Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [159]
Thelorn Selemban strode forward, past the staring Darrigo. "Just who are you?" he demanded.
Helm Stoneblade eyed the noble's ruffed open-to-the-waist silk shirt, its puffed sleeves adorned with many crawling dragons.
"A knight of Athalantar," he growled, "but by the looks of you, it seems I'd've done better down the years as your tailor."
"A knight? What idiocy is this? There are no-" Selemban's eyes narrowed. "Are you loyal to King Belaur and the mage-lords?"
"I fear not, lad," Helm said, striding forward. There were ten or more warriors in motley armor behind him.
Thelorn Selemban flourished his blade. It glittered in the torchlight as he said excitedly, "Come no farther, rebels, or die!"
" 'Tis certainly a day for grand speeches," Helm responded, moving steadily forward. "Let's see if you're any better with that blade than your aromatic friend was…"
"Friend?" Thelorn snorted. "He was no friend of mine-despite anything you may have heard. Now stand back, or-"
"Or you'll wave your sword at me?"
Helm's voice was heavy with sarcasm, but it trailed away as Thelorn jerked something from around his neck, raised it to his lips, and sneered, "Or I'll slay you traitors with this! I'm told i-"
It was then that Darrigo Trumpettower made his decision. He took two shuffling steps forward and thrust his blade into the young nobleman's ear.
Thelorn gurgled, dropped blade and bauble, reeled, and fell on his face.
Darrigo peered past him at the grim-faced men beyond. "Helm?" he asked, squinting. "Helm Stoneblade?"
"Darrigo! You old lion! Well met!"
A moment later they embraced, keeping their swords out of the way with the ease of old veterans.
"I heard you were an outlaw… what've you been doing, Helm?"
"Killing armsmen," the knight said, "but I've found killing magelords more fun, so I'm doing that right now. Care to join me?"
"Don't mind if I do," Darrigo Trumpettower growled. "Thank you-I will. Lead the way."
Helm rolled his eyes. "You nobles," he said in disgust, and strode forward…
*****
The magelords stared at the Old One and then at each other. There was reluctance in their words of agreement, and suspicious looks in plenty were exchanged. These pleasantries were yet incomplete when the tall window at the far end of Ithboltar's vast spell chamber shattered from top to bottom.
Through the opening strode the grand figure of a mage as tall as two men, white-bearded and crowned with fire. He moved purposefully toward them, walking on air and holding high a staff as tall as he was. Its shining length glowed with pulsing, moving radiances. Every magelord shouted out a spell, as one-and the very air seemed to shatter.
The end of the Old One's chamber vanished, raining dust down into the inner courtyard of Athalgard. Unseen behind them all, Ithboltar's crystal winked into life.
*****
El let the crystal Tass had taken fade into darkness once more. "Beautifully done, Myr… each one wasted a powerful spell."
Myrjala nodded. "We'll not catch them that way again, though-and they're together now, whisked away from their chambers where the knights and Farl's folk could outnumber them."
El shrugged. "We'll just have to do this the hard way, then."
*****
Armsmen clattered up the stairs by the score. Tass wasn't that good with a crossbow, but it wasn't easy to miss striking something in that river of armored humanity. As they watched, an elf spread his hands in a spell, and the foremost armsmen stumbled, clutched at their eyes, and ran on blindly into the wall. Their fellows running right behind them tripped over the sightless, falling armsmen. Curses arose, and a thief leaned out from his perch high on a stair to slip a dagger into one open helm and bellow, "We're under attack!" Another thief uttered a gurgling scream from somewhere near the head of the stair. A breath later, the entire stairway was a tumult of slashing blades and screaming men. Farl watched it with a widening grin on his face.
"How can you smile at that?"