Disclaimer: I am not Ed Greenwood. I do not own the Forgotten Realms.

Note: The following one-shot is set in my own version of the Forgotten Realms in the city of Waterdeep in the year 1359 DR. For those not familiar with the official Forgotten Realms, Waterdeep during the time of this story is (loosely speaking) something like a wealthy Renaissance city in a world with magic. This particular story features three apprentices, who are in training under two of the city's more learned sages, on one of the nights of annual celebrations in the local calendar. 'Wizard' magic in the Forgotten Realms at this time involves large quantities of mental preparation before casting or the use of painstakingly prepared items (such as scrolls).

Further Note: I tend to post Harry Potter fanfiction on this site, but at the date of posting this particular one-shot, I need to get away from anything to do with Albus Dumbledore for a day or two, being in the middle of writing a particularly tricky (and in places frankly depressing) piece.

Warning! This story is rated 'M' to be on the safe side.

Waterdeep, Midwinter, 1359 DR

Outside the confines of Blackstaff Tower, the poorer folk of the city grimly steeled themselves for the worst of winter that might be yet to come, whilst the aristocracy and upper echelons of the merchant class threw huge balls or parties to dispel the seasonal gloom. Inside Blackstaff Tower, three of the apprentice wizards of the tower had gathered in a basement storeroom, determined to do something about the painful cash shortage which was precluding them from joining in the festivities in the manner which they felt appropriate. The previous month, it had been their grouping that had virtually gutted an alchemical lab 'by blatantly ignoring instruction'. Casting mend spells as punishment, it had taken them their every spare moment of the following twelve days to repair the glassware destroyed in the explosion, and their allowances had been suspended until midsummer next year to pay for all the expensive acids, rare powders, and other ingredients which had been consumed in the flames.

"You're absolutely certain that nobody can interrupt us?" Treven Renelds asked the other two. Technically, at seventeen years old and as the oldest present (by seven days) he had put himself in charge of the group.

Lasha Trentwhistle (sixteen years, three months, and two days) rolled her eyes.

"Anyone coming down here by normal means is going to knock over the bucket I rigged by the door in the room above, and the only people whom Lord Blackstaff would allow to spy by magic in this tower – himself and the Lady Laeral – are both out on the town. Where we ought to be, right now."

"Where we would be, right now, if my father hadn't cut off my private allowance over the fire mephit I sent him as a joke for his last birthday." Gregan Wands (of The City of Splendour's famous spell-casting family, seven days Treven's junior) added. "And where we will be, shortly, after we conjure up a great djinni to grant our desires."

Treven wasn't entirely certain on that point, since although Lasha had managed to miraculously lay her hands on a scroll that had both a magic-circle and monster summoning scribed upon it, he had been paying slightly more attention than the other two to the last three conjuration/summoning lectures and had an idea that any kind of conjured creature could get very awkward if they sensed inexperience on the part of those calling them up. He also had a nasty idea that anything called up by a monster summoning spell wouldn't hang around in Waterdeep for very long before the spell ran out and it went back home, which meant that any negotiations for favours were going to have to be conducted exceedingly quickly. However, he had been the one to first propose the idea, and he could hardly back out of this now and let the other two down.

And if anything did go wrong with this, although it would probably result in their being grounded for the rest of their apprenticeships, they could always count on Lord Blackstaff and his consort coming to rescue them.

"Okay." he rolled up his sleeves and flourished his hands, in a display of drama which wasn't strictly necessary. His father had been a travelling entertainer, though, with his very own show of 'oddities', and some things were in the blood. "Let's get this thing on the road. You've got that dictionary of abyssal ready in case we have to negotiate with this bunny in its own tongue?"

Gregan nodded, hefting the weighty volume. He was the closest thing that the three of them had to a specialist in languages, given that spells for speaking in other languages weren't usually taught to apprentices until Greengrass.

