Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [109]
Elmara took up her cloak and pack. "Ye see? Mercy continues in short supply. Nor among mages, I've learned, is there overmuch trust," she added and went out into the street.
Watching faces were pressed against the windows of the inn as Elmara walked calmly out into the road and began to peer into shop windows, as if she had coins to spare and a whim to spend them. She had not been strolling long before there was the sound of a horn from north up the road-from the small stone pile of Narthil Keep. A sally port in the keep gate opened, and the clatter of hooves was heard. An old man in a ceremonial tabard rode out, two full-plated armsmen with lances behind him. Elmara watched them turn toward her, saw no signs of crossbows, shrugged, and turned away, heading back to the inn.
The street was rapidly filling with curious townsfolk. "Who are ye, young lass?" asked one scar-nosed man.
"A friend… a traveling priestess of Mystra, from Athalantar," said Elmara.
"A magelord?" another man asked, sounding angry.
"A renegade magelord?" the woman beside him offered.
"No magelord at all, ever," Elmara replied, and turned to a big-bosomed, weary-looking woman in apron and patched skirts, who stood gaping at her as if she were a talking fish. "How goes it here in Narthil, goodwoman?"
Taken aback by her words, she stammered for a trice, and then said bitterly, "Bad, lass, since these Athalantan dogs came and took the keep for their own. Since then, they've seized our food and daughters an' all without so much as asking!"
"Aye!" several folk agreed.
"More cruel than most warriors?" Elmara asked, waving a hand at the keep.
The woman shrugged. "Nae so much cruel, as… proud. These young bucks'd not prance so free nor be so fast to smash things and upset all, if they had to spend a tenday in my-or any maid's!-place, cleaning up and setting to rights and mending!"
" 'Ware!" a man said warningly, and all around Elmara folk drew back as the three horsemen came trotting up. The young woman stood calmly awaiting them.
At her unmoving stance, the old man in the tabard of purple adorned with silver moonflowers reined in his mount and said, "I am Aunsiber, lord steward of Narthil. Who are ye, who here work spells against lawful armsmen and mages of the realm?"
Elmara nodded in polite greeting. "One who would prefer to see wizards help folk, not rule them-who would prefer a king whose rule meant peace, stability, and help in harvesting, not taxes, ceaseless strife, and brutality."
Not surprisingly, there was a murmur of agreement from the watching townsfolk all around. The steward uneasily eyed the crowd, sidestepping his restless mount. His voice, when it came, was derisive. "A dream."
Elmara inclined her head. "As yet, 'tis-and not my only one."
The old man looked down from his high saddle and asked, "And your others, young dreamer?"
"Just one," Elmara replied mildly. "Revenge." She raised both her hands as if to cast a spell-and the old man's face paled. He jerked at his reins, wheeled his mount in a nervous flurry of snorts and hooves, and set off back to the keep at a gallop. There were some hoots and exultant yells from the crowd, but Elmara turned away without another word and went back into the inn.
"What'd she say?" one man was asking as she stepped through the door.
A woman sitting nearby leaned forward and said loudly, "Did ye not hear? Revenge."
Then she saw Elmara was in the room and fell silent, a silence that suddenly hung tense and expectant over the whole room. El gave the woman a gentle smile and went to the bar. "Is that beer ready yet?" she asked calmly, and was pleased to hear at least one man behind her dare to chuckle aloud.
* * * * *
Briost was not having a good day. He burst out of his grand council chamber the moment the messenger had gone. The apprentice who'd been trying to eavesdrop by means of a just-perfected spell stiffened guiltily; his master's face was dark with anger.
"Go and practice hurling fireballs," Briost