Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [14]
Seeing no signs of his quarry fleeing, the Cormyrean commander waved a hand, and two men strode forward from the closing ring. El recognized one almost immediately: Sir Ilvellund Nordroun, the head highknight of Cormyr. The other was a young war wizard he’d seen striding haughtily around the palace, whose name he didn’t know.
“A parley, or are these two sent to wrestle us down?” Alassra mused calmly.
Elminster shrugged. “Perhaps thy reminder of proper courtesy stung them into this gesture. I’ve no doubt it will end in violence.”
“I find myself less than surprised,” the Simbul replied dryly, as the highknight and the mage came to a halt a careful four paces away.
“Yield the gorget,” the young war wizard demanded. “Now.”
“Youngling,” Elminster said gravely, “ye stand in the presence of a queen. Can ye not manage a trifling minimum of courtesy?”
“This is courtesy,” the mage flung back. “We could have just blasted you down.”
“You could have tried,” the Simbul replied almost gently, meeting his sneer with a look of disdain that made him flush and look away.
“You’ve heard our orders to you,” he told them almost sullenly. “Obey, or face our lawful wrath—and your doom.”
“Doom,” Elminster murmured. “Villains always seem to love that word. I wonder why?”
“Villains? You’re the villains here! We are lawkeepers of Cormyr and stand for justice and good!”
The Old Mage sighed. “Are ye still such a child as to divide all the folk ye meet into ‘good’ and ‘bad’? Lad, lad, there are no good people and bad people—there are just people, doing things others deem good or bad. If ye serve most of the gods well, ye should end up doing more good than bad. I try to do good things. Do ye?”
“I’m not here to bandy words with you, old man. Give us the gorget, and surrender yourselves into our custody. I warn you, we’ll have it from you peacefully—or the other way.”
Elminster and his lady traded calm looks then faced the young war wizard together and said in unison, “No.”
Shuldroon looked almost gleeful. “You seek to defy all of us? I remind you that you are overmatched sixfold by we wizards of war, and again by the highknights, the best warriors of the realm. See sense, man, and surrender.”
Elminster scratched at his beard, looking almost bored. “So ye can slay me without a battle, is that it? Nay, loud-tongue, I’ve not lived so long by abandoning all my principles. Here’s one ye younglings would do well to live by: if ye’ve done the right thing, stand thy ground.”
“Sir Nordroun,” the wizard commanded, “take and bind the woman. We’ll see then if the old man wags his tongue quite so defiantly.”
The highknight sighed. “That is less than wise, Shuldroon. I will take orders from Kelgantor, but not from you.”
The young war wizard turned in swift rage. “Are my ears actually hearing—”
“They are,” Storm Silverhand said in a level voice, rising up between Elminster and the Simbul with her sword in her hand. “And you should heed Sir Nordroun’s wisdom, Wizard of War Shuldroon, and abandon any schemes of taking and binding anyone. A few loyal guardians of Cormyr might live longer that way.”
“And just who are you?”
“Storm Silverhand is my name.”
“Another liar using a name out of legend?” Shaking his head and sneering anew, Shuldroon put one hand behind his back and gestured.
Behind him, the ring of Cormyreans started to tighten around the three standing amid the rocks. All save one man. Wizard of War Kelgantor, it seemed, had decided to hang back and watch, wands in both of his hands, ready to unleash magic when necessary.
Storm shook her head. “So it’s to be another bold night in brave Cormyr,” she murmured. She laid a hand on her sister’s shoulder, finding it atremble with rage, and added, “Don’t blast them just yet, Lass. We should warn them once more; give them another chance.”
The Simbul’s answer was a low,