Treven flexed his hands, did a last minute check on the chalk diagram inscribed on the floor, and then drew forth the scroll and the small vial of powdered silver that he had abstracted from the alchemy laboratory. Taking the powdered silver hadn't really felt like a case of stealing anything, since they were the ones paying for the room to be reequipped. The scroll that Lasha had 'borrowed' from Lady Laeral's desk gave him slightly more qualms, though the lady mage had so many that she surely wouldn't miss one that she happened to leave lying around like that.

Tipping the contents of the vial into one hand, and then doing his best to sprinkle the metal around the edge of the circle whilst keeping the scroll from rolling back up, Treven began to chant.

Since the spells faded from the scroll as Treven completed them – first the circle, then the monster-summoning – Treven's first thought was that they must have succeeded. However: as the moments ticked by, without any sign of a fiend materialising in the circle under the intent stares of the three apprentices, an uneasy silence began to settle – until it was broken by Gregan.

"It probably takes some time." Gregan said, staring at the circle. "There'll be impressive flashes and thunderclaps when it does arrive."

"Or maybe our djinni's having a bath." Lasha added with a detectable note of sarcasm in her voice after several more moments. There was distinct displeasure with Gregan hinted at in her tone, because he had suggested the type of fiend that they were to summon. "Let's face facts: There…"

There was a flurry of sapphire blue feathers falling to the floor from behind them, and the three apprentices turned around to observe an apparently human female with blue feathers all over her attire and a further fistful sticking from her mouth. She spat the latter out with a refined elegance.

"My dear children." she addressed them in a calm voice with a slight hint of an exotic accent. "You really shouldn't go looking for a nasty thing like a djinni-en-mok. They may be legendary for their power, but they are also legendary for their wilful capriciousness and the high percentage of summoners that they turn on and kill within very short order. Even the wiliest and most experienced of conjurers will think twice before putting out a call for such a creature, able as it is, within certain limits, to bend even the rules of a monster summoning. Luckily, I happened to be vigorously discussing differences with such a creature, when your summons went out, and having appropriately terminated the disagreement, have come along to see what's going on here instead."

The three apprentices gaped. They hadn't heard anyone enter, and certainly hadn't heard the clatter and splash of the bucket of water in the room above – but then there hadn't been any impressive thunderclaps either.

Treven's initial impression of fleeting shock, that they had apparently succeeded in summoning up something (even if he wasn't to clear what yet), was followed by a rapid sense of deflation at the end-result. This was apparently not the djinni which they had endeavoured to bring forth to grant their desires; admittedly whatever she was, she had impressive height – at six feet four, able even to look him squarely in the eye – and silver-grey irises to her eyes, beneath a very expensive looking 'hairdo' of oak-brown curls, but she was otherwise lacking in the outstanding beauty department. She was wearing a crimson gown that would admittedly look ravishing on a distinctly curvier female, but which didn't exactly do her many favours, and she didn't exactly carry the deep blue cloak (with silver trimmings) or the gilt-leafed sandals off either. She looked more like a merchant's wife who had been married for a sizeable dowry or trade-connections than something wondrously other-planar. She was currently engaged in picking further blue feathers out of her attire.

"You aren't any sort of djinni?" Lasha asked, momentarily off-balance in somewhere in between awe at the apparent partial success of the summoning and disappointment at what had apparently showed up.

"Sorry. Just a planar temptress." the woman replied, dislodging another handful of feathers. "Pardon the mess, but your djinni pulled the old trick of trying to turn into a zephailo bird to try to evade the consequences of his unfortunate attitude. That tends to work considerably less well against Tanar'ri."

"And why exactly aren't you in the circle?" Treven demanded, trying to mask his own considerable confusion.

The probable fiend ran her fingers through her hair dislodging a yet further shower of feathers.

"You didn't try to summon or call me. I could go and stand in your circle, though, if it made you feel any more at home."

