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Blades from the very beginning. Very useful you've been, too, finding all sorts of malcontents and hidden magic and
gold. Yes, the magelords thank you in particular for the gold . . . one can never have enough, you know." He smiled as
Tarthe's hurled dagger spun through him to clash and clatter against the far wall of the chamber.
An instant later, flames roared through the room. The blaz-ing body of Tarthe Maermir, leader of the Brave
Blades, was flung into the far wall, and Elmara heard the warrior's neck snap. The magelord looked down at
the burning corpse and sneered. "You didn't think I'd be foolish enough to reveal where my true self stood?
You did? Ah, well..."
Elmara's eyes narrowed, and she spoke a single word. The sound of a body heavily striking a wall came
to her ears
and the magelord's image vanished.
A moment later, the man appeared nearby, slumped against the wall. He gazed coldly up at Elmara, who
was stammering out a more powerful incantation, and said, "My thanks for de-stroying Ondil. I shall enjoy
augmenting my magic with his. I am in your debt, mageling ... and so it is my duty and pleasure to rid us of
your annoying attacks, once and for all!" A ring on his finger winked once, and the world exploded in flames.
Hands still moving in the feeble, useless gestures of a broken spell, Elmara found herself hurled out the
shattered window where the two thieves had gone, a coil of flames crackling and searing around her. She
roared in pain, the flames clawing at her, and twisted about as she fell so as to appear helpless for as long as
possible before she called on the powers of her still-work-ing flight spell. The book strapped to her stomach
seemed to ward off the flames, but her ears were full of the sizzle of her burning hair.
Below lay the shattered bodies of the two thieves, and a large blackened area where lumps still gave off
smoke
all Briost had left of the youngest Blade and the horses he'd guarded. Scant feet above them, Elmara bent her
will and darted away, soaring just above the ground, smoke trailing from her blackened clothes. She wept as she flew,
but not from the growing pain of her burns.
*****
The small open boat held a man and a woman. The old, grizzled man in the stern poled it steadily on
through thick sunset mists.
He eyed the young, hawk-nosed woman who stood near the bow, and asked quietly, "Be going to the
temple, young lady?"
Elmara nodded. Motes of light sparkled and swam continu-ously about the large bundle she held with both
hands against her chest, veiling its true nature. The old man eyed it anyway, and then looked away and spat
thoughtfully into the water.
"Have a care, lass," he said, resting his pole so the boat drifted. "Not many goes, but fewer comes back
to the dock next morn. Some we never find at all, some we find only as heaps o' ashes or twisted bones, and
others blind or just babbling at noth-ing, dawn 'til dusk."
The young, hawk-nosed maid turned and looked at him, face expressionless, for a long time. Then she
lifted her shoulders, let them fall in a shrug, and said, "This is a thing I must do. I am bidden." She looked
ahead into the mists and added quietly, "As are we all, too often, it seems."
The old man shrugged in his turn as the island of Mystra's Dance loomed up out of the scudding mists
before them, a dark and silent bulk above the water.
They regarded it, growing larger as they approached. The old man turned the boat slightly. A few breaths
later, his craft scraped gently along an old stone dock, and he said, "Mystra's Dance, young lady. Her altar
stands atop the hill that's hidden, beyond the one above us. I'll return as we agreed. May Mystra smile upon
ye."
Elmara bowed to him and stepped up onto the dock, leaving four gold regals in the old man's hand as she
passed. The ferry man steadied his boat in silence, watching the young lady's de-termined stride as she
climbed the hill. The full glory of the set-ting sun was past now, and purple dusk was coming down swiftly
over the clear sky of Faerun.
Only when Elmara had disappeared over the crest of the bare summit did the boatman move. He turned
away and leaned on his pole strongly. The boat pulled away from the dock, and the old, weathered face of its
owner split in a sudden grin.
The grin widened horribly as the face above it slid down like rotten porridge. Fangs grew down to pierce
the sliding flesh. The flesh dripped off a too-sharp chin and fell away to slop and spat-ter in the bottom of the
boat, and the scaly, grinning face whis-pered, "Done, master." Garadic knew Ilhundyl was watching.
*****
Elmara stopped in front of the altar: a plain, dark block of stone standing alone atop the hill. The wind
sighed past her. She offered a heartfelt prayer to Mystra, and the wind seemed to die away for a breath or
two. When she was done, she unwrapped Ondil's Book of Spells, its binding still bright around it, and placed
it reverently on the cold stone.
"Holy Lady of All Mysteries, please accept my gift," Elmara mumbled, uncertain as to what she should
say. She stood watch-ing and waiting, prepared to stand vigil the night through if need be.
A bare moment later, a chill ran down her spine. Two ghostly hands, long-fingered and feminine, were
rising up out of the stone. They grasped the tome and began to descend again. Sud-den, blinding radiance
burst from the book, and there was a high, clear singing sound.
Elmara winced and shaded her eyes. When she could see again, the hands and the book were gone. The
breezes blew across the bare stone, just as it had been when she found it.
The young priestess stood before the altar for a long time, feeling strangely empty, and weary
and yet at
peace. There would be time to choose a path ahead on the morrow... for now, she was content just to stand. And
remember.
The folk of Heldon and the outlaws in the ravine outside the Castle, the Velvet Hands lying in the alley, the
Brave Blades ... so many dead. Gone to meet the gods, leaving her alone again....
Lost in reverie, Elmara only gradually became aware of a brightening glow from down the hill, behind the
altar.
She stepped forward. The glow was coming from a slim fe-male figure that stood twice as tall as she. The
apparition was gowned and regal and stood in the air well clear of the ground. Her eyes were dark pools, and
a smile fell across her face as she raised her hand and beckoned. Then she turned and began to walk away,
striding on empty air down the hill. After a moment, Elmara followed through the tugging breeze, down the
wind-blown slope, then around another hill, and on. They came out onto a pebble beach on the far side of the
isle from the dock, but the glowing figure ahead walked on, straight into
no, above! the waves, striding out
to sea.
Elmara slowed, eyeing the water's edge. Gray waves rolled endlessly up onto the pebbles, and then
sucked them back. The water ahead was glowing where Mystra had walked above it.
Unbroken by the rolling waves, a shining path lay across the wa-ters ahead of her. The goddess was
growing distant now, still striding across the waves.
Gingerly, Elmara walked into the surf, and found her boots still dry. A fine mist covered her, but her feet
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