"By all the gods, what'll the fanfare be?" Itharr shouted excitedly, staring up. Elminster shot him a look that had sent stronger men to their knees, but the young Harper was lost in trying to look at all the world at once.
The very air around them was alive, tingling and stirring. It felt as if all the world were awakening, rushing toward something exciting and splendid. The four friends felt exultant, on fire, and stirred as if by wild lovemaking all at once. They turned inward, looking at each other with shining eyes.
"What is all this?" Sharantyr asked the Old Mage, catching at his arm.
He swayed, almost falling, and for one terrified moment the lady ranger thought she saw him flicker and almost wink out. Then he was rounding grimly on her, as solid and as grumpy as ever.
"The Fall of the Gods," he almost whispered. "Come upon us at last. All of the gods will walk Faerun before this night is out… and not willingly. We must be on our guards from this moment forth. Nothing is safe, and the land may well be laid waste or changed forever with each passing hour." He bared his teeth in a smile that had no mirth in it and added, "Just so ye know what to do with thy idle moments, from this breath onward."
Shar looked at him in sudden, quickening fear, her eyes wide. "Did the… the Shadowmasters have anything to do with this?" The two Harper rangers drew in close to hear his reply, swords out and ready but with no foes to fight.
"No," Elminster said shortly, holding up a hand to forestall further questions. Shar followed his gaze and saw that he was watching the rangers' drawn swords.
Small balefires flared and ran down the edges of those blades, and the four companions felt their hair rising to stand on end as the world lifted under them, hung for a moment, and then fell sickeningly through emptiness. As abruptly, the world returned to its normal state, seeming as it always had until moments before.
Cool breezes were stirring around them as night came down on Daggerdale, a night like any other.
They stared at each other and into the gathering gloom around them, hardly believing what had befallen and ended so suddenly. After a time, Itharr murmured, "What now, Old Mage?"
"Make camp, as we intended," Elminster said calmly, scratching the hair above one of his ears with the stem of his pipe. It was unlit and empty; Shar thought she'd seen him bring it out of a pocket only moments earlier. "Always keep an eye for the night around and blades at the ready. All the beasts of the wilderlands are liable to be up and about, stirred and upset by what just befell. First, see to the horses. They took fright, of course, and I can't hold them from bolting much longer." The Old Mage's voice changed. "Aye, that's another thing. Magic is no longer something ye can depend on. So don't set store by it. As of now, casting a spell is like starting a wildfire in dry wood; all things may be burned, not just what was intended."
"Without magic as our shield," Belkram asked very quietly, his eyes on the night around, "what's to stop these Shadowmasters from attacking in force and rolling over us?"
"Fear of me," Elminster said sweetly, clapping him on one biceps. "Now get ye to work. My old bones are looking forward to the softest cot ye can rig, this night."
Sharantyr raised a warning finger and eyebrow to forestall any jest in bad taste Belkram or Itharr might have been thinking of making, and after a silent moment they gave her identical grins and went away warily into the night, the first tongues of moonlight touching the edges of their swords.
"What will you be doing now?" Shar asked. "Should I be helping with wards or suchlike?"
"I must raise a shield and go within it, apart from ye for a time," Elminster replied. "Ye could do the heroic thing, of course, and stand guard with a drawn sword like those two heroes"-he snorted, jerking his head at where the two Harpers had gone-"or just sit down at watch for intruding beasts. I won't be long; just shout if ye need me."
Sharantyr inclined her head in a slow nod and stepped back, her sword hissing out. Never taking her eyes from the Old Mage, she sank down to sit cross-legged with her back against a sloping stone block that had once been part of the keep's wall. The lady Knight laid her sword across her thighs and settled herself into calm immobility.
"No snoring now," Elminster told her, waggling a finger in admonishment and farewell. An instant later, a ring winked and the world around vanished.
Then the shield rippled, wavered, and El frowned at it, pursing his lips and letting the tiniest part of his life-force slip out of him into the shield, steadying it.
That essence was gone forever now, and Elminster was the lesser for it. Which would have been a fatal miscalculation for the Archmage of Shadowdale-but for Sylune, the sister whom Faerun thought dead, the loss was but a fleeting sorrow, lost amid so many more she carried already.
She shut the body's eyes for a moment, sighed, and then opened them again with a wry smile and went about what she had to do without haste or regret, for she was Sylune. First, the various depleted or partially spent rings, wristlets, and pendants that stored spells came off into a neat pile on the turf. Then she drew off one of the boots the body wore, did something to its heel, and spilled forth a fresh supply of enchanted baubles. She selected two rings immediately and slipped them on. Then she turned her attention to the other boot.
Its heel was empty and received the contents of her first pile. She put that boot back on and knelt for a moment in thought, selecting what would best serve from the small heap of fresh items.
There was so little magic here, and the lives of her companions-her friends-depended on it. So, to a lesser but not dismissable extent, did the freedom of much of Faerun. Even so, conflicts of Art prevented her from wearing and wielding all of this at once. She made a few careful selections and put the rest away again.
Booted once more, she donned the various items, settled herself, and sat in stillness for a time, awakening things that had to be activated. Lines of force blazed through the lifeless body at her direction, linking this with that, building a web of interwoven magic as swiftly as she could. Now she could call up power after power without speech or gesture. This body didn't even need to breathe. The fire that animated it looped through the lifeless flesh, weaving tightly around enchanted items and muscles that moved limbs and gave expression to the now-slack face, and returned along a thousand channels to the stone nestled low between two ribs on the right flank. A stone from her hut, the anchor around which her spectral form could coalesce, the only thing that allowed her to animate this false Elminster. She felt for the stone with the body's fingers. When she could not feel it from the outside, she nodded in satisfaction and got up. The longer she stayed shielded, the more danger her companions were in.
Worse, the moment this imposture was discovered, they were walking dead. Sylune sighed experimentally, nodded again in satisfaction, and set her shoulders.
"Elminster once more," she murmured, raising a hand. The shield fell away, and she was gazing across moonlit space to the anxious eyes of Sharantyr, hand on the well-worn grip of her sword.
Being Elminster, Sylune did not smile reassuringly, but merely raised a gently mocking eyebrow and said, "Enthralled by the spectacle of my manly beauty, lass?"
Shar's face melted into a grin. "All the time, Old Mage," she replied happily. "All the time."
"Hmmph. Great advantage ye take of it, I must say." Elminster strode past her to peer hawklike into the night, locating the two Harpers. Belkram was curled up asleep in his cloak, drawn sword laid ready on its spare folds by his hand. Itharr was standing watch, looking around alertly. He raised a hand in salute to Elminster, who returned it and seated himself on the most comfortable-looking rock.