Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [117]
"This night more than ever," Itharr added.
"Oh, I will," Sharantyr replied in a voice that brought guffaws from all around, and she went out, Ulraea at her side.
Elminster came back from the fire puffing his pipe to life, gave the two Harpers a severe look, and followed.
Gedaern looked after him and said thoughtfully, "Now there goes a man that kings and wizards and dragons an' all have found hard to kill, for more years than I and my old one and grandsire together have seen."
Irreph watched the Old Mage walk out of sight and replied, "They don't stop trying, though."
* * * * *
It was a clear night. Above the dark, reaching shoulders of the peaks, stars glittered like tireless torches.
Elminster looked up at them as he had done on countless nights, from battlements on as many worlds as he had fingers, down too many years to remember, and puffed at his pipe. He'd told the earnest young dalemen on guard that he'd just have a pipe before he retired, and to go and get drunk while there was something left. They'd laughed kindly but sensed he wanted silence and solitude, thank Mystra, and had left him.
As the feast went on below, he'd heard them drift away, one by one, from watching a closed door. He only hoped Sharantyr wouldn't really fall asleep. After all she'd done today, waking her would be as cruel as it would be difficult.
Elminster blew silvery-green winking sparks around himself in a friendly, dancing cloud and sighed. He'd seen so many beautiful, capable, bright women die, down the long years. He hoped Sharantyr would not perish soon, and that he'd not be the cause of her death when it came.
He turned back to the doorway that let him watch over the guest chamber's closed door. He was regarding it fondly-gods, but this lass, one of the quieter and younger Knights, apt to be overlooked in all the bustle of their deeds back in Shadowdale, was a sparkling blade, to be sure!-when it opened softly and a cautious face peered out.
A long puff later, Sharantyr stole barefoot out of the dark room, carrying a bundle in front of her from which her scabbarded sword protruded. Starlight shone briefly on shapely bare legs, and the lady ranger brushed damp hair back over her shoulders, then frowned as she deftly caught a boot on its way toward the flagstones underfoot.
"Disrobed again, are we?" Elminster's tone was amused as he took the pipe from his mouth. "I thought so. Young lasses have such predictable notions of adventure."
"Hush, Old Mage," Sharantyr hissed severely, holding her breeches aloft with one hand while the other struggled with a large number of extremely heavy, awkward, and active items that seemed to be continually trying to slip out of her grasp. "You may not mind if you stink like a pig in a wallow, but being sticky and filthy bothers me. I availed myself of Ulraea's kindness and had a very nice hot bath, if the word 'bath' means anything to a certain old, hard-headed, and rather strong-smelling wizard. I think the High Dale owes me that much, at least. Here-hold my sword, will you?"
Elminster bowed, took the scabbarded blade in skillful silence, reached in to help hold her shirt up at the throat while she struggled with the lacings, turned his back with courteous haste, and then turned around again to hold Sharantyr's gloves while she did up her belt.
Then he reached up and took hold of the pipe that had been patiently floating in the air waiting for him all this time, and puffed on it again.
Sharantyr stared at it, and at him, and sighed and smiled. In answer to his curious look she said, "Never mind, El. The pipe-it's a close personal friend and a thousand years older than I am, right?"
Elminster took the pipe out of his mouth and winked at it.
The pipe opened a rather world-weary eye and winked solemnly back at him before swiveling to do the same to Sharantyr.
Elminster was chuckling as he tapped the pipe-which instantly went out, leaving no smoke or odor behind- and put it in a hidden pocket inside his robes. The lady