Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [70]
"Ah!" Mirt said in triumph, and drew forth a large bundle of russet cloth, mottled with green, orange, and silver threads that confused the eyes, making one's gaze involuntarily slide away from it The old adventurer set the bundle carefully on the ground and undid its tied ends, unfolding it to reveal what looked like a stack of shallow, silvery glass bowls inside. With the air of a tavern show wizard, he fanned these curved pieces of glass as one does a hand of cards; they looked like plates or masks to Shandril.
Delg snorted in sudden recognition. "Priests' regalia of Leira," he said. "May I remind you, mighty Lord, that the lady of the Mists numbers few priests among her faithful? Well hardly pass unnoticed."
Mirt bowed. "True, but the nasty spells Leirans are known to favor will keep most folk-even Zhentsfrom bothering us, and we certainly won't be recognized. These all-concealing robes-aye, put it on atop all ye wear, lass; over the head it goes-can shift about to fit the wearer, and even be commanded to hold their shape over emptiness, to conceal the true form and stature beneath. I carry half a dozen about, forer, the proper occasions."
He showed them how to don the featureless glass masks, pull the cowls over their heads, settle the mantles on their shoulders and chests, and do up the loose, dangling sashes that went (nn last.
Unfamiliar in his own robes, face hidden under unmoving mirrored glass, the merchant laid a hand on the glass orb that adorned his mantle. He seemed suddenly taller.
"Ye do the same, Delg," his voice came to them, hollow through the mask. "Increase yer height, enough so no one will think 'dwarf' when they see you. Shan, the magic works by yer will, when ye touch the orb; make yerself taller-and yer shoulders greater, to hide yer womanly front. That's it good..
.. These robes were hard to get, mind, so hurl no spellfire unless ye are sore beset." He turned, rummaged in the bag, and suddenly a staff, topped with a multihued, ever-changing orb, was in his hand.
Shandril only had an instant to stare in wonder at its flowing, lazily changing colors before the old merchant swung away, stuffed the bag into his belt, and led the way up over the ridge with a slow, measured] stride.
"Keep with me," his muffled voice came back to then, "Brothers of the Mists. In a half-circle, behind me, as is fitting. We go north this day, as the Lady's weird bids us."
Delg fell in behind and to the left and gestured for Narm and Shandril to walk beside him, to the old merchant's right. Matching the old man's stride, they marched slowly down the grassy slopes to the road, the orb-topped staff borne before them, its swirling hues shifting and brightening.
Narm wondered if the goddess Leira would be angered at this false use of her regalia, and bring some capricious doom down on them. Or would this deception delight her?
The young mage looked to either side, but the road seemed empty of life for as far as he could see in either direction. Yet he could feel the sudden weight of cold, unfriendly eyes regarding them from somewhere-and knew by the way her heat] moved beside him that Shandril felt the scrutiny too.
The uplifted orb flashed and pulsed ahead of them. Mirt said, "Ah! The lady leads us on." He strode right across the road, heading for the cliffs beyond.
The ground around them was rising now, with rocks rearing out of the grass. There was not a bird in the sky or a beast to be seen anywhere, but the strong feeling of being watched persisted until Mirt led them into the ferny gloom of a little gully that pierced the cliffs.
The orb on the staff suddenly darkened. Mirt regarded it with satisfaction. "Whoever they are," he said,
"they're not using magic to send eyes around corners after us… They could see us only when we crossed the open road. Right-get this stuff off, all of ye: haste is what matters now."
After a few frantic minutes of unstrapping and wriggling out from under cloth,