If Glays and the rest wete dead by then… well, there were other men who could impersonate Knights and who would welcome the backlands life of Shadowdale.
Deltalon arrived a little farther from the glowstones than the Harper.
If you appeared right beside the Knights, you found yourself in the same peril that was afflicting them-and could well taste theit own blades and spells before you had time to name yourself.
Which was the very reason he was bound for his favorite waystop glade in the heart of that part of the forest just north off the Moonsea Ride known as Hawkvale. No one dwelt there, and no eye that he knew had ever managed to discern a "vale" among all those tangled trees.
The clearing, not far from Tilverton, served the same purpose as his chosen destination. Appearing in the blink of an eye in the midst of a tavern or even just outside the walls of Tilverton warned everyone of your mastery of Art, no matter how skilled your acting to the contrary might be.
And despite what everyone remembered about the bad wat wizards, good Wizards of War always ttied to be deft and subtle.
"If you skulk out in the trees this night," the wizard Ruldroun half-murmured and half-sang. He stared at the glowing images of his conjured scrying dancing silently in midair before him. Boarblade was just beginning his charge.
Then he blinked. A man had appeared at the far end of the glade. A war wizard he knew! Lorbryn Deltalon, one of Vangerdahast's most trustedOnsler Ruldroun stood, his scrying forgotten, and whispered the strongest spell he knew.
He'd been saving that fire-gem for a long time, and it had cost him dearly, but what was that price against his very life?
The gem flashed and was gone-and the huge gout of flame blossomed from it and roared away down the clearing, fire that should sear flesh and bone alike, feeding on Art as well as mundane fuel.
Which should mean that if Deltalon was shielded in the usual ways against fire, he was doomed.
Yes, this was the place. Lush and damp and familiar. Dark now, in the depths of night, of course, but there was a spell-glow coming from the far end of the glade, andLorbryn Deltalon had just time for one final thought as Faerun exploded in blinding, white flame all around him:
So this is what it feels like to die.
Chapter 23
All the nine hells break loose Oh, aye, I tell you I'll be there When all the Nine Hells break loose Wizards burn, heroes fall, And the gods come tumbling after.
The flames howled on, toppling trees and setting them aflame. Silhouetted against that bright raging stood all that was left of Lotbryn Deltalon.
A column of gray ash shaped like a wizard who'd turned his head in astonishment faced Ruldroun with one hand half-raised. Then it slumped down and swirled away, gone forever. Beyond it, the fire snarled.
Ruldroun hastened out of the glade on the far side from the fire, seeking-and finding-a tree with two trunks and a saddle between them large enough for him to stand in.
Leaning back against one trunk, eyes on the dying flames in the distance, he swiftly cast a spell many a Wizard of War had found useful when away from the cities of the realm.
The magic made his fingertips and ears tingle briefly as it took hold. Now, and for most of the time until dawn, he would be made aware of all minds approaching him, and their direction and distance.
It might well be imperative for the continued life of Onsler Ruldroun to see who-and what-the blaze lured near.
Fire roared into being off to his left, too suddenly and violently to be anything but a spell.
Brorn Hallomond smiled, held up his bone-coated hands to more clearly see how skeletal they looked, admired them in the dancing firelight for a moment, then turned off the road into the trees, heading for the blaze.
"From beyond the grave, I come for thee," he murmured the old saying and flexed his hands again.
Even if the fire-makers didn't happen to be the Knights of Myth Drannor, he certainly felt like killing someone.
"A gray render, too? You have been busy!"
The only answer Florin gave to Dalonder Ree was a shrug, but the Hatper didn't have to look at the ranger's face to know his words had left Falconhand rather pleased.
He was just turning to begin a look all around, seeking any signs of other predators watching from the trees, when a great gout of flame blossomed out of nowhere with a roar, some way off in the forest, but racing toward them with frightening speed.
Off to Ree's left, Dauntless cursed at the sight, but even as he did the Harper could see the conflagration was small. It would die down long before getting anywhere near them.
Still, burning trees were toppling, sparks were wafting up into the night, and-what was that?
Dalonder whirled to his left, sword flashing up, and saw Florin and Dauntless doing the same.
Dark figures were racing at them, bursting out of the darkness, plunging out from between trees with swords and daggers flashing in theit hands.
" 'Ware all!" Dauntless roared. "We're under attack!"
By then, swords were clanging against swords in hasty parries, men were grunting as they tried to slash right through the swords and strength of foes, and someone was screaming as the tip of Dalonder Ree's sword slid through his hand, sending the dagger in it spinning away.
"Klarn!" the wounded man called desperately. "Klarn, aid!"
Steel clanged on steel. Dalonder Ree ducked one way and then hurled himself in another direction. The wounded man ctied out in fear as his sword missed the dodging Harper entirely. Klarn didn't come-and the wounded man was falling, life-blood gurgling out of his opened throat.
Florin and Dauntless were hacking at three men, Klarn presumably one of them, and another had burst past the fray to come racing along the base of the gravel slope.
Pennae ran after him, dagger in hand. The last thing the Knights of Myth Drannor needed just now was a foe lurking in the night to fell them from behind, one by one.
It was a man, a little taller and stronger than she was but agile father than hulking. There was something… not right about his head, as if something had shifted there, moving somehow since her first glimpse of him. A disguise slipping, perhaps.
The man came to a boulder among the scree. He dodged out and around it, which meant she had just enough time toPennae threw the dagger in her hand, straight and hard. The man stiffened, arching back and grabbing at his shoulder; reflected firelight glinted off her little jutting fang there, just for a moment.
Pennae smiled a tight little smile and hurled her second dagger.
The man cried out as her dagger wobbled in rhe back of his upper left arm. Again he clutched at it. This time, her weapon fell out just before his clawing fingers got to it.
He ran on, stumbling, and Pennae bent at the full run and plucked up that second dagger, dark and wet with his blood.
By then, he was desperately climbing the cliff, stones bouncing down into her face with the clumsy haste of his climb.
Pennae's smile widened.
Drathar peered out through the trees at the battle and shook his head. Dark figures seemed to be leaping on all sides, firelight flashing back reflections on swords and daggers here, there, and fleetingly everywhere. He couldn't tell one combatant from another, stlarn it!
No-wait-there! That was Florin Falconhand, and the man beside him must be an ally, being as they'd both had chances to thrust steel into each other and hadn't. It was someone he'd seen before, someone" Sark it!" he said. "Blast them both!"
Invisibility be htasted, he was going to hurl at least one foeblast!
There! He did the swift casting and flung out his arms in the usual triumphant flourish-and watched the night erupt in sudden green-gold flame, a burst embroidered by screaming bodies being flung into the air and away.