Free Farthest Reach by Richard Baker

found face-to-face conversations distracting, and did not like to break the chain of her thoughts.
    The lieutenant struck his fist to his chest in the Zhentish salute-not that Scyllua noticed-and withdrew briefly, before returning with a tall, vulture-faced wizard in black robes, the Zhentarim mage Perestrom.
    “High Captain Darkhope,” the wizard said, offering a shallow bow as an insincere smile creased his sharp features. He looked up at the tower under construction. “That is something of a vanity, you know. The Art offers many ways to render such an expensive defense useless.”
    “A tower built with care and foresight may not be impervious to a skilled wizard, Perestrom, but at least it will discourage the less competent ones.” Scyllua smiled thinly to herself, even though she faced away from the others. “And we can take steps to discourage attacking wizards, of course. For example, I have heard that our clerics have mastered a rite that would reave the life from a wizard, transforming him into a ghost, and bind him to a specific task for all eternity—for instance, the defense of this tower against enemy sorcerers. I shall have to give some thought to where I might find a wizard of suitable skill for such a task.”
    “I will be happy to provide several recommendations,” Perestrom replied. If his arrogant smile faltered just a hint, Scyllua did not see it.
    “Of course. Now, about your report … What were you doing in Myth Drannor, exactly?”
    “I am the master of a small adventuring company, the Lords of the Ebon Wyrm. I have led several expeditions into various ruins around the Moonsea and old Cormanthyr, in search of various glimpses of arcane lore and magical treasures. A tenday ago we arrived in the ruins of Myth Drannor, intent on retrieving whatever artifacts we could find from the old city. We explored the ruins for several days, with a little success. But five days ago, late in the afternoon, we were attacked by a large company of flying, demonic sorcerers. I lost several of my fellow Ebon Wyrms before we managed to escape into the ruins.”
    “Demons and devils of all sorts are known to plague Myth Drannor,” Scyllua observed. “And they often slay adventurers there. I see nothing remarkable about your tale so far, Perestrom.”
    “As you say, High Captain,” Perestrom said, again offering a small, insincere bow. “However, I found it noteworthy that these demonic sorcerers had the features of elves, and spoke Elvish to one another.”
    “Elves?” Scyllua glanced over her shoulder at the tall mage. “Unusual, I admit, but why does it merit Zhentarim attention?”
    “Because I think there are a thousand or more of these fellows in Myth Drannor now, a whole army of them.” Perestrom’s smirk faded a bit. “They attacked several other adventuring companies in and around the city over the next day or so, and we were attacked by several different demon-elf bands during this time. We eluded most of these attacks through my spells-illusions to hide our presence, summonings to conjure up monsters that could cover our withdrawal—and I kept careful notations on the arms and devices of each such band we encountered.
    “When we finally abandoned the ruins, I spent another two days spying out as much as I could about these new foes, using various spells and devices. I will be happy to share my notes, if you would care to examine my evidence in detail.”
    Scyllua faced Perestrom, He had managed to seize her attention, all right.
    “A thousand?” she asked. “All of them spellcasters?” “Better than half, I would say. Few as accomplished as I am, of course.”
    “Of course.” Scyllua considered that for a time. “What about the baatezu? Did they destroy many of these newcomers?” That would be a good measure of their strength, anyway.
    “As far as I could tell, the devils did not contest their presence. I saw no fighting between the demon-winged sorcerers and the devils of Myth