Sylune glared at him, her eyes two white flames dancing in the air. "And just what does that mean?"

"I've had half Twilight Hall modifying their best battle spells since the seasons turned," the old wizard told her. "If it all works, they can cast them simultaneously through ye, so a dozen or more battle magics-which ye can aim-lash out from ye at once."

"And the catch?"

"The power involved will burn ye out from within, leaving thy body only ashes… killing ye."

"El, I don't have-oh. I see. As I'm dead already, I should survive the destruction of whatever body you're going to give me."

El nodded. "It's waiting for ye in Mistledale," he said quietly. "Not the last one I'll give ye if-gods willing-I survive this Time of Troubles."

Tears welled up in her phantom eyes, and he added quickly, "Ye'd best get down there speedily. Torm's been dressing the body-ye-in all sorts of black leather, red evening lace, and fishnet gauze apparel, most evenings, and seating ye in the porch window of the Six Shields to entertain the locals."

"Oh he has, has he?" Ghostly eyes flashed. "I think I'll just slip into this body of mine at an opportune moment and give him the fright of his life!"

Shar grinned broadly. "May I watch?"

"No, that's 'may we watch?'" Belkram corrected her.

"Of course," Sylune told them grandly. "This Six Shields place is unfamiliar to me, though…"

"A cheap rooming house east of Lhuin's tannery," El told her in the manner of a pompous guide, "opened recently to house field workers, drovers, and others too cheap to stay at the Hart or the Arms."

Shar and the Witch of Shadowdale sniffed in unison. "It sounds like the sort of place where Torm would stay, tight-pockets that he is."

"Much as I'd like to watch ye roast Torm on a spit, just to see him wriggle for once, there is some haste," the Old Mage added. "By sundown, the scouts of the Sword of the South may well reach Galath's Roost."