Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [152]
"Fly me?" Farl said, and rolled his eyes. "I'm still not quite used to you being a mighty mage, El-or a prince, for that matter."
"That's all right," Myrjala said soothingly. "El's not really used to being either of those things himself, yet."
"You surprise me," Farl said dryly, striding to the edge of the roof. Behind him, the two mages exchanged an amused glance.
*****
Farl reached for the ring. This was almost too easy. "The wine's all gone," a pettish female voice complained, from the bath on the other side of the curtain.
"Well, get some more," the magelord replied from the other end of the bath. "You know where it is."
Water splashed. Farl's fingers closed on the ring-and a wet, long-fingered hand reached through the curtain, closing on…
Farl's knuckle! Farl snatched his hand away and spun. The time for stealth was past. The woman screamed piercingly. Yes, long past.
Farl heard the magelord's startled curse as he sprinted for the jakes. "Get me out of here!" he snarled, vaulting a low chair. "Now!"
There was a chorus of splashing sounds from behind him, and a man's voice, chanting quickly.
Farl cursed despairingly. "Elminster!" he cried, dodging around a table. Then he felt a tingling in his limbs. He faltered, saw light flickering around him like dancing flames, and then fell through the door into the jakes. Lie still, a calm elven voice said in his mind. Farl shivered, and did so. What other chance did he have?
"Shielded!" the magelord spat in disbelief. "A spell-shielded thief in my own chambers! What's this realm coming to, anyway?"
Dripping, he strode across the room, tiny blue lightnings playing between his hands. "Well, I think I'll get a few answers before he dies… Nanatha, bring me some of that wine too!"
Oh, gods help me, Farl prayed, forehead on the floor. El, where are you? I knew this would h-
There was a sudden burst of light, and then a disgusted sigh. "Right in the chamberpot," Elminster told the room angrily. "It's not that small a room, but I have to appear right in the-"
"Who in the Nine Blazing Hells are you?"
Malanthor was flabbergasted; there were not one, but two intruders in his jakes, and with no sign of how they got there. He shook his head, but decided not to wait for a reply. Blue lightnings spat from his fingertips. They struck the hawk-nosed man-wait! This was one of the mages Ithboltar had been gibbering about!-and rebounded, leaping back at the magelord before he had time to do anything. They struck home. Malanthor grunted as his body was hurled back, jerking and spasming uncontrollably, and fell backward over a couch. Nanatha screamed again.
"Alabaertha… shumgolnar," he gasped, writhing on the carpet. Chantlarn'd demand a high price for this aid, but it was call on their pact-link or die!
"Myr?" El called. "Are ye ready?"
"I'll come for him," was the soft reply. "We've got a patrol of armsmen up here."
"Is that why I'm visible?" El said, suddenly realizing that the magelord had seen him instantly.
El stepped out of the chamberpot, deciding not to look down at whatever mess he must be making, and strode toward where the magelord had vanished. A bottle sailed across the room at his head; he ducked, and it touched his shoulder and shattered against the door behind him.
"Yes, that's why," Myrjala answered him calmly. "Next time, just pour me a glass, all right?"
El stared at the frightened woman who'd hurled the bottle- did all these magelords walk about naked? Nay, she was dripping wet, just as the man had been: bath time, then-and then turned back to see Myrjala touch Farl.
"Be back," she said to El, and the two of them vanished. El looked back at the woman, and then over to where the magelord was struggling to his feet.
"For the deaths of my parents," he said softly, "die, Magelord!"