Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [62]
Elminster shrugged. “The little lass isn't the only one alive who can work such tricks. She merely does it naturally. Azuth taught me, long ago. It drains me overmuch, mind; I don't do it lightly."
"But you did it just for me," Storm protested.
"That was not a light thing," Elminster said, deadpan. He winked at her.
Storm reached a hand out through the faint glow to clasp the sage's hand. "You are a delight, El. I love you, Old Mage."
"Oh, good," was the dry reply, and she felt him wriggling closer. '"then ye won't mind if I lie beside ye here. Being old and shy an' all that, I'll be leaving my clothes on, though."
"You? Shy?" The bard snorted, and then wrinkled her nose. "I forgot to get our blankets, They're-"
"On the horses where they should be, keeping the faithful beasts warm," Elininster replied tranquilly.
"Ye'll find ye won't need blankets-my Art'll keep its as if we were bundled up, but without getting too hot or the like, and make the ground beneath gentle to lie upon, as well. Trust me."
Storm met his eyes and smiled. "I do." They lay side by side in the darkness, holding hands, and looked at the silent stars glimmering high overhead. As Selune rose and grew bright, Elminster let the faint spell-glow fade until they lay in darkness under the night sky.
They remained together in silence for a time, watching the stars wheel overhead. Although a stranger looking down on them would have placed Storm in her lush late thirties, despite hard muscles and white sword-scars aplenty, and Elminster somewhere the gray side of sixty, both bard and archmage were hundreds of winters older than that.
With his fingers, Elminster stroked the hand that he held, and lie thought about the secret he shared with the woman who lay beside him in the grass. The secret that had shaped both their lives.
Both of them carried some of the immortal magefire locked forever inside their bodies, small parts of the divine power of Mystra placed in mortals of Faerun to maintain some great and mysterious balance.
They could be slain, releasing the power of Mystra-as Storm's sister Sylune had been, not long ago-but grew old only slowly, aged more by the care of responsibilities and the grief of outliving even elven friends than by physical causes. Sometimes, they felt very old.
Elminster was wise enough to give Storm this time to drift into slumber under the watching stars. It would ease her heavy heart. For himself, however, it was enough to have her beside him. Of the sisters he'd reared, Storm was the most his friend, even if he loved the Simbul more as mate and companion.
Elminster smiled up at the stars and was happy.
"El," the beloved voice beside him came softly, "you know I love riding Faerun with you… but tell me; where are we bound this time, and why?"
"We go to meet a certain old enemy of mine, and do a certain thing," Elminster said carefully. "Is that enough?" He heard the grin in her voice. "Of course. You phrase nothing so eloquently" With easy grace, she rolled up to one elbow and looked down at him. "And the 'why'?" Elminster looked into her level gaze and melted. "It is part of an ongoing game I play against-certain folk. A very old and deep game, to limit the power of those who watch from shadows in this world. The Malaugrym-aye, ye remember them, I know-are after Shandril of Highmoon. Her affair's by no means clear and done yet.
We'll doubtless meet in Silverymoon, these Shadowmasters and I, to do spell-battle over her… What we do now will become important then. 'Tis more important that the Shadowmasters have no benefit from what I've left undone than that the Harpers or Shandril-or Toril itself-gain strength by what we do, if we prevail…"
Storm laughed softly and kissed him. "I love it, Old Mage, when you're so forthcoming and open." She lay down again beside him. "Never change, will you? Promise me that"
"Ah, lass," he said sadly. 'That's one of the promises none of us can keep."
He lay there in silence until she slept, holding her hand tightly. When her slumber was deep, he waved his