"I don't know. I feel… strange." Tears still rolled down her flushed cheeks.

"Are you sick?" Tarl asked, worried. His hand moved to her forehead.

Shal shook her head. "It's true, I've been through plenty of storms, but this one feels… different. I can't explain it." She buried her face against Tarl's arm.

Her husband kissed her hair gently, but he was genuinely alarmed. Few things scared Shal. After all the adventures and monsters she and Tarl had faced together, they both had nerves of steel that matched their tall, athletic bodies.

"What can I do to help, Shal? Can I get you anything?" Tarl stopped rocking and helped his wife sit up.

The sorceress shook her head. Sniffling, she looked at Tarl. "I guess all I can do is wait." She leaned against his muscled shoulder.

A loud bang startled Shal, and she leaped off the bed. The balcony door had blown open in the wind and was now swinging wildly as rain sprayed into the room. She sprinted across the chamber and caught hold of the door. After slamming it shut, a louder crash echoed in the chamber. The wizard stamped her foot as she saw that all six panes of glass in the door had shattered. "By the gods," she shrieked. "You'd think after ten years, I would have learned to control this magical temper of mine." She tiptoed among the shards on the slippery stone floor, and Tarl cringed as he watched her walk around the broken glass. Water blew in through the open door, and the curtains whipped wildly.

Shal shouted to Tarl over the wind. "Stay there so you don't cut your feet. I'll fix this in a jiffy!" She ran to her spellbook and began flipping pages. The water that dripped from her fingers and hair evaporated on contact with the magical tome. "Mend, mend… here it is." She closed her eyes in concentration.

A second time, the wizard dashed across the room and stepped around the glass to stand near the door. The sorceress repeated the words of the spell, and as Tarl watched, a purple mist flowed from her fingers and surrounded the fragments of glass. The pieces rose from the floor to assemble themselves into their proper positions. The six windows were restored and completely sealed. Shal closed the door carefully, locked it, and leaned her back against the panes. She was soaked to the skin, her nightdress clinging to her.

"Great trick, don't you think?" Shal was capable of magic of tremendous power, but still took delight in using spellcasting to conquer mundane chores. And the incident had temporarily distracted her troubled mind.

Tarl clambered out of bed and reached for an enormous towel. The sight of her body outlined under the wet, purple fabric was too much for him. "I think I know a way we can use up some of your excess energy," he said, a gleam in his eye.

Shal smiled as she grabbed the towel and rubbed it through her hair. Stripping off her wet gown, she wrapped the towel around her firm body. With a simple spell, she warmed a bottle of red wine, then poured mugs for herself and Tarl.

Her husband sat on the bed, beckoning. Shal always enjoyed the sight of his white-blond hair brushing his tanned shoulders. Handing him a mug, she sipped some wine. The wizard's towel dropped to the floor as lightning and thunder continued their assault.

Up on Phlan's protective wall, even the most seasoned guards trembled as lightning seared the black sky. This was the worst possible kind of weather for guard duty. But everyone knew the importance of the night watch. Besides, midnight would bring replacements and the warriors could go home to warm fires and dry clothes.

"Yeeow!" shouted a young soldier as a lightning bolt struck the ground only thirty yards from him. The red stone wall didn't so much as shiver from the blast. Two old guards, seventy years if they were a day, snorted and snickered as they paced in the downpour. The novice guard's look of surprise turned sheepish as he turned away from the grizzled oldtimers.

An ancient hand clamped down on the youth's shoulder, startling him. Whirling around, he stared at the two weathered, wrinkled faces. The taller of the two men spoke.

"Lookee here, Ston. The boy's beard ain't even growed in yet! And the poor fella's stuck on the wall on a night like this. What's yer name, son?" The face squinted at the fledgling.

"Uh, Jarad, sir," the boy stammered.

Now the shorter man spoke. "Well, Jarad, me lad, this be my friend, Tulen. Call me Ston. A boy like you needs someone old and wise to show you the ropes. Well, yer lucky, cuz you got two someones like that right here."

Tulen finished his friend's thought. "Stick with us, lad. We're nearly as old as these stone walls and we've seen just about as much. Save yer neck, it will, if you follow our lead." The ancient guards chuckled and turned to lean on the wall, one on either side of Jarad. As the wind whipped their gray beards and water streamed down oilskin ponchos, Ston and Tulen took advantage of their captive audience to tell tales of legendary battles.

The crusty guards were in the middle of the story of how Phlan came to be guarded by rings of walls when two wizards approached. Ston and Tulen chortled as they saw that the mages floated a few inches off the puddled stone. Invisible magic ovals surrounded the men, keeping them absolutely dry.

"Lookee what we got here," laughed Ston. Even Jarad had relaxed enough to chuckle.

"You ought to try the rain, youngsters," Tulen mocked. "It might wash the stink of sulphur and brimstone off you." The warriors exploded into a fit of laughter.

The first mage, dressed in mustard-colored robes, turned to his companion with a worried look. "Tarsis, do I stink of brimstone?" His companion, wearing a rust-orange cloak, looked first at his friend, then at the howling warriors.

"Don't pay any attention to them, Charan," he snapped. "They wouldn't know what to do with half our powers. And they obviously don't understand magic."

A lightning bolt as large as had ever been seen struck the center of the city. The thunder that accompanied it knocked Jarad and Ston off their feet. Tulen and the wizards cowered from the blinding light and the blast.

Suddenly all was still. The rain and wind stopped. Lightning no longer streaked overhead. The eerie silence that enveloped the city frightened even the old guards. Both drew swords and peered into the darkness.

"I'm goin' for Rakmar and his catapult crew!" Ston hissed. "Tulen, put these wizards to some use! Sound the alarm! And let's get some light on whatever's out there!" The stodgy warrior waddled down the wall with remarkable speed.

Tulen popped open a covered niche in the stone wall and reached for a crossbow and a pail stuffed with bolts. The missiles were enchanted with magical light that would break the inky blackness. Handing Jarad a crossbow, he ordered the youth to start firing. "Shoot high and long. Yer not trying to hit anything. We gotta get some lights out on the plains so's we can see what's comin'." Tulen himself started firing bolts as rapidly as he could load them. All along the wall, other warriors did the same, and soon the field beyond the walls was peppered with circles of bright light. Nothing seemed to be moving out in the darkness. Not a drop of rain fell from the sky.

"I don't get it," Jarad complained. "The rain stopped, so you're sounding the alarm?"

The old warrior answered without disrupting his loading and firing rhythm. "I'll explain later. Stick with me, kid. We're in for something ugly."

In the unnatural silence, the sound of boots on the wet stone announced Ston's return. Throwing off his poncho, he reached for a crossbow and started firing onto the field. "The word is out. The militia's up in full force."

Tulen sighed in relief and fired the last bolt from the bucket. The men hauled out three pails of normal bolts, loaded their weapons, and peered over the wall, waiting.