"A ghost?"
"If you like. A soul who dwells here with me and can materialize for short periods. The rest of the time she is my watchguard. If ever you have a message for me and can't find me here, speak it aloud and she'll usually make some sign that she's heard. Moving a chair, for instance. She's handy that way for scaring off thieves."
Itharr nodded slowly. "I can imagine." He looked all around. "She's here all the time?"
Storm nodded. "She doesn't like to show herself to any but me, and I don't like to reveal her to others. I came up to wake you two-with a kiss and a hot mug of bitterroot, as I did yestermorn-and you both slept right on. Well, it's never failed before." She grinned again, and Belkram rolled his eyes. "So I thought you were safely snoring for a bit, and called her."
Itharr nodded again and said, raising his voice only a little, "Ah-well met, Vethril! I'm sorry we broke into things; you swing a mean axe."
A little chill went down his spine as a feminine mouth and chin appeared in the air before him for a moment, over the table. The mouth smiled and was gone.
For a long moment, Belkram stared at where the apparition had been and said, "Yes. Well. Lady, will you tell us about yesterday?"
Storm nodded, not smiling now, and said, "Something happened. Something very important that wisdom forbids me to tell you about. Something, as you know, connected with Mystra. All I can say is beware magic for some time to come. It may go awry in strange ways. More than that; in the days ahead we must all be wary, ready for trouble. It's all too likely to come."
She sighed and broke off a large chunk of bread in her long, strong fingers. Itharr looked from them to the gauntlets and back again. Then his gaze drifted up her naked torso, to be caught and held by Storm's own eyes. She was not smiling, and her eyes held them both as if on two dark sword points. Her voice, when it came, was very soft.
"There is more. For the next little while, the most important being in the entire Realms is the archmage Elminster of Shadowdale. He must be aided and watched at all times by every Harper, so spread the word. He must be kept alive, and he might not be able to use his own magic. We must guard him as if he were a defenseless child. Nothing you do in your lives, gentlemen, is likely to be half so important as this, believe me."
Deep silence fell, and lasted five long breaths before Itharr shivered. They all stirred, and Storm smiled at them again.
"That reminds me," she said briskly, "that we'd best go see Elminster. So break bread, men, and let's be washed up and done."
"Ah," Belkram said, eyeing her, "can we get dressed first? You seem used to going about near unclad and all, but…"
They all chuckled, and Storm rose and took down the leathers she'd worn the day before, from a drying-rack in the beams low overhead.
Itharr looked up at her and said softly, "Vethril? Vethril, are you near?"
The empty chair beside him turned by itself. Itharr nodded and said, "That's your truename, isn't it?" Silence gave him reply. He drew a deep breath and said, "Well, I think it is. And you are a friend-no, a sister"-he heard a sharp intake of breath from nearby-"to a fellow Harper. Know, then, that my truename is Olanshin, and I would be pleased to know thee."
Belkram nodded at the formal words and added, "And mine, unseen lady, is Kelgarh. Well met."
Itharr was startled, then, to feel the touch of soft, cold lips upon his cheek, then wetness. But he was a strong man and a Harper, and did not flinch or bring his hands up but only smiled.
He did not wipe the tears from his cheek. Storm looked at him with an expression of thanks and pride that Itharr would remember to the end of his days. She said huskily, "And mine, friends, is not mine to give. If I could, know you that I would."
Belkram nodded. "We understand," he said, rising from the table with the dishes in his hands. "Mystra forbids."
Storm looked at the empty air. "Truly, sister," she said with a smile, "we've two good ones this time."
The reply, when it came, startled them alclass="underline" a hissing, ghostly whisper. "You'll need them," was all that Vethril said.
When they were out on the dale road, walking toward the junction that would take them to Elminster's tower, Itharr turned to Storm and said quietly, "That's your sister Sylune, isn't it?"
Storm smiled and nodded, and Itharr saw that her eyes were suddenly bright with tears. "What's left of her," she said, very softly.
"We'll come back to visit you both, when we can," Belkram added. "She's tied to your house, isn't she?"
Storm nodded. "Would that Elminster were, too," she replied. "It would often make my tasks much easier."
One never pays all that much heed to what one has and what one has grown used to, Elminster reflected wryly, looking down at his left hand. Yestermorn these fingers could have hurled lightnings or raised walls of shimmering force with but a thought, but now they could call forth nothing. The same as the hands of most men, the Old Mage reminded himself. Few have been as fortunate to face life with the arms and armor of Art I've wielded. And, oh, Mystra, but I've grown used to it!
Lady, why me?
An instant later, Elminster raised his head defiantly and looked about. Why? he thought, then answered his own question. Because, look ye, I was the best she could turn to. The best. No less.
So I carry her power within me. It has unmanned me, aye, but my wits are still my own, my strength-forgive me, Jhessail! — has not failed me… yet. I may be old, but I carry wisdom and experience more than most. I've seen what one can and cannot do with a blade, and can show most young swagger-swords a thing or two!
Perhaps I should seek out Storm and practice some blade work. But no. She also carries Mystra's burden. What if one or both of us were hurt by some mischance, or by the attack of a Manshoon or Ghalaster? What then? We'd perish, aye, but what of Mystra's spilled power? Lost to the Realms forever, perhaps blasting Shadowdale to dust on the way? Or stolen by a tyrant-mage to use as a whip to bring the Realms to their knees before his rule? No, that's out. Even meeting with others who bear the burden would be ill judgment, with all the foes I've made.
Storm abides in Shadowdale. I am too close to her already. Besides, the longer I tarry here, the more likely someone calling on me for aid will discover what has befallen me. When the word gets out, Shadowdale first, and then what I hold dear in the Realms, will be doomed as I am doomed. Absent, I remain a threat-someone who might return in fury to smite down any invader.
I must go. Slip away, and lose myself-forever, if my magic does not return. Whither, then?
There was a sudden burst of laughter around his very feet. Bewildered, Elminster looked down. He'd walked one of the narrow trodden paths that twist and cross in Shadowdale's backwoods like the web of some giant forest spider. The children he'd seen before, joined by several other dale urchins, had dashed about by other ways. At length and by chance, they'd met with him. Surprise and delight lit their voices as they crowded around his robes, patting and tugging.
Elminster managed a smile and found his gaze caught-and pulled in, as a fisherman drags close his catch-by a pair of very brown, very beautiful eyes. They belonged to a little girl, the one who'd earlier pretended to be the Simbul. Her hands and frock were dirty-she'd evidently fallen down or been pushed-and she was barefoot, but she drew herself up under his gaze with unconscious dignity. Her eyes alight with wonder, she crossed her arms on her breast and bowed from the waist as they did at court in Suzail and on the Sword Coast when meeting royalty.