"And?" she asked simply, putting hands on her hips and pivoting to look around.
"Time to use thy tracing spell, lass-take thyself to any Harper pin in this city that's been tampered with or had other spells laid atop it. There'll probably be a man there who's good with blades. Keep thyself alive until I teleport to thee." He kissed Storm while she was still blinking and frowning at him, then whirled away, striding along the uneven cobbles toward the palace.
Its grand and lofty entrances seemed strangely- deserted. The doors to the private wing, however, were closed and guarded by two huge men who stood like expressionless titans in their closed helms and mirror-bright armor.
The Old Mage strode up to them without hesitation and reached between them to lift the ring-bar from the doors-and almost lost a hand to the halberds sweeping down.
The point topping one followed him as he scuttled back. Its wielder's voice was less than kind as he said, "None may enter without leave."
Elminster sighed. "Leave I have, goodsirs. Pray stand aside for Elminster of Shadowdale. I am in great haste, and for good reason."
"Elminster?" The guard's voice dripped with the skeptical sneer hidden behind his helm. "Aye, and I'm the Grand Pasha and Vizier Most Mighty of all Calimshan!"
"Who are you, really," the other guard snapped, his own halberd leveled menacingly, "and who gave you leave to pass? Of those not known to us by sight, our pass-list is very short, and I very much doubt you're anyone on it!" He backed to where he could easily and swiftly slap an alarm-gong with one swing of his gauntlet. "Well?"
"I am Elminster in truth," the straggle-bearded man replied quietly, "and I have leave to pass anywhere in the city-leave given to me by Lord Ahghairon of Waterdeep, long ago."
"Pah!" the first guard responded, throwing back his head. "You expect us to believe that?"
"I care not what you do or do not believe," the old man told them mildly, "but if you delay me longer, know this: I'll send you forthwith to where you'll end up anyway, if you retain the stupidity to deny an archmage anything."
The first guard drew himself up in triumph. "You would dare to threaten a Guard Confirmed of Waterdeep, in the very palace? Why-"
He thrust ruthlessly with his halberd at the old man- and the world suddenly changed.
Elsewhere, in dusty near-darkness, the two guards found themselves blinking at each other over their halberds, and then, slowly, trembling in fear.
They both knew very well where they were: the trophy hall that gave entrance to the Hall of Heroes, the warriors' tomb in Waterdeep's City of the Dead.
Elminster strode straight through lofty halls, anger and magic crackling around him. He scattered guards and courtiers like so much dust. As chamber gave way to chamber, the guards he faced were older. Not a few of them recognized him and stood aside with salutes. "Piergeiron," he snapped at the first pair of them not to do so. They swiftly opened the doors they were flanking and waved him in.
"No, Lord, I cannot," Laeral was saying firmly. "There are too many enchantments hereabouts, layer upon layer, hundreds of them, and many old and forgotten. If I could but touch him, I could put a tracer on him that few mages could break, but-"
Heads turned as Elminster joined the small, tense group of folk. They gathered by a lone lamp, within a watchful ring of silent Tower apprentices. Laeral, Mirt, Piergeiron, and Durnan nodded to him.
Asper bowed her head and murmured, "Lord Elminster, be welcome."
At her words, Aleena and Duman's wife and daughter stared at Elminster as if he'd suddenly grown several heads, each of them spitting flame.
"I may have a solution to that," the Old Mage told them, "but we must move swiftly; Storm is our bait, and stands in peril. All who would see battle and this affair done, gather around me now, touch me, and hold that contact steady. Apprentices, back to the Tower."
The ring of novice wizards wavered.
Laeral turned her head and said crisply, "Do as the Lord Elminster directs, please. Now."
The Old Mage did not wait for pleasantries or to watch the apprentices hasten out. Brief magefire flashed. The room was suddenly much emptier than before, leaving only Mhaere and Tamsil staring at their father, who stood alone by the lamp.
Mhaere frowned a little at her husband. "You… didn't go," she said, a question in her voice.
Diirnan strode over and put an arm around her and Tamsil. "You left your crossbow behind," he replied softly. "What might have befallen if the slayer had come here, after we'd all gone?"
With his free hand, he drew his sword. It gleamed in the lamplight. "Whatever else befalls in this world, I'll not lose you, if I can prevent it."
Bah! Weepy sentiment everywhere! This human's wits are addled-addled! What sort of fool lives his live wrapped in love of others?
The human sort of fool, Nergal. It's what we are, just as ye are the creature of Hell ye are.
Grrrr! Fall silent, captive ward!
They were suddenly elsewhere-a dark and cold elsewhere, with dust rising around them and the smell of stone strong in their nostrils. Underground.
Piergeiron slapped his armor, startling his daughter rigid, and willed it to come alight. It awakened in a pale blue glow.
By its radiance and Laeral's glowfire they could see they were standing in a high-ceilinged hall that looked empty but for the drifting dust. Many dark archways marked led to passages that ran off into gloom.
The radiance coming from Laeral's hands flared to almost blinding brightness. The Lady Mage of Waterdeep reached up to touch Piergeiron's head.
He gasped, shuddered, and stumbled away from her.
Laeral reeled and sank down to her knees. Aleena bent to catch hold of her, but Asper was swifter.
"Lady?" she asked quietly.
"I'll be fine," Laeral said calmly. "Piergeiron needs to be hale and whole right now, and I've made him so. I'll just be a little weak for awhile."
"Aleena," Asper said, "stay with her. Guard her-and if anyone wearing a mask comes anywhere near, scream your head off."
Piergeiron's daughter looked at Mirt, Elminster, and her father, collected their nods of assent, and knelt down by Laeral with an audible sigh of relief.
Mirt slapped Piergeiron's chest gently. He rumbled, "You know where we are, don't you?"
Piergeiron was staring at a coat of arms carved over a nearby archway, "I think so," he replied quietly, "and I tegin to suspect why."
He drew breath to say more-but Storm's long, raw scream came echoing down to them from somewhere far beyond the arch.
Asper, as always, moved first, racing like a dark wind through the archway. Piergeiron soon caught her up, his consecrated blade glimmering as he willed it to shine. Elminster sprinted along close at hand, leaving behind the puffing and astonished Mirt.
Along a passage they ran, then through two chambers of cobwebs and dust, and a third where a lone, scuttling spider fled their furious approach. In the fourth, light shone amid vaulted pillars, casting forth the shadows of two dark, struggling figures in leather. One was masked. His sword, glistening with blood, stood out of Storm's back. Impaled, she was struggling forward in agony, trying to reach him.
The masked man saw the new arrivals and raised his other hand. The many-hued flames of a ready spell were racing around it.
"Sssambranath," he said clearly and carefully, the first word of an incantation that would define what part of the chamber erupted in a racing storm of lightning bolts. "Naerth-"
His incantation broke off as Storm spat blood into his face, making him choke. The hilt of his blade was almost against her breast, now, and she clawed weakly at his masked face. He shook his head violently, ducking away from her as much as he could without letting go of his sword-but his spell was ruined.