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.She was arguing with a long-haired dwarf wearing furs and leather upon which a pair of insect-eating lizards crawled ceaselessly, long tongues darting.A snatch of their conversation came to Storm's ears:"Well, what did the Thayan do then?""Blew up the entire castle, of course.What else?"Other voices crowded in, drowning out the previous speakers."What was that? Purple zombies? Why purple?""She was bored, I guess.You should have seen the prince's face the next morning.She made a dozen tiny red hands appear out of thin air and pinch him in all the places he had pinched her.in front of all the court, too!"Elminster was riding steadily through the throng.He seemed to know where he was going.Storm followed, past a man who was balancing a full bottle of something dark and red on his large nose and protesting in muffled tones to those watching that he wasn't using any magic to help him.She looked away just before the bottle toppled and spilled all over him, but could not resist looking back at the damp result.She was careful not to smile."How many times must I tell thee? First you kiss, then cast the spell-or it stays a frog forever!"Storm shook her head, trying to concentrate on Elminster and ignore such talk.A terrific din of conversation, strange music, humming, and weird little popping noises raged over the crowd.Wizards gestured to impress those they were speaking with, and varicolored smokes and many-hued globes of radiance obediently bobbed or writhed in the air over their heads.Enspelled birds sang complicated melodies, and some flew graceful aerial ballets.Storm peered this way and that, trying to see everything, watching for danger.Everywhere folk stood talking, arguing, laughing, or dickering, with goblets and flagons of varying sizes and contents in their hands, or floating handily in midair at their elbows.Some sort of rule, Storm guessed, kept the mages themselves from flying, floating, or teleporting about.Mostly they just stood in groups, talking.Storm threaded her mount carefully among them.Three olive-hued tentacles slid out from under a mage's hood as she passed.Small, glittering eyes opened at their ends, surveyed her, and winked.She tried not to show her involuntary shudder as she rode on, past a man with bright green hair and beard who was juggling a ring of hand-sized balls of fire in the air.The lady mage he was trying to impress was in the act of stifling a yawn.The next group was made up of old and wrinkled crones with cold dark eyes and sinister-looking black robes.They were chuckling and swigging beer from clear glass tankards that didn't seem to empty."First babe I ever saw that was born with wings," one was saying delightedly."Flew around the nursery, giggling, the little scamp.Well, the king nearly swallowed his crown, I tell thee!"Storm left the women behind, riding across a little open space where rising smoke and ashes suggested someone had experienced a warm and possibly fatal accident very recently.Beyond it, she plunged into the chatter once again."You must understand, old friend, that taking the shape of a dragon is an experience that changes one forever-forever, I tell you!" A mage in florid pink and purple, lace at his wrists and throat, was underscoring this point by flicking a long, forked tongue at the mage he was speaking to-a wizardess with white, furry hair running down her arms and the backs of her hands.Her skin was a deeper purple than the garb of the wizard speaking to her.Her reply to his claims about dragonshaping was an eloquent snort.Then Storm was threading her way past six enchantingly beautiful half-elven sorceresses, whose heads were bent together in low-voiced intrigue.One looked up alertly, only to relax and give the bard a relieved smile.The others, intent on deal-making, never saw her."Well, just change the name and the way you cast it, and he'll never know.I mean, anyone could have come up with a spell like that.Teach it to me, and I'll not tell where I got it.In return, I'll show you that trick of Tlaerune's, the one that makes men swoon and-"Shaking her head, Storm hurried on through the magical bedlam, trying to catch up with the Old Mage.Where had he gone? She looked up and down the crowded gorge- there were hundreds of mages here! Yet, thanks to her keen eyes, she managed to find Elminster again.The Old Mage continued to cut through the gathered wizards without slowing or dismounting-until he came to a tree-shaded corner on the far, rocky wall of the gorge.There, in the dappled gloom, a short, stunningly beautiful lady mage was talking with five or six obviously smitten men of the Art.Storm saw laughing black eyes, flowing black hair, and a gown whose scanty front seemed to be made of glowing, always-shifting flowers.Then the Old Mage vaulted, or rather fell, straight from his horse into the arms of the lady, with the words, "Duara! My dear1.Years have passed! Simply yearsl"Dark eyes sparkled up into his, and the Old Mage's effusive greetings were temporarily stilled by a deep kiss.Slim hands went around his neck, stroked his tangle of white hair, and then moved downward, in a tight, passionate embrace.After Elminster's glad greetings and the long kiss, Storm heard a low, purring voice replying enthusiastically.On the faces of the men around she saw astonishment, then anger, resignation, or disgust, and finally resigned disinterest.Storm also noticed Duara's fingers at the mage's belt, moving nimbly.Other eyes had seen it, too-particularly those of a tall, hook-nosed man in a dark green velvet doublet with slashed and puffed sleeves.He'd been watching the Old Mage's affectionate greeting closely, his expression hidden by the smoke from his long, slim clay pipe [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]