Elminster's Daughter - Ed Greenwood [150]
Myrmeen gave Elminster an incredulous look and found the Old Mage's face every bit as astonished as her own.
He managed a pale smile then bowed deeply to the looming dragon. "Well, well-ahem-my apologies for knowing ye not, Joysil. So ye're Narnra's mother!" He shook his head, adding hastily, "Well, now. I… I'll tell her only much later, I think, when the lass is ready for such news."
"Wise choice," Joysil said in dry tones.
Elminster cast a swift glance at Myrmeen. Fresh tears were streaming down her face, but she waved him away as she sat in a chair. Not just away. She was waving him toward the dragon.
The Old Mage looked up, swallowed, and asked, "Wha… ah, how d'ye feel toward me now, ah, Lady?"
"Joysil. Call me Joysil." The great dragon head lowered, those burning eyes seemed to sear through him, and the jaws beneath slowly… smiled.
"I must confess I'm-pleased-to see you so taken aback. You're learning, El… learning doubt at last. Archmages who know just how to rule the world scare me, and you were worse than most.
One bed one night, another the next, no thought for the ruin you left behind or what I went through, tearing free from Shar. Too many realms to conquer, liches to blast, other wizards to humble-all stars in your eyes and rushing to save Faerun, that was you. And yet I… I love you still."
"Ye…"
"I loved you then for the same reason I'm still fond of you, Old Mage. Your tenderness. Your gentleness, your understanding. Never lose that, El, or I might just awaken, leave Cormyr undefended, and come looking for you." Joysil sprang aloft.
"I-I still care for thee, Maer-Joysil," Elminster called quickly, stepping forward.
"I know, El. I know. So keep yourself alive for years to come, hold that madness at bay, be happy with the Queen of Aglar-ond-and look after our Narnra well- withoutsmothering her."
"I… of course. Her safety shall be-"
"The pleasure you endure now," Joysil said in a voice as dry as the desert, "in return for the pleasure we shared then."
She flapped her wings once, circled so low over the Old Mage that Myrmeen cried out in alarm, and whispered, "Farewell, El. I do love you." She soared away, silver-blue in the lowering sun.
Elminster went to his knees as his spell flung his thought after her: I love thee, Joysil, and I love our Narnra. Trust in me.
He got back of flare of amusement. Trust. Of course.
Elminster stayed on his knees, watching the sky where Joysil had gone for some time.
"Well, now," he said finally, getting up with a wince and a hand on a stiffening hip. He didn't look at the Lady Lord of Arabel, and she watched him in silence.
"Well, now," Elminster muttered again, several times, as he peered into larders, drew forth tureens, and gathered kindling for the hearthfire.
"He hasn't taken very good care of the place," a familiar voice floated out of the distance.
Myrmeen's head jerked up. "Laspeera!"
"Well, you know Vangey," another voice agreed wryly, and Caladnei led three rather battered-looking women down a rubble-strewn passage into the kitchen. "Aha," she said as Elminster straightened up from the growing fire. "He had help destroying things. I might have known."
The Crown Princess asked sharply, "So what happened, Mreen? Is the realm now at war with Elminster of Shadowdale?"
The Dowager Queen Filfaeril stood with her, both of them stained with blood and looking as if they'd been in a battle.
Myrmeen shook her head, fresh tears glimmering in her eyes. "No," she quavered, "but I'm not sure what to tell you first. I…"
"What befell in Marsember?" a new voice asked from behind the two highest-ranking War Wizards, causing them in turn to whirl around. "Am I now holding the last living Obarskyr?"
The glow of a spell was just fading around the ankles of Storm Silverhand, who stood with the infant Azoun cradled in her arms, the sage Alaphondar at her side, Florin Falconhand standing watchfully by with two swords drawn-and Narnra flanking him, drawn daggers in both hands.
Of course, everyone started talking at once.
* * * * *
Storm, Florin,