"No. You needn't bother." Treven said, trying not to sound too disconsolate. He wasn't sure that a magic circle would be valid against something that hadn't been called to arrive within its bounds.

"As you wish." she shrugged. "Look: I realise that you were expecting something else, but I am a planar temptress, as I said, and something of a wizardess and sage as well. I could probably attempt to do some wish-granting for you if you wanted?"

"What? Like in return for our immortal souls?" Lasha demanded scornfully.

"If you insist, and happen to be so anxious to give them away, I'll certainly consider trading for at least one." the woman replied lightly. She removed the last feather from her attire and discarded it. "Look: we might all get on much better if we're on first-name terms. You can call me Nasmarinva, and I'll call you Treven, Gregan, and Lasha, if that's alright with you? And before you ask, I'm a mind-reader, and just pulled your names out of your heads to save a great deal of time arguing about whether or not introductions would be 'safe'. So: would you like to get on with wishes, or do you have anything else in mind?"

"Wait a moment. What's the catch?" Treven asked warily.

Nasmarinva arched an eyebrow.

"Well most people prefer not to have a person doling wishes out deliberately trying to put catches in, but if you insist on that as well then I'll certainly do my best to diddle you in an amusing and educative way."

"He didn't mean… oh never mind." Gregan began to say, then changed his mind. "How about one wish for each of us, no conditions attached, and each rescindable if not what expected?"

Nasmarinva eyed Gregan with interest for a couple of moments then gave a little nod.

"I can certainly do one wish each." she said softly. "'No conditions' invalidates your own rescind condition though, I feel it only fair to point out beforehand. I'd advise that someone else would still be able to use a wish to cancel out an earlier one - that's certainly the traditional way of doing it, and if the first two don't go well I certainly won't force you to make a third."

"Is that fine with you two?" Gregan looked at Treven and Lasha.

"Just so long as I'm not going last." Lasha said. "I don't want to end up having to use a wish to bail both of you out."

"I'll go last since this was my idea in the first place." Treven asserted himself. "It's only fair that I should be the one who has to rescue you if you need rescuing. It's fine by me otherwise."

"Splendid." Nasmarinva said. "One wish each then, and don't waste one on anything clever like wanting endless wishes. There are amusing stories about the last person to try that being turned into the efreeti slave of the senior pit-fiend that they thought that they had had under their control. First rule of wish-lore: Keep it as simple as possible. We'll go with you first.", she turned to Gregan.

"I wish for a small fortune, and incomparable secret knowledge." he said.

"One wish." Nasmarinva indulged herself in a sigh. "That means no 'ands' or lists, under most circumstances. Fortune or knowledge: which one?"

"Wealth." Gregan decided, evidently thinking of the long night of prospective partying ahead.

Nasmarinva snapped her fingers, and pulled a leather gourd from out of thin air. It looked like it currently held perhaps a couple of pints of liquid. She handed it to Gregan.

"That was easy. There are merchants out there, lost in deserts, who'll give you everything they have for that much water if they think that it might get them to the next oasis. Second rule of wishing: Without getting too clever, try to remember to frame your wish within a local context." She turned to Lasha. "Your turn."

"I… Ah." Lasha said, furiously rethinking her wish. "I wish for one of the biggest and most beautiful pearls in Waterdeep."

"Third rule of wishing:" Nasmarinva said, snapping her fingers again, leaving Lasha staggering suddenly under the weight of the enormous bivalve dripping with water that she found herself clutching. "Again with reference to the first and second rules, specify a time-frame acceptable to you. Say 'now' if you mean 'now', otherwise you might find yourself with what will produce a quite spectacular pearl – if properly looked after – a hundred and fifty years down the line."

Lasha collapsed hopelessly to the floor under the unequal struggle, landing with the giant clam in her lap.

Nasmarinva turned to Treven.

"Third and last wish." she said, softly. "Try not to blow it. Your friends are counting on you."

"I…" he began.

She locked eyes with him, and waved him short.

