Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [43]
"Crazed-wits out looking for thrills," El said dryly.
Farl laughed. "Leave me out of it for a breath or two, and tell."
Elminster thought for a moment. "I won't slay innocent folk… and I don't like stealing from anyone except rich merchants who are grasping, unpleasant, or openly dishonest. Oh, and wizards of course."
"You really hate them, don't you?"
Elminster shrugged. "I-I've contempt for those who hide behind magic and lord it over the rest of us because someone taught them to read, or the gods gave them the power to wield magic, or something. They should be using the Art to help us all, not keep folk down and lord it over them."
"If you were Belaur right now," Farl said softly, "what in the name of the gods could you do but obey the wizards?"
El shrugged. "The king may be trapped, and he may not be. He never shows himself for us unwashed to get to know him-ye know, the subjects he's supposed to be serving-so how can I tell?"
"You said once your parents were killed by a dragon-riding wizard," Farl said.
Elminster looked at him sharply. "Did I?"
"You were drunk. I-not long after we met-I had to know if I could trust you, so I got you drunk. That night at the Ring of Blades, you wouldn't say anything else except 'outlaw' and 'kill magelords.' You kept repeating that."
Elminster stared steadily at the shattered crown of a nearby vault. "Every man needs an obsession," he said. He turned his head. "What's thine?"
Farl shrugged his shoulders. "Excitement. If I'm not in danger or doing high, hidden, and important deeds, I'm not alive."
Elminster nodded, remembering.
It had been a cold, blustery day, muddy slush ankle-deep in the streets of Hastarl. Newly arrived and wandering wide-eyed, El turned down a blind alley only to find, when he spun about, that he was facing a line of hard-eyed, grinning men blocking his way. A balding, burly giant in worn leathers stood at their head, a padded stick in one hand and a canvas sack big enough to enclose Elminster's head-for that was its purpose-in the other. They stalked down the alley toward him.
El backed away, fingering the Lion Sword and wondering if he could fight so many hardened men in such a confined space and hope to win.
He took a stand in a corner, blade out, but they didn't slow their steady, menacing advance. The bald man raised his stick, obviously planning to strike aside the lad's sword while the others wrestled him down, but before he could, a calm voice broke in from overhead.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Shildo. He's Hawklyn's meat already, marked and in use; see how bedazed he is?-and you know what Hawklyn does to blades who meddle."
The bald man looked up, face ugly. "And who's going to say we did it?"
The slim youth crouching on the windowsill, hand crossbow sliding gently back and forth to menace one bravo after another, smiled and said, "That's already been done, bald-pate. Two breaths ago Antaerl flew off to report. He left me to dissuade you because he recalls an old debt he owes you-and what happened the last time a snatch band took the wrong man. Wasn't pleasant, was it, Shildo? Recall what Undarl said he'd do to you if you made another unfortunate mistake? I remember."
Snarling, the bald man spun around and stalked off, breaking the line of bravos and waving at them to accompany him.
When the alley was empty, Elminster looked up and said, "Thankee for a rescue. My life is thine, Sir-?"
"Farl's the name, an' no 'sir' am I. I'm proud of that, mind." Farl explained that 'meat' was the name given to bumpkins, slaves, and other unfortunates used by magelords for experiments that slew, twisted, transformed, or left them mind-slaves. The wandering, obviously bewildered Elminster had looked like a prime snatch candidate, or a mind-slave already in thrall. "That's what I persuaded him you were," he said warningly.