Forgotten Realms - Realms of Magic Part 2

"A ranger," the bladesinger asked, "as Anders Beltgar-den once was?"

The old mage blew a long and helpless sigh.

"Have you so given up the precepts of your former trade in exchange for the often ill-chosen allure of magical mysteries?"

"Oh, and a fine ranger you would have been," Anders replied dryly.

Josidiah shrugged. "My chosen profession is not so different," he reasoned.

Anders silently agreed. Indeed, the man did see much of his own youthful and idealistic self in the eyes of Josidiah Starym. That was the curious thing about elves, he noted, that this one, who was twice Anders's present age, reminded him so much of himself when he had but a third his present years.

"When will you begin?" Josidiah asked.

"Begin?" scoffed Anders. "Why, I have been at work over the beast for nearly three weeks, and spent six months before that in preparing the scrolls and powders, the oils, the herbs. Not an easy process, this. And not inexpensive, I might add! Do you know what price a gnome places on the simplest of metal filings, pieces so fine that they might be safely added to the cat's food?"

Josidiah found that he really did not want to continue along this line of discussion. He did not want to know about the poisoning-and that was indeed what he considered it to be-of the magnificent panther. He looked back to the cat, looked deep into her intense eyes, intelligent so far beyond what he would normally expect.

"Fine day outside," the bladesinger muttered, not that he believed that Anders would take a moment away from his work to enjoy the weather. "Even my stubborn Uncle Taleisin, Lord Protector of House Starym, wears a face touched by sunshine."

Anders snorted. "Then he will be smiling this day when he lays low Coronal Eltargrim with a right hook?"

That caught Josidiah off his guard, and he took up Anders's infectious laughter. Indeed was Taleisin a stubborn and crusty elf, and if Josidiah returned to House Starym this day to learn that his uncle had punched the elf Coronal, he would not be surprised.

"It is a momentous decision that Eltargrim has made," Anders said suddenly, seriously. "And a brave one. By including the other goodly races, your Coronal has begun the turning of the great wheel of fate, a spin that will not easily be stopped."

"For good or for ill?"

"That is for a seer to know," Anders replied with a shrug. "But his choice was the right one, I am sure, though not without its risks." The old mage snorted again. "A pity," he said, "even were I a young man, I doubt I would see the outcome of Eltargrim's decision, given the way elves measure the pa.s.sage of time. How many centuries will pa.s.s before the Starym even decide if they will accept Eltargrim's decree?"

That brought another chuckle from Josidiah, but not a long-lived one. Anders had spoken of risks, and certainly there were many. Several prominent families, and not just the Starym, were outraged by the immigration of peoples that many haughty elves considered to be of inferior races. There were even a few mixed marriages, elf and human, within Cormanthor, but any offspring of such unions were surely ostracized.

"My people will come to accept Eltargrim's wise council," the elf said at length, determinedly.

"I pray you are right," said Anders, "for surely Cormanthor will face greater perils than the squabbling of stubborn elves."

Josidiah looked at him curiously.

"Humans and halflings, gnomes and, most importantly, dwarves, walking among the elves, living in Cormanthor,"

Anders muttered. "Why, I would guess that the goblinkin savor the thought of such an occurrence, that all their hated enemies be mixed together into one delicious stew!"

"Together we are many times more powerful," the bladesinger argued. "Human wizards oft exceed even our own.

Dwarves forge mighty weapons, and gnomes create wondrous and useful items, and halflings, yes, even halflings, are cunning allies, and dangerous adversaries."

"I do not disagree with you," Anders said, waving his tanned and leathery right hand, three-fingered from a goblin bite, in the air to calm the elf. "And as I have said, Eltargrim chose correctly. But pray you that the internal disputes are settled, else the troubles of Cormanthor will come tenfold from without."

Josidiah calmed and nodded; he really couldn't disagree with old Anders's reasoning, and had, in fact, harbored those same fears for many days. With all the goodly races coming together under one roof, the chaotic goblinkin would have cause to band together in numbers greater than ever before. If the varied folk of Cormanthor stood together, gaining strength in their diversity, those goblinkin, whatever their numbers, would surely be pushed away.

But if the folk of Cormanthor could not see their way to such a day of unity ...

Josidiah let the thought hang outside consciousness, put it aside for another day, a day of rain and fog, perhaps.

He looked back to the panther and sighed even more sadly, feeling helpless indeed. "Treat the cat well, Anders Beltgarden," he said, and he knew that the old man, once a ranger, would indeed do so.

