And the staff flew gently across empty air to theastonished man's hands.
"But. . your staff?" Storm asked inwonder as she watched the sweating, dumbfounded wizard in green catch the staffnot four paces away. "How will you replace it?"
"Cut myself another one," the Old Magereplied serenely. "They grow on trees."
Clutching the staff and eyeing Elminster anxiously,the velvet-clad wizard reclaimed his pipe, muttered something, andrapidly gestured. Abruptly, he was gone, staff and all, as though he had neverbeen there at all.
Elminster shook his head disapprovingly.
"Bad manners," he said severely. "Very.Teleporting at the magefair! It just wasn't done in my day, let me tellye-"
"When was that, old man? Before the founding ofWaterdeep, I'll warrant," sneered a darkly handsome young man who stoodnearby.
Storm turned in her saddle.
The speaker was richly dressed in fur-trimmed silks.His black-browed, pinched face was always sneering, it seemed. Storm recognizedhim as one of the wizards who'd been speaking with Duara when Elminsterarrived.
His voice and manner radiated cold, scornful power ashe curled back his lip a little farther and said, "By the way, graybeard,you may call me 'Master.'"
Gripping his own staff-one made of shining red metal,twelve feet long and adorned with ornaments of gold-the dark-browed magereached for the reins of the Old Mage's riderless horse.
Storm kicked out at his hand from her saddle. The toeof her boot stung his fingers and smashed them away from Elminster's mount. Thehandsome mage turned on her angrily-to find a gleaming sword tip inches fromhis nose.
"Heh, heh," chuckled Elminster in thick,rich tones. "Not learned to leave the ladies alone yet, YoungMaster?"
The mage flushed red to the roots of his hair andwhirled away from Storm's blade to face the old man again.
"Why, no, grandsire," he said sarcastically."Though it's obvious you've been without one for many a year!"
The loud insult brought a few snickers from theyounger mages standing near, mingled with gasps and whistles of shockedamazement from older wizards who evidently knew Elminster. The murmuringintensified as some mages shoved closer to watch the coming confrontation,while others suddenly recalled pressing business elsewhere and slipped away toa safe distance.
Elminster yawned.
"Put away thy blade," he said softly toStorm. Then he said more loudly and almost merrily, "It appears boastfulstriplings still come to magefairs for no greater purpose than to insult theirbetters."
The Old Mage sighed theatrically and went on, "Isuppose, cockerel, that now ye've picked a quarrel and will challenge me, eh?Nay, nay, that's not fair. After all, I've the wisdom of ages with which tomake the right choices, whereas ye have only the hot vigor of youth … um,pretty phrase, that… so I'll even thy odds a trifle: I'll challenge thee!Fireball-throwing, hey? What say ye?"
A cheer arose.
The red-faced mage waited for it to die, then saidscornfully, "A sport for children and, I suppose, old lack-wits."
Elminster smiled, very like a cat gloating over corneredprey, and said, "Perhaps. On the other hand, perhaps ye are frightened oflosing?"
The mage's face grew redder still. He cast a lookaround at the interested, watching faces, and snapped, "I accept."Then he struck an ostentatious pose and vanished.
An instant later, amid a puff of scarlet smoke, hereappeared on the edge of the gorge and made an insulting gesture at the OldMage from afar. Elminster chuckled, waved a lazy hand in reply, and climbedclumsily back up onto his long-suffering horse. Storm saw him salute Duara witha wink. Then Duara's eyes met her own, and Storm could read the silent plea inthem as clearly as if the young sorceress had shouted it in her ear: Lookafter him, lady-please.
By the time they had ridden up out of the valley tothe meadows beyond, many wizards had gathered to watch. Haughty young sorcerershad been hurling fire about all day, but the expectant silence hanging over thescene seemed to indicate that the mage with the red staff had won a reputationat the fair, or many elders remembered Elminster, or perhaps even both.
With more haste than grace, Elminster fell from his saddle.He hit the ground at a stumbling run, staggered to a halt, and dusted himselfoff.
Then he saw his waiting opponent and, with obviouspleasant surprise, said, "Well… lead off, boy!"
"One side, old man," said the young magedarkly, waving his staff. "Or have you no fear of dying in a ball offlame?"
Elminster stroked his beard.
"Yes, yes," he said eagerly, his mindseemingly far away. "Well do I remember! Oho, those were the days … greatbursts of fire in the sky…."
The young mage pushed past him.
"Now, how did that one go, eh? Oh, my, yes, Ithink I recall…." Elminster burbled on, voice thick and eyes far away.
Contemptuously the young mage set his staff in thecrook of his arm, muttered his incantation in low tones so the Old Mage couldnot hear, and moved his hands in the deftly gliding gestures of the spell. Aninstant later, above the grassy meadow, fire grew from nothingness into a greatred-violet sphere. It seethed and roiled, rolled over once, and burst in orangeruin over the meadow, raining down small teardrops of flame onto the grass.Heat smote the watchers' faces, and the ground rocked briefly.
As the roaring died away, the quavering voice of theOld Mage could still be heard, murmuring about the triumphs of yesteryear.
He broke off his chatter for a moment to say mildly,"Dear me, that's a gentle one. Can't ye do better than that?"
The young mage sneered, "I suppose you can?"
Elminster nodded calmly and replied, "Oh, yes."
"Would it be possible to see thee perform thisawesome feat?" the mage inquired with acidic courtliness, his voice amocking, over-pompous parody of Elminster's own thickened tones.
The Old Mage blinked.
"Young man," Elminster said disapprovingly,"the great mastery of magic lies in knowing when not to use the power, else allthese lands would long ago have become a smoking ruin."
The young mage sneered again and said, "So youwon't perform such a trifling spell for us, O mightiest of mages? Is that theway of it?"
"No, no," Elminster said with a sigh."We did agree, and ye have done thy little bit, so I-" he sighedagain-"shall do mine."
He gestured vaguely, then paused and harrumphed.
"Ah, now," the Old Mage said, "how doesthe rhyme go?"
There were a few titters from the watching crowd as hescratched his beard and looked around with a puzzled air. The young magesneered at his back, and turned to favor Storm with the same disdain. The bard,who stood close by, hand on the hilt of her sword, met his gaze with a wintrylook of her own.
Elminster suddenly drew himself up and shouted:
"By tongue of bat and sulfur's reek,
"And mystic words I now do speak,
"There, where I wish to play my game,
"Let empty air burst into flame!"
In answer, the very air seemed to shatter with anear-splitting shriek. A gigantic ball of flame towered over the meadow, itsheat blistering the watchers' faces.
It was like the sun had fallen.
As mages cried out and shaded their eyes, the fireballrolled away from the awed crowd for a trembling instant, then burst in ablinding white flash, hurling out its mighty energies in a long jet of flamethat roared away to the horizon. The ground shook and seemed to leap upward,throwing all but the Old Mage to their knees.
When the shaking had died away, Storm found herselflying beside the horses on the turf. By the time she had struggled to her feetand shaken her head clear, the roiling smoke had died away and everyone couldsee what Elminster's magic had wrought in the meadow. Or rather, what had beenthe meadow. Where a broad expanse of flame-scorched grass had stretched amoment before, a smoking crater yawned, large and deep and very impressive.