Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [51]
Elminster stared up at him thoughtfully-and then stiffened as he heard the sudden, approaching thunder of running, booted feet echoing in the passages nearby. That sound could mean only one thing: armsmen of Athalantar.
"Save thyself!" he snapped, without stopping to think what a ridiculous warning that was to the mightiest archmage in all the world, and darted toward the nearest archway that did not ring with footfalls.
He was still three running strides short of it when men with halberds and crossbows burst into the room, but the puffing merchant with them stabbed a finger up at the floating mage and bellowed, "There!"
By the time the volley of quarrels and hastily conjured flames had torn through suddenly empty air, both the running boy and the eyes in the licking flames that played about the ruin of Havilyn's once-grand table had vanished. A breath later, the floating corpses suddenly fell from the air, striking the stone floor with wet, heavy thuds. White-faced armsmen drew back, calling aloud on Tempus to defend them and Tyche to aid them.
Elminster took one door out of the kitchen, found himself in a dead-end cluster of pantries, and raced frantically back to the kitchen's other, smaller door, offering his own quieter prayer to Tyche that it not be another pantry-when he heard Havilyn's furious voice snarl, "Find that boy! He's no part of my household!"
Cursing aloud, Elminster snatched open the door. Yes, this was the way the terrified cooks had fled. He took the stairs two at time until at a bend in the stair several halberds crashed down together in front of him, striking sparks. Snarling arms-men struggled to tear them free of the stair-rails and wrestle them around to stab downward-but El had already seen a third armsman lumbering along the passage above with a ready crossbow. He leapt back down the stairs in a single bound, landed hard on his haunches, and sprang sideways into an evil-smelling alcove.
A breath later, a crossbow quarrel cracked off the wall nearby and rattled down into the kitchens. A second quarrel followed, speeding deep into the throat of the foremost armsman racing up the stairs.
Elminster didn't spare the time to watch the man gurgle and fall; he was looking around the dark alcove for the scullery door. There! Wrenching it open, he skidded across the noisome room, through a maze of sloped boards where meat was washed and buckets where food scraps were thrown, hoping the house was old enough to have… yes!
El seized the pull-ring and hauled up the trapdoor of the refuse-pit. He could hear the waters of the Run rushing past in the darkness below as he slid feetfirst down to join them.
The drop was farther than he'd thought it would be, and the waters numbingly cold. El's heels struck a mucky bottom for a moment, and he twisted to one side to come up off to one side of the door above.
Trying to ignore the unseen slimy lumps floating in the water with him, he came up gasping for breath, in time to hear a quarrel crack off the hatch somewhere above and behind him, followed by the shout, "The sewers! He's gone below!"
Elminster swam with the rushing river, trying not to make noise. He didn't trust the avid armsmen not to come down after him or lower torches and try their archery along the river tunnel. The chill of the waters crept into him as they carried him around a corner and away.
It seemed the first chance he'd had in a long while to collect his wits. The mage royal and at least three other magelords had been swept away in a single night-but the hand of Elminster had done nothing to them. He hadn't even a bite of supper or a spare coin from the house to show for his efforts.
"Elminster gives thee thanks, Tyche," he murmured into the rushing darkness. He'd managed to hang on to his head in that chamber of death; he supposed that was something… something even mighty wizards hadn't managed! Prudence stifled the whoop of exultation that suddenly rose within him-but it warmed him as