All manner of strange headpieces and body adornmentsbristled and sprouted around her, shimmering and sparkling and in some casesshifting shape in fluid movements. One lady mage wore nothing but a gigantic,many-feathered snake, which moved its slow coils continuously around her lithebody. A man nearby seemed clad only in dancing flames. The wizard he wasspeaking to wore a shifting, phosphorescent fungus, out of which grew smallleafy ferns and thistles. Next to them stood a half-elf maiden clad in aflowing gown of gleaming, soft-polished gems strung upon many silken threads.She was arguing with a long-haired dwarf wearing furs and leather upon which apair of insect-eating lizards crawled ceaselessly, long tongues darting. Asnatch of their conversation came to Storm's ears:
"Well, what did the Thayan do then?"
"Blew up the entire castle, of course. Whatelse?" Other voices crowded in, drowning out the previous speakers.
"What was that? Purple zombies? Why purple?"
"She was bored, I guess. You should have seen theprince's face the next morning. She made a dozen tiny red hands appear out ofthin air and pinch him in all the places he had pinched her … in front of allthe court, too!"
Elminster was riding steadily through the throng. Heseemed to know where he was going. Storm followed, past a man who was balancinga full bottle of something dark and red on his large nose and protesting inmuffled tones to those watching that he wasn't using any magic to help him. Shelooked away just before the bottle toppled and spilled all over him, but couldnot resist looking back at the damp result. She was careful not to smile.
"How many times must I tell thee? First you kiss,then cast the spell-or it stays a frog forever!"
Storm shook her head, trying to concentrate on Elminsterand ignore such talk. A terrific din of conversation, strange music, humming,and weird little popping noises raged over the crowd. Wizards gestured toimpress those they were speaking with, and varicolored smokes and many-huedglobes of radiance obediently bobbed or writhed in the air over their heads.Enspelled birds sang complicated melodies, and some flew graceful aerial ballets.Storm peered this way and that, trying to see everything, watching for danger.
Everywhere folk stood talking, arguing, laughing, ordickering, with goblets and flagons of varying sizes and contents in theirhands, or floating handily in midair at their elbows. Some sort of rule, Stormguessed, kept the mages themselves from flying, floating, or teleporting about. Mostlythey just stood in groups, talking. Storm threaded her mount carefully amongthem. Three olive-hued tentacles slid out from under a mage's hood as shepassed. Small, glittering eyes opened at their ends, surveyed her, and winked.She tried not to show her involuntary shudder as she rode on, past a man withbright green hair and beard who was juggling a ring of hand-sized balls of firein the air. The lady mage he was trying to impress was in the act of stifling ayawn.
The next group was made up of old and wrinkled croneswith cold dark eyes and sinister-looking black robes. They were chuckling andswigging beer from clear glass tankards that didn't seem to empty.
"First babe I ever saw that was born withwings," one was saying delightedly. "Flew around the nursery, giggling,the little scamp. Well, the king nearly swallowed his crown, I tell thee!"
Storm left the women behind, riding across a littleopen space where rising smoke and ashes suggested someone had experienced awarm and possibly fatal accident very recently. Beyond it, she plunged intothe chatter once again.
"You must understand, old friend, that taking theshape of a dragon is an experience that changes one forever-forever, I tell you!"
A mage in florid pink and purple, lace at his wristsand throat, was underscoring that point by flicking a long, forked tongue atthe mage he was speaking to-a wizardess with white, furry hair running downher arms and the backs of her hands. Her skin was a deeper purple than the garbof the wizard speaking to her. Her reply to his claims about dragonshaping wasan eloquent snort.
Then Storm was threading her way past six enchantinglybeautiful half-elf sorceresses, whose heads were bent together in low-voicedintrigue. One looked up alertly, only to relax and give the bard a relievedsmile. The others, intent on deal-making, never saw her.
"Well, just change the name and the way you castit, and he'll never know. I mean, anyone could have come up with a spell likethat. Teach it to me, and I'll not tell where I got it. In return, I'll showyou that trick of Tlaerune's, the one that makes men swoon and-"
Shaking her head, Storm hurried on through the magicalbedlam, trying to catch up with the Old Mage. Where had he gone? She looked upand down the crowded gorge-there were hundreds of mages there! Yet, thanks toher keen eyes, she managed to find Elminster again. The Old Mage continued tocut through the gathered wizards without slowing or dismounting-until he cameto a tree-shaded corner on the far, rocky wall of the gorge. There, in thedappled gloom, a short, stunningly beautiful lady mage was talking with five orsix obviously smitten men of the Art.
Storm saw laughing black eyes, flowing black hair, anda gown whose scanty front seemed to be made of glowing, always-shiftingflowers.
Then the Old Mage vaulted, or rather fell, straightfrom his horse into the arms of the lady, with the words, "Duara! My dear!Years have passed! Simply years!"
Dark eyes sparkled up into his, and the Old Mage'seffusive greetings were temporarily stilled by a deep kiss. Slim hands wentaround his neck, stroked his tangle of white hair, and moved downward, in atight, passionate embrace.
After Elminster's glad greetings and the long kiss,Storm heard a low, purring voice replying enthusiastically. On the faces ofthe men around she saw astonishment, then anger, resignation, or disgust, andfinally resigned disinterest. Storm also noticed Duara's fingers at the mage'sbelt, moving nimbly.
Other eyes had seen it, too-particularly those of atall, hook-nosed man in a dark green velvet doublet with slashed and puffedsleeves. He'd been watching the Old Mage's affectionate greeting closely, hisexpression hidden by the smoke from his long, slim clay pipe.
When Elminster finally bid the smiling beauty a noisy adieu,the hook-nosed wizard let his pipe float by itself as he strode forward,gesturing wordlessly. In response, Elminster's pouch levitated upward andopened in midair. Silence fell among the mages standing near. It was obvious bytheir expressions that the green-clad wizard's spellwork was a serious breachof etiquette.
Storm half drew her sword, but Elminster's bony handstayed her firmly.
In merry tones, he asked, "Lost thy magic,colleague? Want to borrow a cup of this or that?"
The wizard in green looked narrowly at him and at thelone item the pouch held: a twig. "Where is it, old man?"
"The powerful magic ye seek? Why, in here,"replied Elminster, tapping his own head with one finger. Unsettled, Stormpeered at him; his voice seemed thicker than usual, but his eyes were as brightas ever. "But ye can't get it with a simple snatching spell cast in amoment, ye know. Years of study, it took me, to master even-"
The green wizard gestured curtly. The twig flew towardhis open, waiting hand. Before it got there, Elminster snapped his fingers andwiggled his eyebrows. As a result, the twig shot upward, curved in a smootharc, and darted back toward the Old Mage.
The wizard in green frowned and gestured again. Thetwig slowed abruptly, but continued to drift toward the smiling face ofElminster. The wizard's hands moved again, almost frantically, but the twig'sflight-and Elminster's gentle smile-held steady as the wood settled into theOld Mage's hand.
Elminster bowed to the white-faced, shaking wizard.
Pleasantly, the Old Mage said, "But if it's thismagical staff ye want-" the twig instantly became a grand-looking,ten-foot-long, smooth black staff with brass ends wrought in coiling-snakedesigns-"by all means have it."