Josidiah left then, making his way more slowly as he returned to the elven city. He saw Felicity again on the balcony, wearing a slight silken shift and a mischievous, inviting smile, but he pa.s.sed her by with a wave. The bladesinger suddenly did not feel so much in the mood for play.

Many times in the next few weeks, Josidiah returned to Anders's tower and sat quietly before the cage, silentlycommuning with the panther while the mage went about his work.

"She will be yours when I am done," Anders announced unexpectedly, one day when spring had turned to summer.

Josidiah stared blankly at the old man.

"The cat, I mean," said Anders. "Whiskers will be yours when my work is done."

Josidiah's blue eyes opened wide in horror, though Anders interpreted the look as one of supreme elation.

"She'll do me little use," explained the mage. "I rarely venture out of doors these days, and in truth, have little faith that I will live much more than a few winters longer. Who better to have my most prized creation, I say, than Josidiah Starym, my friend and he who should have been a ranger?"

"I shall not accept," Josidiah said abruptly, sternly.

Anders's eyes widened in surprise.

"I would be forever reminded of what the cat once was," said the elf. "and what she should be. Whenever I called the slave body to my side, whenever this magnificent creature sat on her haunches, awaiting my command to bring life to her limbs, I would feel that I had overstepped my bounds as a mortal, that I had played as a G.o.d with one undeserving my foolish intervention."

"It's just an animal!" Anders protested.

Josidiah was glad to see that he had gotten through to the old mage, a man the elf knew to be too sensitive for this present undertaking.

"No," said the elf, turning to stare deeply into the panther's knowing eyes. "Not this one." He fell silent, then, and Anders, with a huff of protest, went back to his work, leaving the elf to sit and stare, to silently share his thoughts with the panther.

It was for Josidiah Starym a night of absolute torment, for Anders would complete his work before the moon had set and the great panther would be slain for the sake of a magical item, a mere magical tool. The bladesinger left Cormanthor, heedless of the warnings that had been posted concerning venturing out of the city at night: gob-linkin, and enemies even greater, were rumored to be stalking the forest.

Josidiah hardly cared, hardly gave any thoughts to his personal safety. His fate was not in the balance, so it seemed, not like that of the panther.

He thought of going to see Anders, to try one last time to talk the old human out of his designs, but the bladesinger dismissed that notion. He didn't understand humans, he realized, and had indeed lost a bit of faith in the race (and, subsequently, in Eltargrim's decision) because of what he perceived as Anders's failure. The mage, once a ranger and more attuned to the elven ideals than so very many of his rough-edged race, should have known better, should not have sacrificed such a wondrous and intelligent animal as that particular panther, for the sake of magic.

Josidiah moved through the forest, then out of the canopy and under a million stars, shining despite the westering full moon. He reached a treeless hillock. He effortlessly climbed the steep slope through the carpet-thick gra.s.s and came to the top of the hill, a private and special place he often used for contemplation.

Then he simply stood and stared upward at the stars, letting his thoughts fly to the greater mysteries, the unknown and never-known, the heavens themselves. He felt mortal suddenly, as though his last remaining centuries were but a pa.s.sing sigh in the eternal life of the universe.

A sigh that was so much longer, so it seemed, than the remaining life of the panther, if the cat was even still alive.

A subtle rustle at the base of the hillock alerted the elf, brought him from his contemplations. He went into a crouch immediately and stared down at the spot, letting his vision slip into the infrared spectrum.

Heat sources moved about the trees, all along the base of the hill. Josidiah knew them, and thus was not surprised when the forest erupted suddenly and a host of orcs came screaming out of the underbrush, waving weapons, charging the hill and the lone elf, this apparently easy kill.

The lead ores were right before the crest of the hillock, close enough for Josidiah to see the glistening lines of drool about their tusky faces, when the elf released his fireball. The gouts of flame engulfed that entire side of the hill, shriveling ores. It was a desperate spell, one Josidiah hated casting in the midst of gra.s.slands, but few options presented themselves. Even as those ores on the side of the hill fell away into the flames, charred and dying, they were replaced by a second group, charging wildly, and then came a third, from the back side of the hill.

Out came the elf s twin swords, snapping up to the ready. "Cleansing flames!" the elf cried, commanding the powers within his swords. Greenish fires licked at the metal, blurred the distinct lines of the razor-sharp blades.

