"Elminster of Shadowdale," the Old Magereplied mildly, "and guest."
The man's eyes narrowed, and he said even more coldly,"Prove yourself."
"Ye doubt me?" Elminster asked slowly."Why, Dhaerivus, I recall thy first magefair!" He nodded inreflection and added dryly, "Ye made a most fetching toad."
Dhaerivus flushed.
"You know the rule," he said harshly, wavingthe staff.
Lights began to race along its length, brightening thecrystal sphere that topped it. With slow menace, the floating manbrought that glowing end down to point at the Old Mage.
"Aye," Elminster replied. He wagged a fingerback and forth and announced lightly, "Nicely!"
The staff that menaced them snapped back upright,forced away by the power of Elminster's sorcery. The sentinel who held itgaped at them in astonishment and fear before the muscles of his face rippledand lost their struggle against another dose of the Old Mage's spell-casting.
The magic made Dhaerivus giggle involuntarily for afew moments, then released him. His grin turned rapidly into a scowl of darkanger.
Elminster took no notice. "There ye go," hesaid jovially to the shaken sentinel as he urged his mount onward. "Happymagic!"
Storm looked back at the furious man as they toppedthe next ridge. The staff was flashing and flickering like a lightning storm atsea, and the sentinel was snarling and stamping angrily on the empty air.
Storm glanced at Elminster and asked wonderingly,"You cast a cantrip? Making him giggle is 'proving yourself'?"
Elminster nodded and said, "A wizard must proveto a magefair sentinel only that he can work magic. Er, to keep the rabbleout."
He rolled his eyes to show what he thought of thatattitude and calmly urged his horse down through a tumble of boulders and longgrass.
"Guests like thee are exempt from the testing,but each mage is limited to only one such compatriot. No mage can avoid thetest and be allowed into the fair. Generally, young bucks cast powerfulexplosions and the like, or exquisite and-ahem-voluptuous illusions, butin this case I, ah, well, ah … meant it as an insult."
Storm wrinkled her brow. "I see," sheobserved carefully, "that I'm going to have to be very careful at thisfair."
Elminster waved a hand and replied, "Ah, nay,nay. I must merely get a certain magical key from someone who isn't expected tobe insane enough to bring it here-or to have anything at all to do with it-andhave a bit of fun. Certain Harpers asked me to come here to protect this friendI must meet. No doubt ye were asked to come along too-to keep a certain OldMage out of trouble."
He favored her with a level look. Storm smiled andnodded ruefully.
The Old Mage chuckled, "These magefairs areprivate little gatherings. I haven't been to one in years, and we're far enoughfrom home that my face won't be well known. Certain rules govern those whoattend, rules meant to keep things from sinking into a general spell-brawl, butye'd do well to keep in mind that most everyone here can wield magic-quitewell. Walk softly. Drink things that are offered to ye only if I am present anddeem it wise. Draw thy magical blade only if ye must. Some come here to gainnew spells, but most come to show off what they can do, like children at play.Cruel, over-powerful children, a lot of them."
He scratched at his beard and looked thoughtful.
"As to those who work against us," he added,"the names and faces of their servants at the magefair are unknown tome." He grinned suddenly. "Suspect everyone, as usual, and ye shoulddo all right."
"What is this key we seek?" Storm asked,"and why is it so valuable?"
Elminster shrugged and said, "It's precious onlybecause of what it opens. Its form and purpose ye'll learn soon enough-which isanother way of saying I scarce remember what it looks like and haven't thefaintest idea why, after so many years, its importance has risen so suddenlyand sharply." He cast a dry look at her and added, "Mysterious enoughfor ye?"
Storm replied with a look that had, over the years,plunged more than one man into icy fear.
Unperturbed, the Old Mage smiled at her as they rodeup the heather-clad slope of another ridge.
"Sorry, my dear, but I got quite a lecture lasttime-from thee, as I recall-on speaking freely about all sorts of littledetails that should be kept secret in matters like this, so I'm flapping myjaws as little as I can this time around and acting as if only I know the great secretupon which the safety of the entire world rests-oh, there I go. Ye see, I justcan't help myself. 'Tis so hard to do all this intrigue and world-saving withgrim and solemn seriousness when ye've done it so often down the centuries.Now, where was I? Ah, yes …"
There were worse fates, Storm reminded herself with aninward smile, than traveling across half of Faerûn with Elminster. To buoy herspirits, she spent some time trying to remember what some of them were.
That dark reverie took them across several scrub-coveredridges, to the lip of a deep, bowl-shaped valley. A narrow trail wound downinto it from somewhere on their right, crossing in front of them to enter agrove of trees. The trees hid the rest of the valley from the two riders.
It was then that a man in rich purple robes sailedinto view. Floated would be a more accurate term, since he perched serenely ona carpet that undulated through the air like an eager snake, following thenarrow trail far below. And as the bard and wizard watched, the man on the flyingcarpet sailed into the trees. Their leaves promptly changed color from theirformer green to a bright coppery hue, and several voices could be heard, raisedin cries of praise of the new arrival.
They had obviously reached the magefair.
Far off, on the heights that rose on the other side ofthe still unseen valley, Storm saw balls of fire bursting in the air.
Elminster followed the direction of her stare andsaid, "Ah, yes-the fireball throwing contest, d'ye see? Magelings get allexcited about it. . something about impressing their peers. No doubt we'llend up there all too soon. They're allowed to challenge us olderdweomer-crafters, ye see, to prove their manly mettles by beating feebledodderers. Er, womanly mettles too, mark ye, though many maids have senseenough to avoid such vulgar displays of power."
Storm raised an eyebrow and asked, "How does onefireball impress more than another? As the saying goes, aren't all that hit youthe same?"
The Old Mage shook his head patiently.
"If a few words of the incantation arechanged," he explained, "the spell becomes more difficult to cast andthe size and force of its blast mirrors the power and experience of the onethrowing it. One wizard can boast that his is bigger than that of the nextwizard, y'see. An archmage's firesphere can be quite impressive."
He paused meaningfully, then added, "I mean toget in and get out of the fair, mind ye, with a minimum of dallying. Tossingfire about is more a sport for the green and foolish. Try not to seek outtrouble by challenging anyone. Stay close and speak not. It's safer."
And with these melodramatic words the Old Mage kickedhis heels and sent his horse galloping down the steep track in reckless haste,raising dust. At the bottom, Elminster plunged his mount into a crowd oflaughing, chatting mages. Storm, close on his heels, had time for one starebefore she entered the assembled mages.
The gorge was full of folk standing shoulder toshoulder. Their robes formed a moving sea of wild colors, and the chatter wasnearly deafening. There were men and women of all shapes, ages, and sizes-and afew whose gender the bard wasn't sure of. Traditional dark, flowing,wide-sleeved robes were amply in evidence, but most of the mages wore stranger,more colorful garments. Storm, who had seen much in the way of garb over manyyears of wandering, stared in wonder. It is widely held in Faerûn-amongnon-mages, at least-that those who work Art are all, in varying degrees, crazy.In eccentricity of dress, Storm saw, that was certainly correct.