttered a very old spell. Some
of the rocks right in front of him glowed, and he spat out a curse that made the
Purple Dragon running up to him with drawn sword at the ready gape in surprise.
The old man planted his feet, shook back his sleeves, and raised both hands to
begin a casting so the onrushing warrior did what he was trained to do: bellowed to
try and disrupt the wizard's concentration and reached out with his blade to try to
strike aside one of those hands and so ruin any spellcasting.
The old man promptly surprised the Purple Dragon again by dropping into a
crouch and whirling to face his attacker. The blade passed harmlessly over one
robed shoulder. The old man turned, taking hold of the warrior's swordarm by wrist
and elbow, and flung him at the rockpile with a sudden shout of his own: "Start
digging, you motherless dog!"
"There's the one who caused it!" a War Wizard howled, aiming his wand.
Elminster flung himself aside without bothering to turn and see who his accuser was,
and the wand-blast seared stones and sent the staggering Purple Dragon into a
shouting scramble for cover.
Elminster rolled behind a heap of tumbled rubble and snarled out a spell that lofted [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]