The closest two ores, those two who had been right before the elf and had thus escaped the fury of the fireball, skidded in surprise at the sudden appearance of the flaming blades and, for just an instant, let their guards drop.

Too long; Josidiah's left sword slashed across the throat of one, while his right plunged deep into the chest of the second.

The elf spun about, deflecting wide a hurled spear, dodging a second, then picking off a third with a furious down-cut. He dived into a roll and came up charging fast for the back side of the hill, meeting the rush of three monsters, cutting at them wildly before they could get their defenses coordinated.

One fell away, mortally wounded; another lost half of its arm to the searing sweep of the elf s deadly blade. But almost immediately Josidiah was pressed from all sides, ores stabbing in at him with long spears or rushing forward suddenly to slash with their short, cruel swords.

He could not match weapons with this many, so he moved his flaming blades in purely defensive motions, beginning the chant to let loose another spell.He took a spear thrust on the side and nearly lost his concentration and his spell. His finely meshed elven chain armor deflected the blow, however, and the elf finished with a twirl, tapping the hilts of his swords together, crying out a word to release the spell. His swords went back up straight, his thumbs came out to touch together, and a burst of flame fanned out from the elfin a half-circle arc.

Without even stopping to witness the effects of his spell, Josidiah spun about, swords slashing across and behind. Ahead charged the bladesinger, a sudden rush of overwhelming fury that broke apart the orcish line and gave Josidiah several openings in the defensive posture of his enemies.

A surge of adrenalin kept the bladesinger moving, dancing and cutting down ores with a fury. He thought of the panther again, and her undeserved fate, and focused his blame for that act upon these very ores.

Another fell dead, another atop that one, and many went scrambling down the hill, wanting no part of this mighty warrior.

Soon Josidiah stood quiet, at the ready, a handful of ores about him, staying out of his reach. But there was something else, the elf sensed, something more evil, more powerful. Something calmed these ores, lending them confidence, though more than a score of their kin lay dead and another dozen wounded.

The elf sucked in his breath as the newest foes came out onto the open gra.s.s. Josidiah realized then his folly. He could defeat a score of ores, two-score, if he got his spells away first, but these three were not ores.

These were giants.

The cat was restless, pacing and growling; Anders wondered if she knew what was to come, knew that this was her last night as a mortal creature. The thought that she might indeed understand shook the old mage profoundly, made all of Josidiah's arguments against this magical transformation echo again in his mind.

The panther roared, and threw herself against the cage door, bouncing back and pacing, growling.

"What are you about?" the old mage asked, but the cat only roared again, angrily, desperately. Anders looked around; what did the cat know? What was going on?

The panther leapt again for the cage door, slamming hard and bouncing away. Anders shook his head, thoroughly confused, for he had never seen the panther like this before-not at all.

"To the Nine h.e.l.ls with you, elf," the wizard grumbled, wishing he had not revealed Whiskers to Josidiah until the transformation had been completed. He took a deep breath, yelled at the cat to calm down, and drew out a slender wand.

"It will not hurt," Anders promised apologetically. He spoke a word of command, and a greenish ray shot forth from the wand, striking the panther squarely. The cat stopped her pacing, stopped everything, just stood perfectly still, immobilized by the magic of the wand.

Anders took up the figurine and the specially prepared knife, and opened the cage door. He had known from the very start that this was not going to be easy.

He was at the cat's side, the figurine in hand, the knife moving slowly for the creature's throat.

Anders hesitated. "Am I presuming to play the role of a G.o.d?" he asked aloud. He looked into those marvelous, intelligent eyes; he thought of Josidiah, who was indeed much like a ranger, much like Anders had been before devoting his life to ways magical.

Then he looked to the knife, the knife that his hand, his ranger hand, was about to plunge into the neck of this most magnificent creature.

"Oh, d.a.m.n you, elf!" the mage cried out, and threw the knife across the cage. He began a spell then, one that came to his lips without conscious thought. He hadn't used this incantation in months, and how he recalled it then, Anders would never know. He cast it forth, powerfully, and all the cabinet doors in his shop, and the door to the hallway, and all the doors in the lower section of the tower, sprang open and wide.

The mage moved to the side of the cage and slumped to a sitting position. Already the great cat was stirring- even the powerful magic of his wand could not hold such a creature as this for long. Anders clutched that wand now, wondering if he might need it again, for his own defense.

The cat shook her head vigorously and took an ambling step, the sensation at last returning to her limbs. She gave Anders a sidelong glance.

