Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [119]
She faced the campfires, softly whispered a supplication to Mystra, spread bare feet for better balance, and began her spell.
Taking up the least favored of her several daggers, she pricked the palms of both her hands so they bled and held the dagger out horizontally before her, pinioned between her bloody palms.
As she murmured the incantation, she could feel blood running down to drip off her elbows and strength ebbing out of her as it was stolen by the spell.
Trembling with weakness, Elmara held the dagger up higher so it gleamed in the moonlight and watched it darken and begin to crumble. When it dissolved into rusty shards, she brushed off her hands and sank down, satisfied. Before dawn, every piece of metal between her and the forest would be useless, powdery rust. That would give the magelords something to think about. If they decided elven magic was the cause, the attack on the High Forest might never come.
Elmara curled her hands into fists and stared up at the moon as she whispered another prayer to Mystra, to heal her slashed flesh. It did not take long, but she was numb with weariness when she was done. She turned back to her pack. Put on cloak and boots, at least, and then best be gone from here, before…
"Oho! What've we here, eh?"
The voice was rough but delighted, pitched low so as not to carry far. "Heh," it chuckled, as its owner reached out of the night-shadows by the trees to clutch her firmly by the arm, "I c'n see why Othglar was in no great hurry to report in… come here, lass, and give us a kiss."
Elmara felt herself dragged into an embrace. The unseen lips that kissed her were ringed by rough, prickly stubble, but when she could breathe again she did not pull away. At all costs, she must keep this man from raising the alarm.
"Oh, yesss," she moaned, the same way that girl in Hastarl had done so long ago. "He sleeps, now, leaving me so lonely…"
"Ho-ho!" the armsman chuckled again. "Truly, the gods smile tonight!" His arms tightened around her.
El fought down a rush of panic and murmured, "Kiss me again, Lord." As those bristled lips sought her own, Elmara put one arm around the corded muscles of his back, shuddered at the taste of the horrible ale the guard had been drinking-and found what she'd been seeking: the dagger sheathed at his belt. She slid the blade free and held the man's lips with her own as she swung the hilt of the dagger as hard as she could against his head.
The armsman made a surprised sound and fell away from her, landing heavily in the brush. The hilt of the dagger was wet and sticky; Elmara fought down a sudden urge to be sick and threw the weapon down. Rolling the senseless man across the rock was hot work, even naked as she was. "Ye were great," she hissed fiercely in his ear as she rolled him over the edge.
Her cloak was around her and her pack on her back by the time she heard the body crash through branches below and start to roll.
El stepped into her boots and carefully went forward onto soft moss before she stamped them firmly onto her feet. Then she crept into the darkness, heading back the way she'd come, hoping no new guardposts or patrols had been set. She'd a few spells left, aye, but scarce the strength to stand and cast them. She dare not try to go through this encamped army to reach the forest-elven patrols might slay her before they knew who she was, even if by some gods-sent miracle she got past all the armsmen.
No, 'twould be best to go back to the place of the goddess, that little pool, and seek Braer from there. It lay well west of here…
Stumbling with weariness, Elmara made her slow way down through the night, wondering how far she'd get before she passed out. It would be interesting to see…
*****
By the end of her second day in the loft, Elmara was still as weak as a newborn kitten. She'd fallen twice on the ladder, and finally struggled up here hissing in pain from