Answers and clear paths seemed as elusive as ever, but after a time Elminster arose and opened the door. There he softly spoke a word and pointed into the night with one of the wands Lhaeo had found. His heart leapt as lightning crackled and spat into the darkness. This sort of magic, at least, he could still command.
He went to a certain railpost on the stairs, bent to a particular spot, and pushed just so. A curved section of the post swung open, and a dusty, long-forgotten bag fell out. The Old Mage selected two plain brass rings from the bag, put them on, and went down to the door again.
The rings worked, too. Much heartened, Elminster drew himself a cool tankard of beer. Then he frowned and got up again to close and bolt the door, locking it for the first time in years. He and Lhaeo usually left it open, for anyone who needed them at night to get in with a minimum of fuss. He'd have to remember to change such habits now.
As he had been changed, the wry thought rose unbidden. He pushed it away and went to find another tankard. He did not take the rings off.
So the night had gone, stealing slowly toward morning. Grieving for his lost magic, Elminster walked alone as morning came. He was drawn, as always, into the welcoming green reaches of the trees that cloaked Shadowdale. He walked among them in soft-shod silence for what seemed a very long time as the dale awoke behind him. Birds called, small things scampered in the underbrush, and rising breezes stirred the leaves.
Elminster smiled, breathed deep, and looked all around. It had been long indeed since he'd taken the time to really see this forest. From ahead on the path, Elminster heard the sudden clear call of a child.
"Well met!" the young treble voice called out.
Giggles answered, followed by another child's voice replying, "Are we so, base villain?"
The children of the dale awoke early for farm chores and were now playing. The Old Mage stepped aside from the path, pulling his cloak around him, and leaned against a tree to listen.
He was startled to hear, very loud and close at hand, a young but confident male voice declaim grandly, "I, Elminster the Great, smite thee with fires and lightnings that none can withstand!"
There was movement on the other side of the tree. Elminster cocked his head to look around the trunk and saw a smooth but rather crooked twig cutting the air, flourished in a young boy's hand.
Its bearer pointed the stick across a little open place at a rather dirty little girl, perhaps six summers old, who was standing on a stone to make herself taller.
She faced the twig-wand without fear and replied triumphantly, "Well, I'm the Simbul, and my power is even greater. Besides, Elminster loves me and does what I want!"
The Old Mage found himself smiling. With the smile, hot tears came unbidden, and his eyes swam.
He waited until he could see the trees clearly again and slipped quietly away.
Sweat glistened on bare, knot-muscled shoulders as Storm Silverhand greeted the morn. A bastard sword with a blade as broad as a man's hand glinted blue and deadly in the rising light as it spun and leapt in her hands.
Storm wore only boots, tattered and patched leather breeches, and huge metal war gauntlets. She grunted from time to time as she twisted, lunged, and danced, fencing with shadows. When she was breathing heavily, Storm paused, leaned on her blade, and called softly, "Vethril! Vethril! To battle, sister!"
In the round-windowed room under the eaves, her two Harper guests awoke as Storm's soft words floated in through the open window. Belkram and Itharr yawned, rubbed their eyes, stretched, and winced. Both were as sore as old saddle horses after being ridden hard. Their eyes met ruefully. Gods, did the woman never rest?
She'd talked late into the night, matching them flagon for flagon. They'd fallen asleep listening to her sing soft, sad sleep-songs of lost Myth Drannor as she swept and washed up. Now she was up and about in the dawn after a day of battle-and that wound-that would leave most men stiff and numb for half a day after.
Perhaps it was this beautiful house and the dale beyond. Harpers, who tend to be folk of the open road, can seldom relax and rarely sleep without a blade to hand. This place was a refuge, a rare opportunity to let go for two men who had a lot of sleep to catch up on.
Nonetheless, they were Harpers. At the first clash of steel they were up, naked but with swords ready in their hands, and rushing to the window. Their jaws dropped together.
Outside, the half-naked Bard of the Blade, silver hair swirling about her, was fighting a ghost. Her translucent, utterly silent opponent swung a very real black-bladed battle-axe. When it met the great bastard sword Storm wielded, sparks flew from the force of the blow.
The two men drank in the sight of Storm's magnificence for a breath and then stared hard at the opponent who hardly seemed to be there. They exchanged glances and whistled soundlessly. The fighting down there was fast. Like their combat in the glade yesterday, it was obviously a friendly battle; no one was striking to slay. But as those huge weapons flashed and spun, crashed together and bobbed about in the hands of their dodging, dancing wielders, the Harpers were struck by just how fast the two women were going at it. Perhaps their own work, yesterday, had looked like that. They'd been far too busy to watch.
Two women? Aye, for the ghost-if that was what it was-was a slim, long-haired woman in a gown. Shorter than Storm, she looked very like the Bard of Shadowdale in features, build, and movement.
The two men could see right through her, but from time to time as she moved, her features grew clearer and more solid. This seemed to happen when emotion rose, whenever the silent figure made an exultant grin, a delighted, soundless laugh, or a grimace of remorse at a missed chance or bad bit of weapon wielding. As the two men watched, Storm leapt high, slashing the axe aside with her own blade, and crashed down on her ghostly opponent with knees drawn up. There was an audible thump as they fell to the trodden turf together.
Itharr leaned out the window to see what had happened just as the axe leapt skyward again and there was a clanging flurry of blows. His naked sword grated for an instant on the window frame.
The silent figure stared up in terror and melted away in an instant, the axe falling. Storm batted it away with her blade, but not fast enough to avoid taking a long slice as the axe blade caught on one bare forearm and slid past.
She shook her head, smiling up at them ruefully, and said, "Fair morn, men. I can't seem to avoid getting cut open when you're around." Clapping a hand to the welling blood, she asked, "A little practice? Or dawnfry first?"
"Uh-food first, if that's your pleasure, Lady," Belkram managed, trying not to stare. "Err-who was that?"
Storm took up the axe in the crook of her arm and started for the door beneath them. "Come down and I'll tell," she called.
Hastily pulling on boots and breeches, the two Harpers went down. They brought their swords because they were, after all, Harpers. The kitchen was as cool and inviting as it had been yesterday.
"Well met." Storm grinned, muscling a cauldron of soup off the hearth, an apron wrapped around her hands to ward off burns. Wordlessly, Itharr went to her and turned up her arm. A long white scar there was fading already. He raised his eyebrows.
Storm gestured with her chin at a shelf behind him, under the stairs they'd descended. "Healing potions there, if you need them."
Belkram cleared his throat. "Lady, at the risk of seeming a complete idiot, I'd like to ask you to tell us whatever you care to about what we just saw-and for that matter, about what happened yesterday."
Storm waved them to seats, whipping warm bread from a hearth pan, and said, "Of course. One of my customs is to limber up of mornings with the heaviest blade I can comfortably swing." She cast a fond glance at the great bastard sword. The two men looked at it leaning against the wall, and both raised their eyebrows at its length and evident weight. "From time to time I call on a sparring partner, whom you saw."