Ed Greenwood - The Herald

Its attention was bent on the mercenaries, and it struggled to meet them, hissing again in agonized rage.

Spears and glaives and shouts were all raised-and then it was among them, snarling a challenge, biting with its great jaws, and rolling to crush men by the score.

And after it, through the air, came a creature that made more than one Moonstar moan in dismay.

A floating sphere the size of a small wagon, from which projected a moving, serpentine forest of eyestalks. It was emitting horrible, hissing laughter.

“Free!” it exulted, fairly dancing in the air. “Free again at last! Blast me with all the spells you want, elves, if that’s the result! Hahahahaha!”

“A beholder ?” one Moonstar gasped. “Ye gods, what next?”

The eye tyrant glided to where it could hang above the lunging, rolling, biting dragon, and from that vantage point above the fray sent its eyebeams lancing down into the mercenaries. Who started to shriek in terror, and tried to flee-right through the gathered ranks of their fellows.

Turmoil spread.

Dove allowed herself one mirthless smile at that, before she turned to look in other directions. She half expected another menace to come creeping up while she and the Moonstars watched these two monsters who shouldn’t be anywhere near here maraud through the foe.

The elf knights defending in the other direction were still holding, a fresh fire billowed up from somewhere beyond buildings to her right, and just a little way to the left of them she could see … the heads of running elves! The rest of the fleeing Tel’Quess were hidden from her, down in a dell.

Dove trotted to the nearest tree and scaled it until she was high enough to see who was running, and why.

She beheld ancient, wizened elves, elders, shooing and shepherding elf children in some haste from her right to her left. Beyond them, farther off but getting closer fast, were two shades with drawn swords in their hands. They were rushing at the elves, with clearly fell intent.

Dove flung herself from the tree and landed sprinting, heading for the dell as fast as she could. If anything could be salvaged from this dark day, it must be those children, the future of the Tel’Quess of this part of Faerûn …

“To me!” she shouted to the Moonstars, but didn’t slow for a moment to see if they’d heeded or were following.

Down the long years, her way had not been that of the spell. Daughter of Mystra or not, the sword and a skilled tongue and the making and keeping of friendships had always served her better. Yet she’d studied her share of dusty tomes, even in the dim chambers of Candlekeep a time or two, and remembered some things.

Badly, for the most part, and never really thinking she’d need them. But now, as she sprinted over tree roots and through wet leaves and over slippery moss, Dove Falconhand gasped out what snatches she could remember of an ancient spell she’d read in one of Candlekeep’s inner rooms, more than a few centuries ago.

It was a last resort magic of the elves, to be used when doom was imminent.

A spell that would summon baelnorn.

Lord and Lady Delcastle faced each other across the pleasant farmhouse kitchen of Storm Silverhand, their faces grim.

“Lady mine,” Arclath said gravely, “please misunderstand me not. I don’t wish to dissuade you in what you attempt, nor mar what we have between us or your needed concentration. Yet I must ask: Are you ready for this? Do you know what you are doing?”

Amarune sighed gustily, neither in anger nor resignation, but to steady and calm herself, and told her beloved, “Yes. Yes, I think I do.”

She gave him a little grin, then pointed at a particular flagstone in front of her and added sharply, “Now go and stand just there and belt up while I read the scroll through once more, and then read it aloud. We have to be touching, but mind, Lord Delcastle, this is no time for tickling me or otherwise amusing yourself.”

“I understand that,” Arclath told her dryly, moving to the indicated spot. “Yet I do have another question: How are you going to keep the scroll from rolling itself up?”

“I-” Rune ran out of answers, and stared at him helplessly.

“And we’re going to rescue besieged Myth Drannor,” Arclath told the ceiling. Then met her eyes, grinned, and suggested, “Why not have me stand on two corners of the scroll, unroll it, then you stand on the other two corners? Then you can look down between us, and read.”

His lady nodded slowly. “That’ll work,” she said-and just managed not to sound surprised.

And so it was that Arclath Delcastle was grinning fondly at his ladylove when Storm’s kitchen went away in sudden blue mists, and they fell out of that eerie sapphire place into … a forest where the dead and the flies were everywhere, and an army was tightening in a ring around the tall spires of a few buildings, and monsters of nightmare and legend were harrying that army …

And a spired stone city floated in the sky, vast and dark and blotting out the sunlight as it came scudding menacingly overhead.

Dove shook her head. It was no use. She’d remembered the entire spell, she was sure-but nothing had happened. Whatever baelnorn still guarded their crypts somewhere beneath her would remain there. She’d have to do this alone.

As usual.

And her luck was turning for the worse. Also as usual.

She’d cast a look back to see if any of the Moonstars were following her-they weren’t, only gawping in bewilderment at her sudden sprint across the landscape-and had seen that someone else was following her.

The big beholder who’d been hovering above the wounded black dragon happily slaying Shadovar mercenaries was drifting in her direction, eyestalks writhing menacingly.

And though she couldn’t place from where, the creature seemed somehow familiar.

“Stars and spells, Mother!” Dove cursed aloud, “why now? How is it that monsters are here-here in the farruking mythal-guarded heart of Myth Drannor-to settle old scores, right in the midst of the elves’ latest last stand?”

And with those words, running as hard as ever, she plunged over the edge.

Down into the dell, a green and pleasant place. There were the elves, the youngest sobbing in fear, and-

There they were, the pursuers. Wearing broad and arrogant grins as they came, striding unhurriedly, enjoying this. Two tall and muscular shades, twins-and Tanthuls , by the looks of them!

“Well, now,” she panted aloud. “Princes of Shade! I’m honored. I think.”

She’d be able to get between the two and the fleeing elves; that was what mattered. As she hastened to do that, Dove cast a swift look back over her shoulder, and saw what she’d expected to see.

The beholder didn’t have to run over uneven ground or down steep slopes, and had glided serenely closer. The baleful gaze of its central eye was fixed on her.

“Hunh,” she gasped at it. “Wait your turn.”

And then she had no more breath to speak, because damned if these two running princes of Shade hadn’t sped up, to try to run past before she could reach them.

Dove sprinted beyond breathlessness, putting on a burst of speed that left her staggering as they came rushing up, swinging their swords.

She ducked, feinted with her hips, saw the foremost shade’s gaze follow her movement, swung her sword aloft to distract him further-and threw a perfect cross-body block across his midriff.

They slammed together like two charging bulls, Dove’s hip sinking deep into a yielding gut-and the prince went helplessly cartwheeling.

Whereupon the other shade gleefully ran her through.