Sit not alone
On Thalon's cold throne
Unless alone ye would be
Unmatched master of wizardry.
Sit ye there overnight
And of Art gain great sight
Wise beyond that of any mage
In the Realms, of this age.
Laeral's lips twisted. A labored rhyme, to say the least, one she'd come across several times before in lore books and libraries of the North. This was the oldest instance yet, though, and the only concealed one. Moreover, it had a codicil she'd never seen before: two lines of detailed directions to the throne. It was apparently in a tower in the High Forest somewhere near Alander, the Lost Peaks.
Well enough. It was high time to go adventuring again.
This had better be worth my time, little worm. My patience is at an end for diversion, no matter how entertaining.
Everything is worth your time, Lord Nergal…or were you in a hurry to go sometvhere?
[growl, slap, wry diabolic smile]
"At least tell me where you're going," Blaskyn said, showing her his easy grin. "Then I'll know where to look for you if Elminster the Mighty or some king or other comes calling."
Laeral smiled back at the eager mageling, then shrugged, Judging by his past behavior, the prettier lasses of Loudwater would have more to worry about while she was gone than she need trouble about the safety of the magic in her tower.
She smiled at herself. Save for her Art, she was one of those young local lasses. And pretty, too, if the words of some could be believed.
Well, she'd trusted Blaskyn enough these past years, and nothing ill had come of it.
"I go chasing legends, Master Blaskyn."
"As always," he said, bowing like a courtier of Silvery-moon.
Laeral wrinkled her nose at him. "I seek Thalon's Throne-a stone seat said to have been fashioned by the archmage Thalon, in the days before Myth Drannor rose."
"Any wizard who sits upon the seat overnight will acquire mastery of wizardry greater than any living mage," Blaskyn quoted in a singsong voice. "I've read that in four different places in your books here alone!"
He cocked his head at her. "With all the folk who must have read about the throne down the years, you think there's still anything there?"
Laeral shrugged again. "To be a mage, one must be a seeker after knowledge." She quoted the old maxim mildly.
Blaskyn sighed. "It would seem a wizard can use that phrase to cover any amount of nose-poking into other's affairs," he said, innocently addressing the ceiling.
Laeral chuckled. "Including your own, ah, moonlit lady-walks on Wychmoon Hill?"
Blaskyn colored, looked at her silently for a moment, and grinned again. "Speaking of which," he added thoughtfully, a moment later, "doesn't the verse about the throne speak of not 'sitting alone'?"
Laeral shook her head. "No, Master Blaskyn. You're not coming. Not this time, at least." She went to a dark suit of plate armor that stood against a wall. Had it not been so covered with dust, it would have looked quite menacing.
"I need you here," Laeral said, tugging the heavy helm off the stand and turning to offer it to him. "Here, looking after my affairs in the village, and gathering news." She thrust the rather plain old war-helm into his hands. Blaskyn looked down at it and then up at her, brow raised in silent query.
"The Helm of Hiding," Laeral told him. "The rest of the armor is simply so much shaped metal." (This was not strictly true, but no mage ever surrenders all her secrets willingly.) "It hides you from searching magic, and all Art prying into the mind. At will, you can cloak
1 yourself in shadows and escape most searching eyes. Use it if powerful foes come to call. If you value your life and Art, Blaskyn, hide-don't challenge! The spell-books you've been shown are yours to use freely. The others, you will not find."
Blaskyn smiled and nodded. "Of course. I'll have things enough to try with what you've made available; you needn't fear I'll go rummaging through the tower the moment you're out the door. Or later, for that matter." He cocked his head to look at the ceiling again. "So long as I spell-lock the upper doors, may I have visitors-ones who aren't adept at Art?"
Laeral wrinkled her nose. "One at a time, I hope. And no drunken feasts-in a house of magic, the results can be fatal as well as spectacular."
Blaskyn nodded again, all traces of levity gone. "I ask again, Lady: Are you sure you should go alone?"
Laeral laughed. "I won't be alone. I'll have this." She took up the rod that lay on the cushion beside her seat. "This is die most precious of my things. It goes always with me."
Blaskyn shook his head. "It was you who told me," he reminded her, "that a mage who trusts in the magic of items trusts himself too much."
Laeral returned his gaze, and answered gently, "Trust not too much in your own magic while I'm gone, Blaskyn. Guard your words and deeds carefully, for Art alone will not carry you through all the dangers of life."
"Another maxim?" Blaskyn sighed. "You'd better go, before I fall asleep."
Laeral gave him one of her looks. She unrolled the scroll that would teleport her to a hill she knew, where the River Dessarin flowed out of the High Forest. "I don't plan to be gone long," she added.
Blaskyn grinned. "Lost is the wizard who depends on plans, for the whims of the gods twist them always awry," he chanted the old maxim at her triumphantly.
Laeral gave him another choice look just before she disappeared.
Hmmph. Now I'm being fed human philosophy. This had better be worth the attention, little mage.
Aye.
"Aye"? Is that all you have to say? Could the great elmlnster the mighty be running out of cleverness at last?
As to that, we'll see.
[dark look from flaming red eyes, wary pincers stealing forth]
If this is some sort of trick…
[silence, images deftly unfolding]
In the gathering twilight, the ruined tower rose out of i dark encircling trees like the black blade of an upright sword. Laeral eyed it critically and cast another spell. Once it cloaked her, she went forward to the tumbled, overgrown pillars that had once marked the gate of a courtyard.
Within, gnarled, twisted tree roots thrust aside the paving slabs. No birds sang in the branches, and the feeling of waiting death was strong. Her Art told her no magic waited close by-but if a hidden beast still guarded the keep in the traditional wizards' way, it would be about here.
The moss-covered boulder just inside the gate rose with menacing speed. Laeral used the flight spell she'd just cast to propel her away, soaring up and back to hover in midair.
As earth fell away, the rising rock opened eyes and regarded her with a look that was unsurprised but rather weary. It was a human-shaped head with beautiful female features of a green-gray hue and was as tall as she. The head swayed atop a massive serpentine body. A naga.
"So young and so pretty," it said. "Come ye here, maiden, but to die?"
"That is not my intent," Laeral replied calmly, preparing to move quickly. "Who set thee here, and what is thy purpose against me or my entry?"
"Thalon set me to guard this place and, by my powers, to slay all who cannot use Art to avoid me," the deadly guardian replied. Its eyes flickered.
The bolt that leaped from its mouth was too fast for the mage to avoid entirely. Protective Art flashed as it crackled along her flank. Laeral wasted no Art in battle but extended her aerial dodge into a twisting, darting dive toward the dark, waiting windows of the tower beyond.