"I thought we were going to defend Shadowdale," Belkram said. "You may be able to dance around the Realms with a thought and a wiggle of your hips, but we have to walk… and I don't feel like running back and forth between two dales, sword in hand, through gods know how many Zhent blackhelms!"

Elminster held up a quelling hand. "I said I'd come to send ye where ye are most needed. Right now Shadowdale is crowded with frightened troops bustling about. I don't want them to relax because the heroes have come to town, and I don't want them in thy way, or ye in theirs. Mistledale is thy battlefield. The defense of Mistledale will be the southern defense of Shadowdale."

"How strong is this fourth host?" Belkram asked suspiciously.

Elminster shrugged. "About seven thousand, when last I counted."

"Seven thousand!" Itharr burst out as jaws dropped all round.

Shar shook her head. "You love us, don't you?" she murmured.

El chuckled. "Oh, ye'll have help. All of Shar's battle companions, the Knights of Myth Drannor, are in Mistledale already, mustering the Riders."

"There are only thirty Riders, perhaps six more if the graybeards who can still walk and breathe at the same time come out of retirement, and another dozen if their sword apprentices ride with them, too," Sylune said softly, "and barely a dozen Knights, even if all who've retired or strayed off come running to Mistledale."

El frowned. "And ye, of course… isn't that battle might enough?"

"Ah, Old Mage," Sylune said gently, "you may not have noticed, being old and terribly important and even busier than usual… but I'm not… er, the woman I used to be."

El chuckled. "I've been spreading stories of the Ghost Witch of Shadowdale these last few months… I think ye'll find, on a battlefield, that ye're rather more than ye used to be."