Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [123]
Weariness gone, Elmara stole forward in cautious silence, keeping to the deepest shadows. A palisade rose in front of her, a dark wall that ran for a long way, enclosing-what? Looking along it, she saw a helmed head at a corner where the wall turned.
Carefully, El drew back, and retraced her steps in the night until she found a certain boulder she'd climbed often as a child. Shielded from anyone watching from the palisade, she cast a spell that turned her into a silent, drifting shadow, and went to the walls.
In this form, she could glide along swiftly, without worrying about noise. She hurried around the walls. They enclosed a square and were pierced by two gates. The gap under one of them was large enough for her to pass in shadow-shape… and she was inside. She reared up in the darkness of the wall and looked around hastily. This spell did not last long, and she had no desire to fight her way out of a camp defended by gods-alone-knew how many aroused armsmen.
For there were armsmen here in plenty: two barracksful, at least, by the look of things… guarding loggers, it seemed. Cut timber lay piled everywhere; Elmara shook her head sourly. If she were an angry elf-mage, one fireball over the palisade would turn this torchlit camp into a huge funeral pyre. Perhaps someone should suggest it to them.
Later. She had work before her, as always. Where there are lots of armsmen, there are always priests of Tempus, or Helm, or Tyr, or Tyche, or all four… Tempus, at least.
The shadow scudded along behind the barracks and warehouses, seeking a corner where a sword would be standing upright in a wooden block as an altar. Ah… there. So where was the priest? Elmara drifted toward the nearest building. Within was a plain room hung with battered armor-trophies of Tempus, no doubt-and the unwashed man sleeping beneath them reeked of ale. If that was the priest, she thought in disgust, her venture here had failed, and she'd best be out and seeking the shrine to Chauntea before her spell ended.
But first… there was one splendid house in the center of the rest. The lair of the local magelords, doubtless, but she could hear a faint din of laughter and talk from this far off; perhaps they were drinking the night away… and a priest might be there.
The house had guards, but they were bored and resentful of the feasting within, and one soon strolled over to the other to share a jest. The shadow slipped through the spot where he'd stood and in at the door. Thence it ghosted past curtains and hurrying servants into a large, noisy room beyond.
A drifting globe of magical radiance competed with many candles to light up this grand chamber, which was crowded with men in rich robes and women in nothing but gems. All of this drunken company were lolling about on pillows and lounges, spilling as much wine as they were quaffing and talking far too loudly and grandly about what they'd do in the days and hours ahead, and how they'd do it.
To Elmara's magesight, the place was awash in the blue light of magic, but an inner room, partly visible past one of the many open doors at the back of the chamber, glowed even more brightly. Not wanting to risk her shadow-shape being stripped from her by some defensive spell or ward, or being seen by someone in the room who had the power to pierce spell-disguises, El glided swiftly around the edge of the feast and made for the beckoning doorway.
The room beyond the door was richly furnished and so overlaid by spells that it seemed one thick blue murk to Elmara's eyes. She stole quickly across the carpet and through an arch, into a bedchamber almost entirely filled by a huge canopied bed.
Now, if I were a mage and had lots of magic to hide, where would I…? Under the bed, of course.
The skirts of the high bed were no barrier to a shadow, and