Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [88]
Storm nodded, raced to Elminster, and swept an arm around him to give him a brief, fierce kiss, then snatched up the fallen Dragon’s sword and sprinted for the glowing portal.
Halfway there she bent over a fallen wizard and tugged hard, rolling the body over. She came up with his cloak, and two strides farther on scooped up a fallen wand. It was a short run from there to where she could pluck a second wand from another outstretched hand.
Casting a brief look back over her shoulder at Elminster—he was on his feet and gave her a cheery wave—she raced for the glowing portal and plunged through its silent white fires without hesitation.
The palace was suddenly gone, and she was running on soft, sinking nothing, in the heart of a bright blue void that stretched endlessly and silently away in all directions, a void that just as abruptly vanished in a flash of bright light that became the low, bright sunlight of late afternoon lancing through trees.
A certain freshness in the air and a cool breeze coming down from the north told her she was east of the Thunder Peaks. Mistledale should be just ahead, with the broad straight wagonway of the Moonsea Ride just out of sight behind and below yon trees, and there’d undoubtedly be a sentinel of some sort keeping watch over this side of the Dalestride, being as it connected with the heart of the royal palace of Suzail, and—
Storm looked around wildly and swerved toward the nearest trees as she did so. Guards of realms with wild borders often have bows or spells to hurl, and lone women running with drawn swords in their hands could hardly fail to evoke a certain apprehension in even the laziest of sleepy sentinels …
“Hold!” an annoyed male voice snapped from somewhere behind her, right on cue. Storm ran even faster, turning sharply to meet the trees even sooner, and tore open her jerkin with her free hand as she went, ducking low.
“Halt, I said!” the guardian shouted, sounding angrier. “Are you deaf, woman?”
Storm found a tree and caught hold of it, spending all the haste of her run in a swing around it that brought her back facing the glade she’d just fled.
A young, stern-looking wizard of war flanked by two Purple Dragons with longbows in their hands was striding toward her, and he was frowning. Behind them, this side of the portal cast no glows at all; instead, it looked like endlessly rippling empty air.
“No,” she panted, giving all three men a good look at her bared and bobbing front. “I’m just—a certain none-too-noble lord seeks my virtue! Lord Wizard, I dare not tarry!”
“But—but this way is guarded at the palace end! How did you get through?”
“Please, Lord, the guardians of the Dalestride let me through! Lord Warder Vainrence ordered them to and said he’d take care of—of the one chasing me! Please, Lord, I must be away from here!”
The Dragons were staring only at what she was displaying, but the wizard was reddening and looking away. “How do I know you speak truth?” he asked, sounding exasperated.
“Vainrence’ll sure tell you, I’m thinking,” one of the Dragons muttered, “when he takes your report.”
At that, the wizard went very red and waved wildly at Storm. “Get you gone!” he commanded. “Just get—go!”
“T-thank you, kind lords!” Storm babbled, swinging around the tree again and sprinting headlong into the woods. There was a stream nearby, she remembered, and a little wade up it would cover her tracks, if anyone changed his mind about permitting her departure.
As she went, she rolled her eyes. As the centuries passed, her acting seemed to be getting more than a little rusty, but men weren’t changing much.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
WHEN VENGEFUL GHOSTS WALK
You’re armed for real trouble? Good, good.”
Marlin was gleeful.
In fact, the young lordling was actually rubbing his hands.
Manshoon rolled his eyes. Not even Fzoul at his gloating worst had been that unsubtle.
The lordling’s two bodyguards stood awaiting further orders. Ormantor said nothing, as usual.