The wood cut empty air. The head was gone, gone as if it had never been there. Illusion, Narm realized in helpless anger, as the hissing laughter of the bone devils rose around him.
Around him! They had gotten on both sides of him! Desperately, Narm turned and charged at one, swinging his staff wildly, trying to batter it down and win free. It danced aside, still hissing, its scorpionlike tail curling at him. Narm sprawled in the dry leaves and dirt, rolled over, heart pounding, and jumped up to his feet with staff flailing about… He was dead, dead anyway… he'd never escape… if only he and Marimmar had turned back!
Then there was a blinding flash and the world exploded. Narm hit something, hard. Putting out a hand, he felt bark, felt his way up the tree, realizing that he still held his staff in the other hand.
Abruptly he heard a dry female voice close by. "He lives, Lanseril. If your bolt had been a couple of hands closer, mind…"
"Your turn, remember?" a light male voice replied, pointedly. Then both voices chuckled.
Narm blinked his dazzled eyes desperately. "Help," he managed to say, almost crying. "I can't see!"
"Can't think either, if you planned on storming Myth Drannor armed with nothing but a sapling," the female voice said to him and then hissed a word. Narm had the impression that something brightened, suddenly, to his left, and raced off in a spray of separate moving lights. But he could see nothing more-everything looked like a white fog. A hand fell on his arm. He stiffened and swung his staff up.
"No, no," the male voice said in his ear. "If you hit me, I'll just leave you again, and the devils'll have you after all. How many companions had you?"
"J-just one," Narm replied, letting his arm fall. "Marimmar, the-the Mage Most Magnificent." Suddenly Narm burst into tears.
"I take it that he is no more," the female voice said gently. A hand took his sleeve, and then Narm was being led rapidly over the uneven leaves of the forest floor.
"Aye," the man said by Narm's shoulder. "I've seen pieces of him. Mixed up with two horses. Can you ride, man?" Insistently he shook the sobbing Narm, who managed a violent nod, and then added, "Good. Up you go." Narm felt a stirrup, and then he was thrust up onto the back of a snorting, shifting horse. Narm clutched the horse's neck thankfully, and from one side heard the female hiss a word that he had heard earlier.
The male voice spoke again. "Tymora spit upon us, they're persistent! There's another flying at us now! Ride! Illistyl, lead him, will you?" Narm heard a sudden flutter of wings. He struck out at it wildly, blindly, with his staff.
"Mystra's strength!" the woman said, and Narm was jerked roughly to one side. "Strike down Lanseril? Idiot!" A small, strong hand clouted him under the jaw and then jerked the staff from his grasp. Narm heard it clatter against something off to his right.
"I beg pardon!" he said, clutching the horse's neck as it gathered speed. "I meant no harm-devils flying, he said!"
"Aye, they are, and we're not-as they say in Cormyr-out of the woods yet, either. It might help if you held the reins and let the horse breathe and turn its head by loosening your hold on its neck," she suggested flippantly. "I am Illistyl Elventree. Lanseril Snowmantle flies above us. He may forgive you by the time we reach Shadowdale."
"S-Shadowdale?" Narm asked, trying to remember what Marimmar had told him of the dales. He could see dark things moving… no, he was moving past them. Trees… his sight was coming back! "What-how did you save me? I was-was-"
"Trapped, yes. Lanseril nearly caught you in the lightning he called-it wouldn't have been the first time. Can you see yet?"
Narm shook his head, trying to clear the white mist before his eyes. "Trees, yes, and the horse before me-" he turned his head toward her voice-"but I fear I cannot see you, yet." His voice shook a little, and then steadied. "How came you to find me?… And-and-"
"We are Knights of Myth Drannor. Those who venture here for treasure often meet with us. The unlucky visitors such as yourself and this mage-your master, I take it-encounter the devils first."
"We… we met an elf first, good lady. Strongbow, he gave as his name, and he stood with a lady mage. They warned us back. My master was very angry. He was determined to find the magic that remains and so went around by another way. He is-was-proud and willful, I fear."
"He stands in large company both in life and death, then. You were apprentice to him?"
"Aye. I am but new come to the art, lady. My spells and cantrips are not yet of any great matter. They may never be, now." Narm sighed.
"What is your name, wise apprentice?" the woman asked.
"Narm, good lady."
"Nay, that I'm not. A lady, yes, when I remember, but I fear my tongue prevents my being called 'good' overmuch, save in courtly politeness. Slow your mount a bit, Narm-this next stretch is all roots and holes."
"Yes, but the devils?"
"We are largely clear. They seem to be under orders as to how far they may venture. If we are beset now, I have time enough to call on Elminster."
"Elminster?"
"The Sage of Shadowdale. He has seen some five hundred winters, and he is one of the most powerful mages in Faerun. Mind your manners to his face, Narm, if you would see the next morning as a man and not a toad or worse."
"As you say, lady. This Elminster-is he in need of an apprentice?"
Illistyl chuckled. "He enjoys having a 'prentice as much as coming down with a plague, as he has often put it. But you may ask."
Narm managed a grin. "I know not if I dare, good lady."
"A man who fights bone devils with a stick of wood, afraid to ask a question of Elminster? He'd be most flattered to hear of your trepidation." She chuckled again, the full, throaty chuckle few women allow themselves, and leaned over to lead Narm's horse by the bridle through a narrow passage between two trees and then sharply to the left, around the lip of a large pit.
Narm could see her clearly at last. To his astonishment, she was a tiny wisp of a girl, no older than he, clad in a simple, dark cloak over the earthen-hued tunic and breeches a forester might wear. Her boots, he noticed, were of the finest leather and make, although their swash-topped cuffs were plain and not of fancy cut or ornament. She felt his gaze and turned in her saddle with a smile.
"Well met," she said simply. Narm smiled back as she turned away and spurred down a slope in the path, and then blinked. How powerful were these knights, that one so young might, with but one companion, calmly contend with devils? And what would become of Narm in the hands of ones so powerful?
With dull despair Narm realized that he had lost all of his books of magic-worse, all he owned but a knife, a few coins, and the clothing on his back. He now had no home, no master, and no means of earning coins anew. What need would Shadowdale have of an apprentice worker of the art with the likes of Elminster and Lady Illistyl in residence?
Narm set his jaw and rode on with a heavy heart. Illistyl saw and said nothing, for some things must be faced and fought alone.
They rode on, and the day waned and grew dark beneath the trees. Suddenly a great eagle swooped down from the sky to join them in a clearing. Writhing before their eyes, the eagle became a lively eyed man in the simple robes of a druid. Narm bid a grave greeting to Lanseril Snowmantle.
Lanseril returned it gravely and asked him if he cooked meals or washed up afterward. There was laughter, and the darkness within Narm lightened.
Nothing disturbed their camp that night, but in his dreams Narm died a thousand times and saved his surly master a hundred times and slew ten thousand devils. He awoke many times screaming and weeping, and each time Illistyl or Lanseril sat close to reassure him with words and hand-clasps. As Narm lay down again he would shake his head wearily. He knew it would be a very long time before his dreams would be free of grinning, hissing devils.