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.Elminster whirled around in his saddle.A dark-robed man was standing watching him-standing on empty air, booted feet well above the unbroken snow.El's hand stabbed to his belt, found one of the salvaged daggers he'd thrust there, and hurled it.It spun end over end, flashing as it caught the light of the newly kindled campfires below, and plunged straight through the man to bury itself deep in the snows beyond.Only half the man's mouth smiled."This is but a spell-image, fool," he said coldly."You come riding hard, following the trail to our camp-who are you and why come you here?"Elminster frowned, feigning ignorance as his thoughts raced."Have I reached Athalantar yet?" He eyed the mage and added, "I seek a magelord, to pass on a message.Are ye such a one?""Unfortunately for you, I am," the man replied, "Prince Elminster.Oh, yes, I heard your proud little speech.You are Elthryn's son, then, the one we've been seeking."Elminster sat very still, thinking.Could a wizard send a spell through his image? A cold inner voice answered: Why not?Best keep moving, in case.He urged the horse with his knees until it trotted ahead, then turned it, circling."That is the name I have taken to bring doom down on a certain magelord," he said, passing the image.It turned in the air and watched him in easy silence.Hmmm."Other magelords," Elminster added darkly, "have plans of their own."The watching wizard laughed."Well, of course they do, boastful boy-always have had.See me shiver at your sinister words? Do you dance and play cards, too?"Elminster felt himself flush with anger.To ride so hard only to be taunted by a wizard from afar while armsmen no doubt rode out to encircle him and bring him down at leisure.He spurred away from the wizard, flinging only the calm reply, "Yes, of course I do," over his shoulder as he went.He rode hard back the way he'd come but turned up the nearest easy slope to gain a height to look back.The wizard's image hadn't moved-but as he watched, it winked out and was gone, leaving behind only the circle of beaten snow where he'd ridden around it.Aye, there, below-two bands of mounted armsmen were setting out, riding hard in different directions to curve about and ring him in with swords and bows.Full night was falling, but the stars were bright overhead, and Selune would rise all too soon.How far could that wizard see him?Two plans sprang to mind: somehow ride wide around them all on his weary mount and sweep down on the camp, hoping to find the wizard and take him with quarrels before he could loose a spell.That's what a bard or teller-of-tales would expect him to do, to be sure.It sounded the work of a reckless fool even to his own ears.The other plot was to get into the path of one band, dig into the snow with all his bows ready, and let his horse run free.If one band of armsmen followed it-he'd have time, perhaps, to take those coming toward him down with his bows, somehow get one of their mounts, and then attack the camp.Then, somehow victorious over a wizard who knew he was coming, he'd set forth on the trail of the other armsmen and take them down one by one with quarrels.it sounded almost as wild.He quoted a line of a ballad he'd once heard, "Princes rush in, shouldering fools aside, and find glory," and turned his horse to the right to intercept the band of armsmen he could see better.He thought he counted nine riders, no telling how many were in the other group.His tired horse stumbled twice on the ride and nearly fell when they blundered into a pocket of deep, loose snow."Gently," El murmured to it, suddenly feeling his own aches and weariness in full.All he could do in his mind was numb the pain for a time, and-he touched his chin thoughtfully-stop bleeding.He was no invincible warrior.So? This attack required a fool, not an invincible warrior.but then, riding away would be a fool's act, too, without even the comfort of standing up for the memory of his mother and father and for a day when wizards would not rule Athalantar, and the knights would ride again."The knights will ride again," he told the wind; it whirled his words away unheard behind him as he came to a good place for the ambush he planned, a narrow gully on the lee slope of a snow-swept rise, and brought his horse to a halt.Getting down stiffly-he'd not been on a horse much since Heldon burned, and his legs were reminding him of that all too sharply-El unslung his bows and took what he'd need."Grant me luck," he told the wind, but as before, it made no reply.Taking a deep breath of the sharp air, he slapped the horse's rump and roared.The beast bolted, paused to look back, and then trotted off into the snow.Elminster was alone in the night.Not for long, by the gods.Nine armsmen in full armor were riding this way, after his blood.Elminster knelt in the snow just below the crest of the rise and worked his windlass like a frenzied-wits.By the time he had all three bows loaded and ready, he was gasping for breath and could hear the creak of leather and jangle of metal on the wind.The armsmen were coming down upon him.Lying in the snow, breath streaming back over his shoulder, he arranged the bows, planted four daggers in the snow for ready snatching, and waited.His life hung on the hope that they'd not have bows ready themselves-and wouldn't see him in time.Elminster shook his head at his own recklessness and found his mouth suddenly dry.Well, whatever befell, it wouldn't be long now.There was a sudden thunder of hooves, shouts, and the clash of arms.What could be-? And suddenly Elminster had no time for speculation as an armsman burst into view, galloping hard, crouched low over the neck of his horse.The prince of Athalantar raised his bow carefully, steadied it, and fired.The horse plunged on, rearing and giving a high grunt of alarm as it saw the steep descending slope.With no time to veer or slow, it felt the man on its back fall sideways, hard, pulling on its reins.It reared, fighting the reins that were tugging its head around.Its hooves skidded in the snow, and it crashed atop its rider.Together they slid down the hill.The horse sprang up and pranced away, shaking its head as if to clear it.The man lay still in the trampled snow.No more horsemen rode into view, and from over the brow of the snow-clad rise came the shouts and steely skirl of battle.Elminster frowned in puzzlement, and then took up his daggers, thrusting them back into his belt.Holding his second bow ready, he advanced cautiously until he could see over the crest.Mounted men were circling and hacking at each other in the nightgloom atop the hill.One group was clad in motley garb, the odds and ends of half a hundred mismatched armors it seemed, and where by all the gods had they come from? The other group were armsmen, outnumbered more than two to one and fast losing.As Elminster watched, one soldier of Athalantar broke free of the fray, spurring his horse desperately, and set off across the hills at a gallop
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