Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [23]
"Unfortunately for you, I am," the man replied, "Prince Elminster. Oh, yes, I heard your proud little speech. You are Elthryn's son, then, the one we've been seeking."
Elminster sat very still, thinking. Could a wizard send a spell through his image? A cold inner voice answered: Why not?
Best keep moving, in case… He urged the horse with his knees until it trotted ahead, then turned it, circling. "That is the name I have taken to bring doom down on a certain magelord," he said, passing the image. It turned in the air and watched him in easy silence. Hmmm…
"Other magelords," Elminster added darkly, "have plans of their own."
The watching wizard laughed. "Well, of course they do, boastful boy-always have had. See me shiver at your sinister words? Do you dance and play cards, too?"
Elminster felt himself flush with anger. To ride so hard only to be taunted by a wizard from afar while armsmen no doubt rode out to encircle him and bring him down at leisure… He spurred away from the wizard, flinging only the calm reply, "Yes, of course I do," over his shoulder as he went.
He rode hard back the way he'd come but turned up the nearest easy slope to gain a height to look back. The wizard's image hadn't moved-but as he watched, it winked out and was gone, leaving behind only the circle of beaten snow where he'd ridden around it. Aye, there, below-two bands of mounted armsmen were setting out, riding hard in different directions to curve about and ring him in with swords and bows.
Full night was falling, but the stars were bright overhead, and Selune would rise all too soon. How far could that wizard see him?
Two plans sprang to mind: somehow ride wide around them all on his weary mount and sweep down on the camp, hoping to find the wizard and take him with quarrels before he could loose a spell. That's what a bard or teller-of-tales would expect him to do, to be sure. It sounded the work of a reckless fool even to his own ears.
The other plot was to get into the path of one band, dig into the snow with all his bows ready, and let his horse run free. If one band of armsmen followed it-he'd have time, perhaps, to take those coming toward him down with his bows, somehow get one of their mounts, and then attack the camp. Then, somehow victorious over a wizard who knew he was coming, he'd set forth on the trail of the other armsmen and take them down one by one with quarrels… it sounded almost as wild.
He quoted a line of a ballad he'd once heard, "Princes rush in, shouldering fools aside, and find glory," and turned his horse to the right to intercept the band of armsmen he could see better. He thought he counted nine riders, no telling how many were in the other group.
His tired horse stumbled twice on the ride and nearly fell when they blundered into a pocket of deep, loose snow.
"Gently," El murmured to it, suddenly feeling his own aches and weariness in full. All he could do in his mind was numb the pain for a time, and-he touched his chin thoughtfully-stop bleeding. He was no invincible warrior.
So? This attack required a fool, not an invincible warrior… but then, riding away would be a fool's act, too, without even the comfort of standing up for the memory of his mother and father and for a day when wizards would not rule Athalantar, and the knights would ride again…
"The knights will ride again," he told the wind; it whirled his words away unheard behind him as he came to a good place for the ambush he planned, a narrow gully on the lee slope of a snow-swept rise, and brought his horse to a halt.
Getting down stiffly-he'd not been on a horse much since Heldon burned, and his legs were reminding him of that all too sharply-El unslung his bows and took what he'd need. "Grant me luck," he told the wind, but as before, it made no reply. Taking a deep breath of the sharp air, he slapped the horse's rump and roared. The beast bolted, paused to look back, and then trotted off into the snow. Elminster was alone in the night.
Not for long, by the gods.