Elminster's Daughter - Ed Greenwood [99]
He thrust out his handful of shiny gewgaws and said, "He must've, because I sure by all the happy dancing gods haven't seen 'em before! You're holding some too!"
"I know that, you fat little dolt," Surth snarled. "I can see and feel, you know!"
"Odd's fish, but you can't think half as clever as you think you can, now, can you-hey?"
"Oh yes, I can," Surth snarled, reaching for the hilt of his knife.
"Well, then, use your thinking part, whatever 'tis, and tell me how we got here and what these things are and how we get back to Marsember!" the fat smuggler roared, his longknife already out and jabbing warningly at Surth's knife-hand. "Because sure as Shar's a dark lass, this ain't Marsember!"
His shout echoed a little way through the damp trees, and something unseen scuttled away from beside the trail nearby, leaving a trail of quivering leaves.
Malakar Surth drew in a deep breath, wrestling down his temper, and with a firm hand pushed the point of Bezrar's wavering knife aside. "Let me think," he snarled.
Bezrar gave him a sour expression and flourished his hands in mimicry of a high-nosed Marsemban servant bidding a Marsemban noble to pass this way, or partake of this platter of viands, or do something.
Surth stroked at his chin as if its clean-shaven point was home to a handsome beard, stared around at the trees, and muttered, "Can't tell where the sun is, and we mustn't get off the trail. This forest is big!' He shivered suddenly and muttered, "Mustn't be here when night comes."
Bezrar nodded, eyes widening in horror at the thought of long-taloned, creeping forest monsters, slithering closer… He fought down a cry of alarm and started looking in all directions at once, crouching and waving his longknife wildly.
Surth gave him a sour look and murmured, "Fat, useless idiot!' He held up a hand and said, "This way. I don't know why, but I'm sure this is the right way to head. Shar must be with me-thank you for invoking her, Bez. Come on."
The smuggler stood suspiciously looking in all directions, so Surth plucked him sharply by the elbow while passing, jerking him into a stumbling walk. No sooner had the fat wholesaler regained his balance when Surth took firm grip of his elbow once more and just as firmly propelled him into the lead.
Bezrar shot him a fearful look. Surth favored him with what was intended to be a reassuring smile and said, "Go on, but mind you go quietly. Don't worry. I'll be right behind you."
Bezrar's reply was a growl. The smuggler didn't quite dare to say that knowing Malakar Surth was right behind you was no cause for a lack of worry.
He needed Surth to do the thinking-and to be with him in this vast and rustling wood. The mere thought of- what was that?
"Mask and Tymora love me!" he cried, as a warrior in full armor rose up from behind some bushes, visor down and drawn sword in hand. "Surth?"
"I see him," Surth said in a strange voice. Bezrar cast a very quick glance back over his shoulder to see why his partner's voice sounded like that-and saw that Surth had lifted one of his gewgaws in a trembling hand and was staring at it with a weird expression on his face.
"Malakar!"he snarled. "Help me here!"
His eyes back on the armored warrior, he moaned in fear as the silently menacing Purple Dragon drifted toward him. Aye, drifted-gods above, it was floating! Its feet were right off the ground, toes pointing downwards like a knight laid out for his tomb!
Yet that helmed head was turning to look at him then at Surth then back again, and the gauntleted hands were swinging that great naked sword up and back, ready to slash down and slay-
"Surth!"the smuggler almost wept, his longknife shaking in his hand. "Aid!"
Something bright flashed past his shoulder, tumbling end over end at the floating