"And always remember the golden rule of wishing: Never, unless you have the pure-heart of a paladin, and the metaphorical wisdom of a tome-archon, wish for 'what I want'. What you want almost never turns out the way that you expect it. Things that you need may just about turn out alright, but things that you want can prove deadly."

There was a moment of silence, and then Nasmarinva laughed, very softly.

"Lessons over." she waved a hand and the gourd and clam disappeared. "Let's party."

"What?" Gregan queried, as Lasha, still dripping, struggled back to her feet.

"That was what you were really trying to summon a djinni for?" Nasmarinva asked, her eyes dancing. "Well I suppose that you, might appreciate this as well", she produced a tome from under her cloak and passed it to Gregan. "Those are the questions and answers to this year's student tests from the study of the wizard whose tower this is, though it might be a good idea to return them to the study before sunrise, and I suppose that you might appreciate a little glamour," she turned to Lasha, drawing forth a wand, "though again getting it cancelled by sunrise might be an idea if it's still going by then." She touched the wand to Lasha, and suddenly the apprentice wizardess became considerably more curvy, and with much more refined lines starting to emerge from her adolescent face. Her auburn hair seemed to take on an almost shimmering quality, and her eyes seemed to have a sparkle to them.

"And we'll see about you later, oh master-summoner." Nasmarinva turned to Treven. "So: I have fairly deep purse strings, thus the question becomes where do we begin the night?"

As the night drew on, Treven became haunted by the increasingly firm (and depressing) conviction that the 'fiend' Nasmarinva was in fact the Lady Laeral or one of her friends in some magical disguise. The familiar way in which she addressed some quite important people at events – whom would surely be protected from mind-reading abilities of fiends – suggested an intimate knowledge of The City of Splendours. Treven was also increasingly certain that a 'real' temptress shouldn't look quite so nondescript – she ought to be a ravishing beauty – nor would have been quite so forgiving of the apparent flaws of the whole summoning and wish business. Plus there was the uncomfortable thought that a real fiend would have been much more ruthless, and probably would have shredded them all or dragged them off to the lower planes for an eternity of torment within the first quarter of a minute.

Plus he was pretty certain that it was virtually impossible for a different creature altogether than the one required to turn up in response to that monster-summoning spell, unless the monster-summoning spell that he had read off the scroll had somehow mutated into a calling in the casting or he had suddenly developed the insight and powers of an archmage.

At a ball being given in honour of a visiting Goldsword noble from Cormyr, whilst Gregan and Lasha were off dancing, Treven found himself being dragged to meet some dwarven cleric by Nasmarinva.

"Sogdar Rumathûn!" his guide said in a delighted voice. "As I live and breathe! Treven. This is Sogdar Rumathûn, a dwarf of some age and high lineage. As you will no doubt see from his robes and holy symbol, he is a cleric of Dumathoin, The Keeper of Secrets Under The Mountain. Sogdar. Treven is a human mage who wants to know all about fiends. Tell him about The Banes of Avsilar."

The dwarf regarded Treven with weary eyes.

"Of all the fiends in all the planes, the deadliest in myths are the siucci, whose first and foremost brought down in dishonour a dwarven realm in the beginning of the days." the dwarf said, almost reluctantly. "By the time that the dwarves discovered who and what they were fighting, it was already too late. And evil godlike things – things that they should have busied themselves with instead of the siucci, and could have dealt with – had escaped, forever. According to the myths, the dwarves and the whole multiverse have been paying for that mistake ever since."

"Sugdar's eldest son," Nasmarinva adopted a sympathetic, soft, tone, "killed his brothers and sisters, his own children, and his mother, because of the manipulations of a yugoloth he called on to help him rescue a fellow dwarf from baator. Always remember, Treven, that what a fiend wants may not prove at all beneficial to you, and that by the time that you find out what the fiend is after, it may be too late. Even whimsical Tanar'ri oughtn't to be taken for granted."

