Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [116]
After too many hundreds of years, Elminster of Shadowdale would perish. Zalarth would seize his might and his magic. Zalarth would use them to rule. When bards, tavern drunks, and wizards whispered of high and mighty deeds in years to come, it would be Zalarth's name they would remember as the one who brought down Elminster of Shadowdale, not Manshoon's. Zalarth would see to that.
* * * * *
It was late. Smoke hung thick in the air; wine had been spilled here, there, and everywhere else; and arms that had swung swords, axes, and clubs all day were stiffening to painful, iron-hard immobility.
All around the great hall of the High Castle, happy but utterly exhausted folk slumped in chairs or simply sprawled on the floor and gave themselves up to snoring slumber. Sharantyr stifled a yawn and glanced at the Old Mage.
Elminster winked at her and raised a drinking jack of shadowdark ale whose owner was too fast asleep to miss it. It was full.
"Had enough, Old Mage?" she asked, challenging him.
"There's no such thing as enough, lass," Elminster told her severely. "After ye've seen a few hundred winters, yell know that. There's no such thing as too much, either. Only too little time to enjoy it in." He winked again and added with apparent innocence, "That's true for drinks, too."
Sharantyr sighed. " 'Lass' again, is it?" she protested, then added in quieter tones, "Do you still plan to leave by the gate tonight?"
Elminster nodded. "I'd located the gate just about the time every daleman still able to stagger along with a blade hastened up to watch. They're still watching us now-no, lass, don't look around at them; they'll get excited. We'd best to bed, or we'll never be free of all these interested eyes."
"Bed?" Sharantyr crooked a forbidding eyebrow at him.
Elminster rolled his eyes. "Let them show you somewhere to sleep. I'll go out for a pipe, and…"
Sharantyr nodded, yawned theatrically, and got unsteadily to her feet.
Down the table, an old dalesman's face dipped forward gently onto the table. Over the now-bowed head, Gedaern, whose face had been wearing a fierce smile all evening, saw her.
He rose a little unsteadily. "All well, Lady Knight?"
"Aye, goodman Gedaern," Sharantyr told him truthfully, "but I am most weary after all that blade work. If there's any place in this castle I can sleep…?"
"But of course!" Irreph Mulmar said heartily from behind Gedaern. He extended a massive hand to her. "I've never seen such fighting as yours, today. We and the dale owe you much. The best bedchamber in the High Castle would be honored by your presence. Let me take you to it, if-?" He turned his head.
"It is ready, Sir," Ireavyn assured him quickly, beaming. At her shoulder, Ulraea nodded happily. Shar could ask for the moon, this night, and they'd climb atop each other on the battlements to reach it down for her.
"No, no," Sharantyr said, "please. Nothing grand. Just somewhere quiet and out of the way, with a good bed." She glanced back at Elminster, who had arisen and was unconcernedly filling his pipe. "Ah-with room enough for two, or with two beds."
Elminster turned one twinkling eye to meet hers as he tamped and fumbled, but said nothing.
"I know such a room," Ulraea said. "Up high, in Guards' Tower. A guest chamber. I can take you there."
"Please," Sharantyr said. "Irreph… my thanks. Stay. You belong here, in this hall, with your people around you. Stay, please. Enjoy the castle being yours again. I don't want to take you away from this."
At Irreph's shoulder, his daughter Ylyndaera smiled and nodded at the lady ranger from within her father's encircling arm.
Irreph looked down at his daughter and then at Sharantyr, and said roughly, "My thanks, Lady Sharantyr. You see as keenly as your blade cuts. Until the morrow, then."
"Until next," Sharantyr answered with a smile. Behind her, Elminster bowed silently.
"Goodnight, Lady Sharantyr," Ylyndaera said, eyes shining, and Gedaern echoed her words.
Farther down the table, Itharr and Belkram had their arms around two dark-eyed dale maids.