Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [7]
"No sign of a raid… no one sworded," came the sudden grave words, loud and close. Elminster tensed, lying still and peering into the darkness.
"I suppose all the huts caught fire by themselves, then," another, deeper man's voice said sarcastically. "And the rest fell over just because they were tired of standing up, eh?"
"Enough, Bellard. Everyone's dead, aye-but there's no sword work, not an arrow to be seen. Wolves have been at some of the bodies, but not a one's been rummaged. I found a gold ring on one lady's hand that shone at me clear down the street."
"What kills with fire, then-an' knocks down cottages?"
"Dragons," said another voice, lower still, and grim.
"Dragons? And we saw it not?" The sarcastic voice rose almost jestingly.
"More'n one thing befalls up an' down the Delimbiyr that ye see not, Bellard. What else could it be? A mage, aye-but what mage has spells enough to scorch houses an' haystacks an' odd patches of meadow, as well as every stone-built building in the place?" There was a brief silence, and the voice went on. "Well, if ye think of any other good answer, speak. Until then, if ye've sense, we'll raid only at dawn, before we can be well seen from the air-an' not stray far from the forest, for cover."
"Nay! I'll not sit here like some old woman while others pick over all the coins and good, only to be left fighting with wolves over the refuse."
"Go then, Bellard. I stay here."
"Aye-with the sheep."
"Indeed. That way there may be something for you to eat- besides cooked villager-when you're done… or were you going to herd them all down there an' watch over them as you pick through the rubble?"
There was a disgusted snort, and someone else laughed. "Helm's right, as usual, Bel. Now belt up; let's go. He'll probably have some cooked for us by nightfall, if you speak to him as a lover would instead of always wagging the sharp-tongue… what say, Helm?"
The grim voice answered, "No promises. If I think something's lurking that might be drawn by a smoke-plume, the meat'll be cold. If any of ye sees a good cauldron there-big and stout, mind-have the sense to bring it back, will ye? Then I can boil enough food for us to eat all at once."
"And your helm'll smell less like beans for a while, eh?"
"That, too. Forget not, now."
"I'll not waste my hands on a pot," Bellard said sullenly, "if there's coins or good blades to be had."
"No, no, helmhead-carry thy loot in the pot, see? Then ye can bring that much more, nay?"
There were chuckles. "He's got ye there, Bel."
"Again."
"Aye, let's be off." Then there came the sounds of scrambling and scuffling; stones turned and rolled by the mouth of the cave, and then clattered and were still. Silence fell.
Elminster waited for a long time, but heard only the wind. They must have all gone. Carefully he rose, stretched his stiff arms and legs, and crept forward in the darkness, around the corner-and almost onto the point of a sword. The man at the other end of it said calmly, "An' who might ye be, lad? Run from the village down there?" He wore tattered leather armor, rusty gauntlets, a dented, scratched helm, and a heavy, stubbly beard. This close, Elminster could smell the stench of an unwashed man in armor, the stink of oil and wood smoke.
"Those are my sheep, Helm," he said calmly. "Leave them be."
"Thine? Who be ye herding them for, with all down there dead?"
Elminster met the man's level gaze and was ashamed when sudden tears welled up in his own eyes. He sprang back, wiping at his eyes, and drew the Lion Sword out of the breast of his jerkin.
The man regarded him with what might have been pity and said, "Put that away, boy. I've no interest in crossing blades with ye, even if ye had proper steel to wield. Ye had folk down"-he pointed with a sideways tilt of his head, never taking his eyes from Elminster-"in Heldon?"
"Aye," El managed to say, voice trembling only