The old mage put the wand away. "I played G.o.d with you, Whiskers," he said softly. "Now it is your turn."

But the panther was preoccupied and hardly gave the wizard a thought as she launched herself from the cage, darting across the room and out into the hallway. She was long gone before Anders ever got to his tower door, and he stood there in the night, lamenting not at all his wasted weeks of effort, his wasted gold.

"Not wasted," Anders said sincerely, considering the lesson he had just learned. He managed a smile and turned to go back into his tower, then saw the burst of flame, a fireball, mushrooming into the air from the top of a hillock to the north, a place that Anders knew well.

"Josidiah," he gasped, a reasonable guess indeed. That hillock was Josidiah's favorite place, a place Anders would expect the elf to go on a night such as this.

Cursing that he had few spells prepared for a confrontation, the old man hustled back into his tower and gathered together a few items.

His only chance lay in speed, in darting about, never letting his enemies close on him. Even that tactic would only delay the inevitable.He rushed to the left but had to stop and spin, sensing the pursuit coming from close behind. Backing them off with a sweeping cross of his blades, Josidiah turned and darted left again and, predictably, had to pull up short. This time, though, the elf not only stopped but backtracked, flipping one sword in his hand and stabbing it out behind him, deep into the belly of the closest pursuing ore.

His grim satisfaction at the deft maneuver couldn't hold, however, for even as the dead creature slid from his blade, even as the other few ores scrambled away down the side of the hill, Josidiah noted the approach of the three giants, fifteen-foot-tall behemoths calmly swinging spiked clubs the size of the elf s entire body.

Josidiah considered the spells remaining to him, tried to find some way to turn them to his advantage.

Nothing; he would have to fight this battle with swords only. And with three giants moving toward him in coordinated fashion, he did not like the odds.

He skittered right, out of the range of a club swipe, then went straight back, away from a second giant, trying to get at the first attacker before it could bring its heavy weapon to bear once more. He would indeed have had the strike, but the third giant cut him off and forced him into a diving roll to avoid a heavy smash.

I must get them to work against each other, the elf thought. To tangle their long limbs with each other.

He put his sword up high and screamed, charging straight for the closest brute, then dipped low, under the parrying club and dived into a forward roll. He came to his feet and ran on, right between the giant's widespread legs.

Up thrust one sword, out to the side slashed the second, and Josidiah ran out from under the giant, meeting the attack of one of its companions with a double-bladed deflection, his swords accepting the hit of the club and turning it, barely, to the side and down.

Josidiah's arms were numbed from the sheer weight of the hit; he could not begin to counterattack. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the sudden rush of the third giant and knew his daring attack on the first had put him in a precarious position indeed. He scrambled out to the side, threw himself into yet another roll as he saw the club come up high.

But this giant was a smart one, and it held the strike as it closed another long, loping stride. Josidiah rolled right over a second time and a third, but he could not get out of range, not this time.

The giant roared. Up went the club, high and back over its head, and Josidiah started a sidelong scramble, but stopped, startled, as a huge black spear-a spear?-flew over him.

No, it was not a spear, the bladesinger realized, but a panther, the old mage's cat! She landed heavily on the giant's chest, claws grabbing a firm hold, maw snapping for the stunned monster's face. Back the behemoth stumbled, overbalanced, and down the giant went, the panther riding it all the way to the ground.

The cat was in too close for any strike, so the giant let go of its club and tried to grab at the thing. The panther's front claws held fast, though, while her back legs began a running rake, tearing through the giant's bearskin tunic and then through the giant's own skin.

Josidiah had no time to stop and ask how, or why, or anything else. He was back on his feet, another giant closing fast. The one he had hit shuffled to join in as well. Out to the side rushed the bladesinger, trying to keep one giant in front of the other, trying to fight them one at a time.

He ducked a lumbering swing, ducked again as the club rushed past from a vicious backhand, then hopped high, tucking his legs as the giant came swiping across a third time, this time predictably low. And getting the club so low meant that the giant was bending near to the ground. Josidiah landed in a run, charging forward, getting inside the range of the coming backhand, and sticking the monster, once, twice, right in the face.

It howled and fell away, and its companion shuffled in, one hand swinging the club, the other clutching its torn loins.

A sudden blast, a lightning stroke, off to the side of the hill, temporarily blinded both elf and giant, but Josidiah did not need his eyes to fight. He waded right in, striking hard.