Troy Denning: The Sorcerer

When no reply came, she breathed a sigh of relief, then reported their progress to Lord Ramealaerub. He congratulated her on her success, informing her that the moon elves protecting the other flank were advancing as well, then reminded her that the main body of the army would start its advance in five minutes and urged her to keep moving. Takari bit back a sour reply and gave the order to ascend the ridge in two waves, each covering the other as it advanced.

Grimble Oakorn-her partner in this tactic-emerged from behind a boulder thirty paces to her right and raced another thirty paces ahead before ducking back into cover. Takari quickly left her own hiding pace, and weaving erratically to make herself a difficult target, ran sixty paces before finally kneeling behind the big trunk of a dead smokethorn. It was hard work, especially with the hot Anauroch sun beating down on the heavy helm she wore. Sweat began to trickle over her brow.

There was a three-second pause before Grimble and the others in the first wave emerged from new hiding places. Only fools left cover in the same place they entered it, and wood elf scouts were not fools. They raced sixty paces uphill and dropped back into cover. Takari and the second wave crawled to new starting points and rushed up the slope.

The depredations of the strange war had reduced this desert wonderland to a dismal ghost of its former self, leaving hundreds of smokethorns strewn across the hillside, their trunks snapped off at the base or their root-fan ripped whole from the rocky ground. The trees that remained standing were naked and bare, their dagger-shaped leaves scattered around their bases like withered gray skirts. Even the tough thorn-brambles, which seemed to flourish best in ground that was more rock than dirt and blossomed only in the worst of droughts, were withered and drooping, their tiny leaves brittle and brown.

The sight filled Takari with a cold anger, and not only because it pained her to see the Shaeradim defiled by war. The two decades she had spent patrolling the area with Galaeron Nihmedu had been the happiest of her life-even if he had spent the entire time refusing to acknowledge their spirit-bond-and the sight of the land withering away reminded her that her memories were also fading, that eventually she would be left only with the dry fact of the matter: that she had been a Tomb Guard on the Desert Border South and she had been in love with her princep. But the love itself-the simple joy of being always near him, the flutter that had stirred in her heart with his every smile-that would be gone, carried off by war and as lost to her as Galaeron himself.

Takari lost count of the times she and Grimble took turns rushing up the slope, but her breath began to come in ragged gasps, and her hair grew so sweaty it made squishing sounds under the helm. She kneeled behind a broken boulder and wiped her eyes on the shoulder of her cloak, then watched the slope above as Grimble raced ahead and kneeled behind a fallen smokethorn. His battle cloak turned the same pearly gray as the bark, a pair of streaks across his shoulders matching a band of furrows in the trunk. Half wishing she had picked a slower partner, Takari scrambled across the broken ground on all fours, emerged from behind a square boulder, and began her dash.

Takari had taken no more than three steps before her eye was drawn back to Grimble's hiding place. His cloak had turned dark and dappled, and so had his hair, ears, and boot soles-all she could see from behind. As she drew nearer, she could see that both he and his cloak seemed oddly rigid and were covered with tiny flecks of black and red.

Takari dropped behind a knee-high outcropping ten paces below Grimble, then used her helm to call the company to a halt. Without looking out from behind her cover, she pictured Grimble's handsome face.

"Grimble?" she whispered.

There was no reply.

Takari's pulse began to pound in her ears-just when she really needed to hear. She closed her eyes, set her weapons aside, and took a few calming breaths. When the noise finally died away, she picked up a good-sized rock, and rising from behind her outcropping, threw it at Grimble's back.

It struck with a stony clink.

Takari dropped back into her hiding place and activated her helm's sending magic.

"Reconnaissance company, watch yourselves. We're under attack-something turned Grimble into a statue."

Wyeka, too, Wagg whispered. Didn't see what happened.

"Me either," Takari answered. "Anybody?"

No one reported anything. Takari was not all that surprised. The phaerimm cast their spells entirely with their thoughts- no gestures or words required-and the eye-magic of their beholder servants was just as silent

"We need to figure out where this is coming from," Takari said. She lifted her head just high enough to peer over the outcropping. "I'm just below Grimble, and I can see half a dozen good places to hide, starting with a clump of daggerhedge off to the left and ending with a three-boulder pile on the right"

I'm even with Wyeka, Wagg said through her helm. I can't see the daggerhedge on the left, only the roots of the overturned smokethorn.

"Then it's somewhere between the roots and the boulder pile," Takari said. "Everyone who can't see that keep advancing and circle a-"

Wait. An image of Alaya Thistledew's rosy-nosed face came to Takari's mind along with her voice. Something's hissing. Maybe it's nothing, but I'll take-

Her image vanished from Takari's mind.

"Alaya?"

Turned to rock, said Alaya's partner, Rosl Harp.

Though the two were lovers, Rosl didn't sound overly frantic. With a hundred battle wizards and three circles of high mages in the elven army, there were worse things that could happen to a warrior than being turned to stone.

It got her when she looked around the boulder, he continued. She couldn't have seen any of the cover you were talking about.

It's moving around, then, Wagg said.

You mean walking around, Rosl said, his voice coming to Takari's mind as a barely audible whisper.

"You're sure?" Takari asked. "Phaerimm float. Beholders, too."

/ hear it, Rosl said. Moving away.

"A lot of feet?" Takari asked. She was beginning to think she knew what they were facing. "Maybe a tall dragging?"

Sounds like it, Rosl said. / can't see anything, though.

Takari rolled her eyes and replied, "You might have to risk a look, Rosl."

/ am looking, Rosl spat / can't see anything but rocks and…

"It's invisible!" Takari and Rosl reached this conclusion at the same time, then Takari asked, "You're sure you're behind it?"

I'm sure, Rosl said. What do you think I am, a human? Be ready to cover, everyone. I'll do a cast-and-run.

Rosl's voice vanished as he prepared his spell. Takari looked to her right. Fifty paces away, Wagg was turning in Rosl's direction, his bow slung across his back so his hands would be free to use his own magic. Though Takari could see none of the other scouts, she knew that everyone within two hundred paces of Rosl's position would be doing the same.

She was just beginning to wonder what was taking so long when a spark of silver cracked down the slope from somewhere above and flashed out of existence. An instant later, a low boom rumbled across the ridge.

"Rosl?" Takari asked.

He's down, Jysela Whitebark, appearing in Takari's mind, said. Her copper-colored eyes were opened wide in shock and horror. Lightning bolt, I think. It wasn't that powerful. He's still smoking, and alive enough to be thrashing around.

"Did you see where it came from?" Takari asked.

Jysela shook her head. Though she was undoubtedly the closest elf to Rosl, she did not volunteer-and Takari did not suggest-going to his aid. Their unseen attacker was waiting for just that, and Jysela would only have ended up lying on the ground beside him.