Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [134]
Amarune nodded and let the old man lead her out through the deserted halls of The Willing Smile. Not the way they’d come in, she noticed; some discreet side exit, then.
So it proved to be, when Elminster ducked behind a narrow ascending stair, pushed on a panel, and they were in the outside air.
And almost falling over someone who was leaving the same establishment by another door that faced their own—a hasty departure of a robed man who was bent over as he scuttled forward, still fastening his clothing.
The collision was a mild one but parted Amarune and El and left them hopping for balance. They turned in unison—and found themselves looking into the glare of Wizard of War Rorskryn Mreldrake.
Who flushed a deep crimson and started to stride forward, snapping threats and orders at “Two miscreants who should both be in our dungeons, before—”
Elminster turned his head in the teeth of this tirade and quietly asked Amarune, “Trip him for me, will ye, lass?”
Unhesitatingly she obeyed, toppling the war wizard abruptly on his face onto the cobbles, sprawled and senseless.
After staring down at the unconscious Mreldrake in sleepy astonishment for a moment, Amarune shook her head as if to clear away bewilderment and gave Elminster an almost accusative look.
“You … did you use a spell on me?”
“No,” Elminster told her truthfully. “Nor did ye obey me because I gave an order. Ye just did the right thing when I pointed it out to ye. We of the blood of Aumar can’t help ourselves, lass. Doing the right thing is what we do.”
He patted her arm. “Oh, the Realms will be fine in thy hands. Just fine.”
Those words left Amarune standing white-faced and slack-jawed in the street as she stared at him, at a complete loss for words.
Gently he took her arm again and started towing her home.
CHAPTER
THIRTY
YOUR CASTLE OR MINE
Amarune awakened in darkness, lying amid her bedclothes. They were twisted and clammy, as if she’d spent the day wrestling with them rather than sleeping. She blinked up at the ceiling.
Gods, she felt exhausted. Ruthgul was dead, dead … and she might well be, too, the moment Talane or that Windstag noble or his bullyblades found her.
She dare not stay there.
But where could she go?
What should she do? Not just for the moment, but with her life?
She was a very public target at the Dragonriders’ … but she’d need coins coming in, to live anywhere.
Redoubling her career as the Silent Shadow only under a new name might be very profitable at that time, with Suzail full of wealthy nobles, but was stone-cold sure to be one thing. Very dangerous.
Even if there were no laws nor wizards or Purple Dragons to enforce them, and even if nobles were all careless-of-coin idiots with blunt swords who lacked House wizards or hired bodyguards, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to make her living by thievery anymore.
And what did the crazy old mage who thought she was his granddaughter want with her? To “save the Realms,” yes, but what did that mean? And just what would he put her through next?
Arclath’s face swam into her head … and suddenly, in a rush that took her breath away, Amarune found herself missing his company very much.
She wanted to hear that laugh of his again, his airy gestures and all the nonsense he drawled. She … stlarn it, she wanted to be at his side again. Where she felt, well, not safe, but confident. Or rather, wrapped in his confidence, as if it could carry them through any danger or difficulty or unpleasantness.
Huh. And what pit of vipers would that be, trailing along with drawling, pranksome, idiotic Lord Delcastle?
She shook her head and gave the dimly seen ceiling a wry shrug. No matter. It seemed to be what her sleeping self had decided she wanted to do.
Her next shrug took her out of bed in a long-limbed wriggle. Stalking to her row of cloak hooks for some clean clothing, she found herself wondering if Lord Arclath Delcastle would be at Delcastle Manor at that hour.
Or if, regardless of what time of day or night she appeared at its gates, the Delcastle