This almost certainly had to be Lady Laeral or one of her friends, going out of her way to lecture him like this, Treven thought. This whole thing was a set-up, to further teach the three of them not to think themselves so clever – and with moral lectures thrown in.

Well at least Gregan and Lasha seemed to be having a good time of it, and Nasmarinva – or Lady Laeral, or whomever she really was – was paying for everything.

Some time after midnight, they arrived at the party of a noble in the Sea Ward. It seemed to be an invitation-only do, but Nasmarinva bent down to whisper something in the ear of one of the gnome footmen on the front-door, and they were waved in without a question. Nasmarinva had solicitously inquired as they left the previous party if the three apprentices felt if they were getting tired, and whether they ought to be back in time for a good night's rest before tomorrow, which the three of them had declined. It was definitely another sign that this was a set-up though, to Treven's mind, and it was more out of stubbornness that he had refused to retire than out of any sense of real enjoyment.

"You see those three gathered over there around the dregs in the punch-bowl?" Nasmarinva murmured, having led Treven to an otherwise deserted room on an upper-floor, though it did show signs of having seen heavy use with a buffet earlier in the evening. Gregan and Lasha were downstairs, dancing and gazing into one another's eyes, whilst Nasmarinva had insisted on dragging her 'summoner' up here 'to see something important'. "They are the Zhentarim half-fiend, necromancer shadowmaster, and cornugon sorcerer who have arranged the entertainments keeping Laeral Silverhand and Khelben Blackstaff so busy elsewhere this evening. And whilst they aren't terribly significant in the general scheme of things, I really oughtn't to leave them to run about with free-rein in a city like this."

"You're not really a fiend, are you?" Treven could no longer keep it in, and finally voiced his suspicions out loud. "You're one of Lady Laeral's friends, sent to teach us a lesson."

And a cold and perilous light gleamed in Nasmarinva's eyes, as she answered, in a voice that sent a cold thrill down Treven's spine.

"You should be so lucky."

She swirled, and striding across the room towards the trio by the punch-bowl, her form subtly changed, and it was a truly ravishing beauty, not at all out of place in the dress that she suddenly filled, who bore down on them and with the air crackling with blue sparks around her. Consternation and alarm registered on the face of the small portly man with spectacles who had been one of those conspiring by the punch-bowl, and suddenly with a tearing sound, he was a huge hulking scaled and behorned fiend, with gargoyle wings, and a spiked tail, desperately roaring something to his fellows.

A great and terrible shadow filled the room, which dwarfed even the menace of the horned-fiend, followed up by a more terrible still, and searing light, accompanied by a harsh crackle, and the sounds of frantically necromancer-summoned vampire minions exploding into fountains of dust in that awful radiance. And then there was the death rattle of the great fiend, and the bodies of the slumped necromancer and Zhentarim, and the light and shadow dwindled till they were bearable, and Nasmarinva was coming back down the room. She had great leathery wings at her back now, Treven could see; wings lacking the angles or points of a bat or gargoyle, but featherless, as if of some plucked bird or fallen angel.

"A night out on the town with your friends, a punch-up, and we both know what you wanted next, don't we Treven?" she said. She drew close and wrapped her arms around him, and just before she kissed him, she whispered in his ear.

"Ten thousand years of gathering fragments of manuscripts, another three centuries making sense of them, and a decade of preparation. And finally, after nine months of fasting and meditation, you were the first mortal to ring the dinner bell. Just because a lady is beautiful, she doesn't have to flaunt it. You've been so very much fun to play with."

And then her lips met his, and Treven had no control or choice whatsoever in what happened next…

Author Notes:

A number of elements of this story (most notably Nasmarinva, and the highly rare and dangerous category of fiend to which she belongs, siucci) are native to this particular version of the Forgotten Realms universe, and not a part of regular Forgotten Realms canon.

This story is a one-shot. Things are about to end badly for Treven and his friends, one way or another...