Hastrim looked at Othortyn, and then his gaze fell again to regard the greasy curls of smoke that had been Inder. He swallowed.

"Well," he said unhappily, "perhaps it would be best to begin when it was first noticed that three humans-bearing a magic sword-had somehow stepped from Faerun into the heart of Shadowhome… undetected."

"Good, good," the old, bald Shadowmaster said encouragingly, opening another bottle. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Er-" Hastrim began, and then added with sudden firmness, "Yes," and a long, snakelike tentacle put a dusty bottle in his hand.

Faerun, Daggerdale, Flamerule 15

"Easy, lass," a familiar voice rumbled as Sylune of Shadowdale slowly blinked her way back into awareness. " 'Twas well done, to be sure. Ye shattered a spell loop, a very nasty Malaugrym magic-and there were a dozen of them waiting with all the spells they could think of, for us to break out. It's probably best that Shar and the lads were stunned when ye hurled me elsewhere. It saved them from about forty mind-rending attacks, and left me free to use the sort of Art that was really necessary."

Elminster gestured down the hillside, and Sylune saw rainbow swirlings there, above torn earth and blasted stumps. The trees around the stream and the leaning bridge were no more… and no doubt the gate to the Shadowmasters' home plane was gone too.

"A wild magic area?" she whispered.

"I fear so," Elminster replied grimly, "but the gate is gone forever, and a score or so more Malaugrym with it."

Sylune shuddered and drifted up out of his hands. Except for the few stones where the Old Mage was sitting-well west of where he had been-the ruined manor was now a crater of mud and gravel.

She swirled back to face him. "How long has it been since we came back from the Castle of Shadows?"

"Nigh on a month," Elminster said quietly.