Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [172]
Elminster was tired, and his throat hurt… but Tassabra had firmly whirled him into the midst of the dancers and guided him deftly through a dance of many avid kisses and caresses-and when Farl had smilingly reclaimed her, clapping El on the back so hard that the prince had almost fallen to his knees, the ladies of the court had pressed in.
El found that the night fled slowly before his stumbling feet, but always another beautiful, eager lady of the court, eyes shining with excitement, was waiting for his hand, and the dances went on.
His feet were beginning to hurt as much as his raw throat, and sweat was trickling down his back under his already-soaked shirt… and still the music went on, and still he was surrounded by eager ladies. Shaking his head, Elminster peered past whirling shoulders and laughing faces, seeking a tall, regal face with serene dark eyes. Then he was looking into them, and though half a hundred folk were dancing between them, Myrjala's voice seemed a soft whisper in his ear: "Go, and enjoy! Meet me here at dawn!"
Elminster asked the air, "But what will ye be doing?"
A few whirling turns later, Myrjala swept up to and past him and winked. El watched her dance up to Helm, deftly pluck him from the very arms of Isparla, and turn her head back to meet his wondering eyes. "I'll think of something!" Myrjala said to her pupil, and set off across the room, towing Helm by the hand. The old knight shook his head, grinned at Elminster, and shrugged.
Elminster stared across the room at them, astonished at the bubbling laughter in her voice-and then, helplessly, started to laugh. He was still rocking with mirth as smooth hands drew him away through a door into less-well-lit antechambers, where there were couches, and wine, and eager lips to share it with…
*****
In the first gray light of dawn, Elminster staggered back into the throne room. His head was pounding and his mouth very dry. Something seemed to be wrong with his balance, and he was still belting and adjusting the tattered remnants of his clothing when he came through the double doors, and looked straight into Myrjala's amused eyes. She stood in front of the Stag Throne looking immaculate, her dress and regal appearance unchanged from the evening before. "Has Athalantar thanked you properly?" she asked teasingly.
Elminster gave her a look. His fingers, still busy fastening and adjusting, encountered smooth silkiness, and he drew a lady's veil from where it been caught up under his belt. Shaking his head, he held it out to Myrjala. "Ye want me to pass this up?" he asked mournfully.
She laughed. "You'd be sick of plots and betrayals inside a tenday… One doesn't have to be king to eat and dance and love a night away, you know."
Elminster sighed and looked around the throne room at the shields and banners of his ancestors. His gaze came very slowly back to her from looking on distant memories, and he stirred.
"Let's to horse, then," he said briskly, "and be out of here before Helm's awake."
Myrjala nodded and stepped forward to link her arm with his. They went out of the throne room together.
The stables were huge and dimly lit, but quiet; it was well before the first feeding. Myrjala calmly chose the two best horses, and ordered a drowsy-eyed groom to saddle them.
"Here, now-" he protested, frowning. "Thos-" He broke off hastily, staring into her stern eyes. His eyes fell to her hands, beginning to shape a spell, and he gulped and said, "A moment, Lady-they'll be ready'n' but a breath or two!"
Myrjala smiled dryly, then turned to Elminster and snapped her fingers. Bulging saddlebags melted slowly out of thin air beside his feet. Elminster gave her a questioning look.
"I took the liberty," she said with a serene and innocent smile, "of assembling these early this morn. Folk who conquer kingdoms and then give them away deserve to eat well, at least."
Elminster hefted one of them and found it was gods-cursed heavy… and that it