He was thrust aside in an instant, and the room erupted in tense castings and snapped orders and suspicious
II peering. Their health assured, Asper, Mirt, and Aleena \vere thrust into chairs in the most distant corner of the room and sternly bidden to wait and not stir.
Just now, none of them felt like doing anything but sitting dazedly and letting the numb tingling die away. Young apprentices were still scurrying in with more chairs. Hard questioning lay in the future of Laeral's three unexpected late-night guests.
Amid the nervous tumult, a tall figure limped into the room. Aleena rose in a flurry of clanking armor to run to him.
"Gently, 'Leen," Piergeiron cautioned as she rushed to throw her arms around him. Scowling apprentices reached out to claw her back. Piergeiron made straight for the nearest chair, wobbling a little as he came. His face was tight and white with pain.
"Well, young lion?" Mirt said, looking into his eyes.
Those eyes were oddly green, a strangeness that seemed to grow as the Open Lord of Waterdeep collapsed into the chair and gasped, "Perhaps I'll live." As his daughter reached him at last and rained kisses on his face, he caught hold of both chair arms and shook himself, wincing.
"Weak as a gutter kitten," he hissed, waving Aleena back to her chair. "Now, will all the watching gods- or any of the rest of you-kindly tell me just what is going on?"
Mirt held up a hand to forestall anyone else saying anything and turned to the apprentice standing watchfully beside his chair. All four of them had acquired such sentinels, he noted, and they did not look entirely friendly,
"How fares the Lady Laeral?''
"That's not for me to say, merch-" the young wizard began, his voice as cold as the edge of a drawn blade. He fell silent in astonishment as a long, slender hand took hold of his arm from behind, and its owner followed, giving him a quelling look.
"I, too, perhaps will live a bit longer," Laeral told them, a wry smile on her lips. "A clever trap beneath the Harper enchantments-or at least, what I thought were Harper spells." She gave Piergeiron a friendly nod and turned her head to regard Mirt. "You were about to say something important, I believe?"
Mirt nodded and looked in turn to Piergeiron. "Tell us what you last remember-of what befell before you' ended up here."
The paladin drew in a deep, quavering breath, lifted his head to stare thoughtfully at the spell-scorched ceiling, and said, "I was… charmed by a spell, cast by one who came on me unawares, in private. A man, by the mind-touch, young and full of rage and excitement. He forced from my mind the names, faces, and abodes of all the lords of Waterdeep."
Around the circle of chairs and apprentices, there was a silent bristling, a sudden tension that was almost n gasp.
"He thanked me… mockingly," Piergeiron said slowly, remembering, "and then came around from behind me to bow-all sweeping arms and snooty flourishes, a parody of a courtier-and swept a sword from behind his back and ran me through. He wore a mask, and I don't think, if he'd removed it, I would have known him. His blade went through me-"
AJeena hissed in disgust and fear, and her father tlirew her a smile as he continued,"-and struck the back of my chair. That broke the charm, and I roared at him and rose. He tried to slash open my throat, but I managed to draw my own blade-"
Aleena was already holding it out to him, hilt first, in its scabbard. Piergeiron gave her another smile, took it, and laid it across his knees.
".-and he seemed disinclined to cross swords. He threw a spell into my face-force bolts that burned, like daggers stabbing. It threw me to my knees. He (led into the next room. I got there crawling-just in time to see his back foot vanishing through a gate."
"An oval of flickering fire?" Asper asked. "Cold flames? Shrank away after that?1'
Piergeiron gave her a thin smile. "Indeed. Is he a friend of yours?"
Asper gave him a withering look, and his smile broadened. "Forgive me, Lady," he said, "that was unworthy of me-and an insult to you. I fear my jests are apt to be awkward."
"Yet, look you here, Paladinson," Mirt growled, beckoning one of the Tower apprentices over. The wizard blinked back at him until Laeral gestured that he should heed the summons; Mirt gave him a false, sweet smile and plucked the silver harp pin from the man's hand, holding it out to Piergeiron with a flourish. "This matter does question friendships, as it happens."
The First Lord of Waterdeep peered at it. "Yes, the Harpers have always been friends," he said slowly, frowning. "Or perhaps had been until now."
"This has gone on long enough," Mirt growled, and lifted his gaze to Laeral. "Get Elminster to the palace, away from all your wards-and take all of us there, too, to meet him. Now."
As quickly as if she'cl been his youngest maidservant, the Lady Mage of Waterdeep nodded and trotted from the chamber, leaving her apprentices staring from her dwindling figure to Mirt, then back again. "Elminster," someone muttered, in tones of awe.
Well, quite the mighty savior wizard you were. A pity i'm not seeking much of the magic you promised.
[mind lash]
[pain] [mind lash] [writhing pain] [mind lash]
stupid human! Think i'll sit patiently to be duped forever?
[mind lash]
Half a world away, in a tomb deep under Myth Drannor, a glowing ring of wraithlike figures flickered like so many man-high candles, cold and white in the gloom.
Two darker figures stood unafraid in their midst, a man and a woman. "Enough talk for now, I fear," Elminster was saying reluctantly, raising his staff. "You've quite filled my brains with old spells and lost lore-and I'm sure you must be more than weary of my gossip."
"Nay, man," the closest baelnorn said in swift reply. "You two are the only visitors who bring us news of the passing world-the only ones to remember us. Even we grow lonely." He turned to face Storm Silverhand and added fiercely, "Lady-oh, 'twas good to hear songs again! Your voice is lovely."
"Aye," several other ghostly figures sighed in eerie unison.
The Bard of Shadowdale turned to give them all a smile, and replied, "My thanks. I cannot hope to match even a fair singer of Cormanth-"
"Ah, Lady," another of the tomb guardian spirits said, waving a dismissive hand, "our spells can bring back at any time the sounds of past songs sung to us. What we lack is new songs, and the singer alive and here, performing for us. Your kindness will give us much joy ahead, much to talk over-"
A sudden radiance of sparks kindled about Elminster's forehead. The wizard stiffened and swayed, pain flashing across his face.
— What befalls?" a baelnorn snapped, raising hands that glowed suddenly bright and dangerous. "Can we aid?"
Elminster's gaze rolled down, and he shivered. "N-nay, friends. A new peril has come to light. We shall return in time to coine, if we can. For now, we must go. Farewell."
Blue sparks swam before Storm Silverhand. She barely had time to be startled before they washed over her. The world became a place of endless falling through a blue glow.
Her boots were suddenly on uneven ground. Blue sparks were fading, and the smells around her were now clung and the sea, rotting fruit and cooking smoke.
"An alley near Piergeiron's Palace, in Waterdeep," Elminster explained as her hand went to the blades at her belt. "Laeral farspoke me."