Elminster's Daughter - Ed Greenwood [23]
Her way took her through almost a dozen cellars, and she saw almost a score of sprawled corpses and many, many more huddled, sullen prisoners. The Rightful Conspiracy, it seemed, was reduced to its mysterious masters and perhaps a few fugitives who'd managed to slip away.
Yes, this was the right place, here… and the passage she'd arrived by would be this one, and…
There was a sudden cold flare of magic off to the left, through another archway-and Narnra thrust the torch as behind her as she could manage and sidled nearer to see who was casting what down here-quite away from the bands of grim searchers.
Then she stiffened once more, and turned around very slowly. Why had all the searchers veered away from this area as she walked between them… and why was there now utter silence behind her?
Her torch showed her nothing but pillars and dark emptiness.
With a sudden snarl she flung the torch as high and as far back along her trail as she could.
The ceiling was high, and the beacon whupp-whupp-whupped end over end quite vigorously, trailing sparks and flame, to bounce with a flare of fire that sank immediately down to a few fitful flames. They were quite enough, however, to show her the shapely leather-clad legs of a lone figure who'd been following her.
That person lowered one hand to point at the torch-and it rose smoothly into the air, fires quickening once more… and came floating upright back to Narnra. At the beginning of its journey, its flickering radiance was quite sufficient to show the Waterdhavian thief the half-smiling face of the Mage Royal of Cormyr.
Narnra swallowed and raised her hand in salute-and caught the torch in her other hand, hoping Caladnei wasn't so spiteful with her Art as to make it explode into a thief-incinerating inferno or some like doom.
The torch stayed a torch, and with a sigh of mingled relief and resignation Narnra turned back to those strange flickerings of magic.
A few paces onward she spun around again to see if Caladnei was following her. She could see nothing but shifting darkness, but a very dry voice murmured in her ear, so seemingly close that she couldn't help but jump: A beacon indeed, Narnra Shalace of Waterdeep. Lead on, and together let us see what unfolds.
Narnra turned her face to the unseen ceiling overhead and flung a silent curse at Mask and Tymora, hefted the torch despairingly in her hands… and stepped forward again.
The archway was very close now, perhaps a dozen paces ahead to her left. She held the torch as low and as far to the right as she could, walked in that direction, then crept along the wall toward the edge of the arch. Yes, she was carrying a blazing beacon-but perhaps there was light and strife enough in the cellar to keep attention away from one closer torch among many. Perhaps…
Going down to her knees and ducking her head as low to the cold stone floor as she could, the Silken Shadow of Waterdeep peered around the edge of the archway.
The cellar held only two men-and their magic. One was the old wizard, her only way out of all this peril. The other was a younger man who hung gabbling fearfully in midair, gripped in a glowing, swirling cloud of enchantment.
So she was caught between the slowly and carefully advancing Caladnei of Cormyr-herding her as deftly as any drover crowding oxen into a caravan-pen-and the old mage who'd so casually defeated her. No doubt the Mage Royal was walking with spells upon spells raised like shields around her… and the power of the old wizard was obvious.
The very air glowed and throbbed with it, a pulsing so mighty it almost hurt the ears.
"Ye could have done this the easy way, ye know," Elminster told the sweat-drenched,