“So he challenged,” Catti-brie whispered back. “And his friends know, too, so they wager.”
“They would wager anyway,” Alustriel explained. “It is a matter of pride. Whatever is lost here will be reclaimed soon enough in another challenge.”
Catti-brie nodded and watched the unfolding drama, the many faces, elf and human alike, glowing in varying shades and hues in the uneven light, turning blue as the blue dragon leaped atop the red, but then drifting back, green and yellow and toward a feverish red as Asa Havel’s drake filtered up through Duzberyl’s and gradually gained supremacy. It was all good-natured, of course, but Catti-brie didn’t miss the intensity etched onto the faces of the combatants and onlookers alike. It occurred to her that she was looking into an entirely different world. She could relate it to the drinking games, and the arm-wrestling and sparring that so often took place in the taverns of Mithral Hall, for though the venue was different, the emotions were not. Still, there remained enough of a difference to intrigue her. It was a battle of strength, but of mental strength and concentration, and not of muscle and intestinal fortitude.
“Within a month, you could form flames into such shapes, yourself,” Alustriel teased.
Catti-brie looked at her and laughed dismissively, but that hardly hid her interest.
She looked back to the fire just in time to see Duzberyl’s blue roll over and consume Asa Havel’s red, contrary to Alustriel’s prediction. The backers of both wizards gasped in surprise and Duzberyl gave a yelp that was more shock than of victory. Catti-brie’s gaze turned to Asa Havel, and her surprise turned to confusion.
The half-elf was not looking at the fight, and seemed oblivious to the fact that his dragon had been consumed by the human’s blue. He stared out to the north, his sea-blue eyes scanning high above the flames. Catti-brie felt Alustriel turn beside her, then stand. The woman glanced over her shoulder, up at the dark wall, but shook her head slightly in confusion, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Beside her, Alustriel cast a minor spell.
Other wizards rose and peered out to the north.
“An elf has come,” Alustriel said to Catti-brie. “And the dwarves are scrambling.”
“It’s an attack,” Asa Havel announced, rising and moving past the two women. He looked right at Alustriel and the princess of Mithral Hall and asked, “Orcs?”
“Prepare for battle,” Alustriel said to her contingent. “Area spells to disrupt any charge.”
“We have little left this day,” Duzberyl reminded her.
In response, Alustriel reached inside one of the folds of her robes and drew forth a pair of slender wands. She half-turned and tossed one to Duzberyl. “Your necklace, too, if needed,” she instructed, and the human nodded and brought a hand to a gaudy choker he wore, its golden links set with large stones like rubies of varying sizes, including one so large that Catti-brie couldn’t have closed her fist around it.
“Talindra, to the gates of the dwarven halls,” Alustriel said to a young elf female. “Warn the dwarves and help them sort the battle.”
The elf nodded and took a few fast steps to the west, then disappeared with a flash of blue-white light. A second flash followed almost instantly, over near the hall’s eastern gates, transporting Talindra to her assigned position, the surprised Catti-brie assumed, for she couldn’t actually see the young elf.
She turned back to hear Alustriel positioning Asa Havel and another pair. “Secure fast passage to the far bank, should we need it. Prepare enough to carry any dwarves routed from the wall.”
Catti-brie heard the first shouts from the wall, followed by the blare of horns, many horns, from beyond to the north. Then came the blare of one that overwhelmed all the others, a resonating, low-pitched grumble that shook the stones beneath Catti-brie’s feet.
“Damn Obould to the Nine Hells,” Catti-brie whispered, and she grimaced at the realization that she had loaned Taulmaril to Drizzt. She looked over at Alustriel. “I haven’t my bow, or a sword. A weapon, please? Conjure one or produce one from a deep pocket.”
To Catti-brie’s surprise, the Lady of Silverymoon did just that, pulling yet another wand from inside her robes. Catti-brie took it, not knowing what to make of the thing, and when she looked back at Alustriel, the tall woman was tugging a ring from her finger.
“And this,” she said, handing over the thin gold band set with a trio of sparkling diamonds. “I trust you are not already in the possession of two magical rings.”
Catti-brie took it and held it pressed between her thumb and index finger, her expression dumbfounded.
“The command word for the wand is ‘twell-in-sey,’” Alustriel explained. “Or ‘twell-in-sey-sey’ if you wish to loose two magical bolts.”
“I don’t know…”
“Anyone can use it,” Alustriel assured her. “Point it at your target and speak the word. For the bigger orcs, choose two.”
“But…”
“Put the ring on your finger and open your mind to it, for it will impart to you its dweomers. And know that they are powerful indeed.” With that, Alustriel turned away, and Catti-brie understood that the lesson was at its end.
The Lady of Silverymoon and her wizards, except for those working near the river preparing a magical escape to the far bank, headed off for the wall, nearly all of them drawing forth wands or rods, or switching rings and other jewelry. Catti-brie watched it all with an undeniable sense of excitement, so much so that she was trembling so badly she could hardly line up the ring to slip it on her finger.
Finally she did, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt as if she were looking up at the heavens, to see stars shooting across the darkened night sky, to see flashes of brilliance so magnificent that it seemed to her as if the gods must be throwing bolts at each other.
The first sounds of battle shook her from her contemplation. She opened her eyes and nearly fell over due to dizziness from the sudden change, as if she had just stepped back to solid ground from the Astral Plane.
She started after Alustriel, inspecting the wand, and garnered quickly which end to hold from a leather strap wrapped diagonally as a hand grip. At least she hoped it was the right end, and she winced at the thought of unloading enchanted bolts of magic into her own face. She dismissed the worry, noting that she wasn’t gaining much on Alustriel, and noting more pointedly that the dwarves at the wall scrambled and yelled for support in many places already. She dropped her arms down beside her and ran as fast as her battered hip would allow.
“Twell-in-sey,” she whispered, trying to get the inflection correct.
She did.
The wand discharged and a red dart of energy burst forth, snapping into the ground with a hiss right before her running feet. Catti-brie yelped and stumbled, nearly falling over. She caught her balance and her composure, and was glad that no one seemed to notice.
On she ran, or tried to, but a wave of hot fire ran up her leg and nearly toppled her yet again. She looked down to her boot, smoking and charred on the side just back of her little toe. She paused again and composed herself, taking heart that the wound was not too severe, and thanking Moradin himself that Lady Alustriel hadn’t given her a wand of lightning bolts.
The orc gained the wall in a wild rush, stabbing powerfully at the nearest dwarf, who seemed an easy kill as he was busy driving a second orc back over the wall and into the darkness.
But that dwarf, Charmorffe Dredgewelder of Fine Family Yellow-beard—so named because none of the Dredgewelders was ever known to have a yellow beard—was neither particularly surprised nor particularly impressed by the aggressive move. Trained under Thibble dorf Pwent himself, having served more than a score of years in the Gutbuster Brigade, Charmorffe had faced many a finer foe than that pathetic creature.