Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [6]
The magelings stirred, shoulders visibly relaxing here and there down the table. Heads turned, throats were cleared – but these stirrings came to a hushed halt an instant later as Sarhthor's purring voice came again from the near – darkness at the other end of the table.
"So who here volunteers to seize or destroy spellfire for us? Yield me your names, or" – he smiled faintly – "recall urgent business elsewhere and take your leave of this place… and also, I fear, of the Lord Manshoon's favor." He looked around, meeting the wary eyes of several wizards too brave or foolish to look away. "Your patience we have seen this night. We have also taught you to be decisive; show me the result of that teaching now."
In the clamor that followed, a smile slowly appeared and crawled across Sarhthor's face like an old and very lazy snake. But as each man there volunteered, Sarhthor's eyes met theirs briefly and bleakly, like a sudden, icy lance-thrust in a night ambush. In his dark gaze, the magelings saw that he expected them to die in this task. Sarhthor felt he owed them at least that honesty.
"What's wrong with you, then?" Delg asked, drawing himself up as much as his four battered feet of height allowed. The dwarf stood over Shandril, beard bristling as he squinted down at her. A pan of fried onions, mushrooms, and sausages sizzled in his hand. "Or don't you like an honest pantry?'
Shandril smiled wanly up at him from the bed of cloaks and furs she'd shared with Narm, and she raised a warding hand.
"I'm seldom hungry these mornings." Her slim face was as white as the snowcaps of the Thunder Peaks behind her. She shuddered and looked away from Delg's steaming pan, wondering if she'd ever arrive at far-off Silverymoon. To reach it, they still had to cross half of Faerin. The ruined village of Thundarlun was only a day behind them, and even draining the fallen war wizard's wand had not fully restored the spellfire that smoldered within her.
On the other hand, twenty more Zhentilar would ride and slay no more; she'd left them twisted bones clad in ashes. Shandril shivered as she heard the screams again. Then Delg brought the pan so close to her nose that its sizzle jolted her back to the chilly morning. She pulled away from the smell, biting her lip to keep from gagging. She clutched the furs closer around herself.
"Well, why?" the dwarf demanded, frowning fiercely. "Are you ill?"
"No'" Narm said gently from behind him, "she's with child."
The dwarf almost fell as he lurched and tottered about speedily to face the young mage. "She's what?" he demanded. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
Shandril giggled. "We are married, Delg," she added sweetly.
"Aye. But-but-what of the babe, with you hurling spellfire about, an' all?"
"I-" Shandril began, then fell silent, spreading her hands in a gesture of helplessness. The dwarf saw something almost desperate in her eyes, and he whirled about again to face Narm. The young wizard also spread his hands anxiously but said nothing. Then he shrugged.
"You don't know," said the dwarf heavily. "You truly don't know what you'll give birth to after all this hurling fire and collapsing and hurling fire again…" Delg let his words trail away as he looked at them both challengingly, but the two young humans were silent.
The dwarf sighed heavily and tossed up his arms in resignation. Mushrooms and sausages left the pan to soar into the air, still steaming.
Narm leapt forward but missed catching one. Most of the others landed on Delg's head or back in the pan. The dwarf stood a moment more, looking down at Shandril and shaking his head. Sausages shifted in his tousled hair. "Ah, well," he said, rather sadly. "Ah, well…"
Narm brushed off the sausage he had picked up. "Delg Hammerhand," he asked softly between bites,
"have you been so lucky – sorry, favored of Clanggedin – as to have gone your entire life through always knowing exactly what you're doing and what the right thing to do is and what everything means and the consequences of all?"
Delg glared at