Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [26]
War Wizard Ironstone shot him a look then turned his head to thrust that same glare at Elminster, who added, “Peace, fairness, and order I’ve sought, aye, but I’m still seeking a ruler who consistently seeks to achieve those, as opposed to finding them by accident from time to time. I may yet find one, mind; I’ve only been looking for twelve centuries or so.”
“So you presume to sit in judgment of the Dragon Throne? To decide for yourself if you’ll obey us?”
El faced him squarely. “I do. Most folk, even if they see a looming danger, do nothing. A problem for someone else to deal with, they tell themselves. They make excuses or shut it out of their minds or keep busy with the everyday things in their lives. So they do nothing. I don’t.”
“Making you, in my eyes, a rebel or at the very least an outlaw.”
“Ah, another of those lawkeepers who decides on guilt without bothering with the little inconvenience of a trial or looking beyond first impressions or any of that. So tiresome, aye?”
“You mock me, old man. I say again, you stand in Cormyr and are subject to my authority, and I—”
“Nay. Not even the lowliest Cormyrean is subject to thine authority. If ye’d said ‘our authority,’ bothering to include the good knight who stands beside ye—”
“Enough bandying words. You dare not use your magic, I’m told, so you’ll surrender to us now or we’ll kill you.”
“And how ‘lawful’ is that, young Ironstone?”
The war wizard smiled thinly. “You can stand where you are; you can advance, and so fall within reach of Sir Hawkblade’s sword; or you can flee, giving me the right to kill a fugitive seeking to escape our custody.”
“I see. Victory at all costs.”
Ironstone shrugged. “Nothing matters in a fight—except winning.”
Elminster’s eyes were cold and steady on him, blue blazing up among the gray. “Oh? If nothing matters, lad, there’s nothing worth fighting for.”
“I tire of this,” the war wizard snapped. “Hawkblade, take him!”
El promptly flung the something in his right hand into Ironstone’s face. It exploded in a little burst of black powder that sent the mage sobbing to the floor in a frenzy of agonized helplessness, clawing at his face as he tried to gargle and shriek through his weeping.
“Black pepper!” the highknight snarled, snatching out and hurling a dagger at Elminster’s throat. “You won’t catch me with old Harper tricks!”
He sprang forward, his sword singing out of its scabbard—as Elminster plucked the thrown knife out of the air, whirled, and flung it hard into the throat of a second wizard of war, who was stealing cautiously up behind the Old Mage with a wand held ready. It struck pommel first, stunning the young newcomer into a wheezing inability to breathe. He toppled to the passage floor, clutching his throat.
Elminster kept on turning, coming round to face Hawkblade again in time to duck his left hand just under the sweep of the knight’s reaching sword—and almost delicately lob the something in his left hand up into the highknight’s face.
It burst with the same instantaneous ease as the pepper bomb, but its effects were very different. A sudden, blinding blaze made Hawkblade shriek and warmed Elminster’s face as he ducked aside, eyes shut tight against the short but brilliant explosion. He kept on going until he fetched up against the passage wall. Then he turned and opened his eyes to survey the ruin he’d caused.
Two young fools of wizards of war writhed on the floor, fighting just to breathe, Ironstone’s blinded face wet with streaming tears. Hawkblade—just as blind and in far more pain from the dazzle powder, to boot—was slashing the air with desperate, brutal savagery. He was also turning toward the sounds El had made coming up against the wall, so Elminster lost no time in ducking down to pluck Ironstone’s handy dagger from its belt sheath in case he needed something to parry with.
It was a nice toy—enchanted to glow upon command, and so could buy him one hurled spell this side of insanity—and he smiled at it as he hastened on into the palace.
Behind him, Hawkblade tripped over the third