Unseen behind the trembling War Wizard, Starangh's other hand slipped the crystal out of his codpiece and held it ready in his hand-just in case.
The worn stone steps were a narrow, short flight that ascended into a sort of garden room, where benches held shallow trays of flourishing herbs and food plants beneath a ceiling of curving glass. Outside, a great ring of thickly grown trees surrounded the domed ceiling, which lay in its own little clearing-and among them, the Red Wizard could see the motionless forms of a dozen or more helmed horrors-so many empty suits of armor, floating tirelessly upright in the shade-gloom.
Rauthur had laid a hand on Starangh's arm, and he turned his head to glare-only to see the War Wizard pointing down.
Through a gap between two of the old bedding trays, more glass could be seen: a wall, this time, that overlooked an adjacent room whose floor was much lower. Starangh found himself looking down on the moving heads of a man and a woman.
Rauthur did something delicate with the air around them. There was a momentary flicker of magical radiance-the merest of ripples-and voices could be faintly heard, the words of the man and woman below.
The Red Wizard bent his head forward to listen intently.
A tiny whirlwind of flames circled in midair as Vangerdahast peered critically at it. "Not enough," he grunted, "Not enough."
Tiny threads of lightning spurted from his fingertips and crawled unsteadily through the air, flickering and darting to join the pinwheel of flames . . . which flared into greater life, wobbled-and promptly collapsed into winking sparks and fading smoke.
Vangey slammed one hand down on the table and rose on it to lean forward and watch every last instant of his spell dying.
"Not a success," Myrmeen Lhal observed gently from the chair across the room where she sat in full armor, her drawn sword across her knees.
Vangerdahast growled deep in his throat as she'd heard many a hunting-dog do and whirled around to glare at her. "I can't work with you watching me, curse it, woman! Why don't you take your sword and your armored self out into the woods and shred some small, furry things? Leave me be!"
"No," the Lady Lord of Arabel said sweetly, smiling at him with her chin cradled in her hands. Her gauntlets, he noted wearily, were perched on the great carved horns of the chairback. "I like small, furry things-even ones that wear wizards' robes and growl at me grumpily."
Vangerdahast growled again, more angrily this time, and brought his other hand down on the table with a crash.
"Patience in all things, Lord," she murmured. "If you expect to craft entirely new spells to bind dozens of dragons, you can't expect every spell to be a simple thing-or other mages would have done it already and bound every last one of them thousands of years ago."
"I've seen enough," the Red Wizard murmured in Rauthur's ear, "and shall take my leave of you. Conduct me to where it's safe to depart."
Huldyl Rauthur nodded and led the way quickly back down the steps to the passage, and along it the way they'd come. Halfway along the corridor he paused beside a door and muttered, "Lord Starangh, within are some of the floating eyes and flying hands that I know how to attune and activate. Would you like to use them to, ah, see farther through the sanctum than we've walked, thus far?"
The Red Wizard smiled. "How thoughtful-but no, thank you. Not this time. You've been very helpful and useful, Rauthur-and I trust shall remain so." He clapped the War Wizard warmly on the shoulder and added, "For of course, to betray me is … to die."
With that last whispered word ringing in Huldyl Rauthur's ears, the War Wizard found himself suddenly alone, staring at-the empty passage.
Mother Mystra, he's gone right through the wards! The wards it took Vangerdahast days of fighting just to modify!
Huldyl Rauthur shivered all over, like a wet dog, swallowed with an effort, and hurried back to the garden room, to restore the silence shield.
So this is what true fear feels like-and everything up to now has been mere . . . apprehension.
Gods, deliver me.
Sixteen
Then my spell burst among them, and-behold!-there were flamebroiled WarWizards all over the place.
The forest rocked again, and a flaming branch toppled into the trail, bounced once, and rolled over. Malakar Surth strode up to it, smiling confidently, and looked down at a curved shard of war-helm that was slowly spinning to a halt.
"This," he said, hefting the next gewgaw and admiring its gleam, "is-transcendent. Simply transcendent."
"Easy, too," Aumun Bezrar agreed from right behind him. "That's over a dozen now, hey?"
Surth looked up at the leaf-hidden heavens. "Fourteen," he said icily. "No thanks to you."
"Hey, now, b'gads! I blasted five of 'em!"
"Could you have done it had I not shown you how to vanquish these . . . these enchanted suits of armor? Bah, don't bother to parley and cavil-we must go forward."
"Uh, aye. Forward." Bezrar frowned as he watched Surth stride on down the trail into what seemed to be even deeper, gloomier stands of trees. Shadowtops and duskwoods, as old as realms and as large as cottages, soaring up into unseen gloom with moss-cloaked vines hanging here and there like gigantic spiderwebs . . .
"Uh, Surth, uh, just one thing: why?"
The tall, thin dealer in scents, wines, cordials, and drugs froze for a moment then said without turning, "I know not. We'll find out when we get there."
He walked on, and Bezrar hastily shuffled after him, wheezing along for a goodly way before he stopped and asked, "Uh, Mai?"
Surth rounded on him with a snarl. "Don't call me that!"
"Uh … ah, aye, of course, Mai. I-just one more thing."
"What?" Surth snapped icily, hefting his shining oval device in his hand as if he meant to hurl it at his longtime partner.
Bezrar held up his own gewgaw. "Uh . . . ah . . what happens to us when we run out of these things?"
Malakar Surth opened his mouth angrily-but when he saw Bezrar's stare go fearful and rise up over his shoulder, he shut it again and wheeled around.
Three helmed horrors were floating in menacing unison through the trees ahead, converging on him. They bore huge battleaxes rather than swords this time, and they were holding them raised and ready to strike.
"Tymora and Mystra both, be with us now!" he snarled, and flung a gewgaw desperately. Malakar Surth didn't know what would happen to one of the shiny ovals if he ever missed with one of his throws-and as he saw more armored forms drifting out of the treegloom, he told both goddesses fervently that he never wanted to find out.
The world burst apart in blue fire-he knew enough to duck down and shield his eyes now-and one of the helmed horrors was gone. The other two flew on toward him as if nothing had happened.
Which was when a distant voice said severely, "Brorm? You know Old Thunderspells doesn't want us hurling spells here, so close to him! I don't know what you're blasting, but stop it!"
An armored form loomed up over Surth, a battleaxe gleamed as it swept down, and-Bezrar snarled, "Eat flaming death, metal pig!"
The world burst bright blue again, tumbling Surth back head-over-heels into a tanglethorn bush, this time.
He blinked at the sight of his own blood, glistening in red droplets in a line across his thorn-torn hand, and heard that voice, a little nearer and a lot more furious now, shout, "Right, Brorm, that does it! I don't care how much the Old Man dotes on your spinach pie-I'm going to flail your backside for you! Don't you try to run now-I may be older, but I'm wise to your tricks, and 'twill take a lot to surprise old Pheldemar of the Fireballs!"