Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [9]
The man grinned again. "Please, Lord Prince? Just one answer more?"
Elminster stared at him. "D'ye mock me? 'Lord Prince'?"
Helm shook his head. "No, lad-Prince Elminster. I pray ye, I must know. Have ye brothers? Sisters?"
Elminster shook his head. "None, alive or dead."
"Thy mother?"
Elminster spread his hands. "Did ye find anyone alive down there?" he asked, suddenly angry again. "I'd like my answers now, Sir Knight." He took a long, deliberate drink from the flask.
His nose and throat exploded in bubbling fire. Elminster choked and gasped. His knees hit the stony ground, hard; through swimming eyes he saw Helm lean swiftly forward to rescue him-and the flask. Strong hands helped him to his seat and gently shook him.
"Firewine not to thy liking, lad? All right now?"
Elminster managed a nod, head bowed. Helm roughly patted him on the arm and said, "Well enough. Seems thy parents thought it safest to tell ye nothing. I agree with them."
Elminster's head came up in anger-but through swimming eyes he saw Helm holding up one gauntleted hand in the gesture that meant "halt."
"Yet I gave my word… an' you are a prince of Athalantar. A knight keeps his promises, however rashly made."
"So, speak," Elminster said.
"How much d'ye know of thy parents? Thy lineage?"
Elminster shrugged. "Nothing," he said bitterly, "beyond the names of my parents. My mother was Amrythale Goldsheaf; her father was a forester. My father was proud of this sword-it had magic-and was glad that we couldn't see Athalgard from Heldon. That's all."
Helm rolled his eyes, sighed, and said, "Well, then. Sit an' learn. If ye'd live, keep what I tell thee to thyself. Wizards hunt folk of thy blood in Athalantar, these days."
"Aye," Elminster told him bitterly, "I know."
Helm sighed. "I-my forgiveness, Prince. I forgot." He spread gauntleted hands as if to clear away underbrush before him, and said, "This realm, Athalantar, is called the Kingdom of the Stag after one man: Uthgrael Aumar, the Stag King; a mighty warrior-an' thy grandsire."
Elminster nodded. "That much, I suspected from all thy 'prince' talk. Why then am I not in rich robes right now in some high chamber of Athalgard?"
Helm give him that grin of delight again and chuckled. "Ye are as quick-an' as iron of nerves-as he was, lad." He reached an arm behind him, found a battered canvas pack, and rummaged in it as he went on. "The best answer to that is to tell things as they befell. Uthgrael was my lord, lad, and the greatest swordsman I've ever seen." His voice sank to a whisper, all traces of his smile gone. "He died in the Year of Frosts, going up against orcs near Jander. Many of us died that wolfwinter-an' the spine of Athalantar went with us."
Helm found what he was looking for: a half-loaf of hard, gray bread. He held it out wordlessly. Elminster took it, nodded his thanks, and gestured for the knight to say on. That brought the ghost of a smile to Helm's lips.
"Uthgrael was old an' ready to die; after Queen Syndrel went to her grave, he fell to grimness an' waited for a chance to fall in battle; I saw it in his eyes more than once. The orc-chieftain who cut him down left the realm in the hands of his seven sons. There were no daughters."
Helm stared into the depths of the cavern, seeing other times and places-and faces Elminster did not know. "Five princes were ruled by ambition, an' were ruthless, cruel men, all. One of these, Felodar, was interested in gold above all else an' traveled far in its pursuit-to hot Calimshan and beyond, lad, where he still is, for all I know-but the others all stayed in Athalantar."
The knight scratched himself for a moment, eyes still far away, and added, "There were two sons more. One was too young an' timid to be a threat to anyone. The other-thy father, Elthryn-was calm an' just, an' preferred the life of a farmer to the intrigue of the court. He retired here an' married a commoner. We thought that signified his renunciation of the crown. So, I fear, did he."
Helm sighed,