Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [40]
Elminster obliged, feeling as elated as he was surprised.
“I trust,” he said, when his lips were free to speak again, “ye’ll find time and will enough to tell me thy reasons for returning so swiftly, hey? I thought we’d agreed on a strategy.”
“We had,” Storm agreed, “but matters changed.” Her smile died swiftly, and she held out something small and round. “Behold one of the latest toys of the wizards of war.”
Elminster peered at it. “An orb. Tell.”
“Upon command, it captures speech and can later be made to emit what it has, ah, recorded as often as desired, for the hearing of others. The mages use it when questioning those they’re suspicious of.”
Elminster arched an eyebrow in the manner that meant it was a substitute for a mirthless smile. “Some war wizard is now missing this, I presume?”
“He will be when he wakes up,” Storm replied, “but that may be a day or so from now. I’m afraid I hit him rather hard.”
The look he went on giving her was both a silent question and the message that he wasn’t in the mood for waiting much longer for answers, so she added, “I dislike being surprised by someone I am unaware of, who has obviously been following me for some time. I dislike even more men who wait until I’m sitting relieving myself to attack me.”
Alusair’s glow grew a little brighter. “I fear our current Crown magelings share the poor manners of much of their generation,” she commented wryly.
“I doubt not thy justification for hitting a mage, nor decry thy wisdom in latching onto magic whenever possible,” Elminster said. “I’m merely curious as to why ye’re now back here, rather than a lot closer to Shadowdale.”
“I overheard something you should hear, too,” Storm replied, folding herself gracefully down onto the floor and murmuring something over the orb as she touched it. “The awakening word’s graven on its underside,” she announced. “You’ll hear two wizards of war who were unaware of my presence.”
The orb shook itself a little, and voices arose from it.
“Oho! Scared of the infamous Lady Dark Armor, are we?” A jovial, teasing man’s voice.
“No, not her. If she still exists—if she ever did—I’ve not seen her.” A younger, grimmer male voice.
“The Princess Alusair, then? Worth being scared of, that one, let me tell you!”
“No, it’s the one called Elminster.”
“Ah, the infamous Elminster! He’s been living in the haunted wing for some time, you know, hiding among its many ghosts—and posing with some old hag or other as the brother and sister Rhauligan.”
“Yes, yes. That’s not what worries me. It’s this trap they’re talking about, that they’ve set up for him when next he shows his face in the palace. If we blunder into any part of it, it’ll kill us, they’re saying!”
“So don’t go atrysting in the haunted wing, dolt! Huh. Elminster. Some ‘Great Old Mage,’ that one! A doddering old fool, sharp-tongued and scared of using magic, by the Dragon! At least watching him has been a bit of a diversion. Just what he’s seeking, I haven’t an earthly idea, but if the old fool is witless enough to think he can find royal treasure and get out of the palace with it undetected, he is an utter dunderhead.”
“They … the word is he just killed a lot of us, and they’re right out of patience with him. If he steps into the trap, it’ll kill him—and it might hurl a good bit of the palace into the sky, just to make sure!”
The orb quivered again and fell silent.
Storm looked up at Elminster. “El, Alassra will be no more mad tomorrow than she is right now,” she whispered. “But if you fall, neither she nor I have any hope, nor any reason to carry on. You need this, right now, more than she does—and the Realms needs you more than it does her. It can muster many Red Wizard slayers, but only a handful of men who can and have saved it time and again. And of those men, you are the only one I trust.”
She took the orb and held it up to him. “Yours, El.”
He took it with a wry grin.