Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [129]
Lady Magister?
The slim maiden shook her head. "Against gods, I cannot act. Against runaway mages, I must act."
The silvery cone that was all that was left of the Lord of Mages sent her a warm, comforting mind-touch of agreement and satisfaction. Noumea embraced it suddenly, weeping. Where her tears fell on the warm, electric softness of the glowing cone, tiny winking lights were born.
* * * * *
Laeral watched the delicately fluted wineglass float silently and smoothly toward her. When it paused before her, she thanked it gravely. Lathlamber sparkled and glowed within. She smiled, and her slender fingers closed gently around the warm crystal.
"Lord?" she called softly, knowing he who sent it must be near. In answer, the table grew a fluid, shifting wooden hand, reached out to her leg, and scratched her… just on the itch where her boot tops always chafed. Laeral purred contentedly and sighed, "Oh, Khel-I do love you."
"I know it," came a quiet reply from her feet. The grave face of the Lord Mage of Waterdeep rose out of the floor and ascended steadily as his body floated up through the solid, polished obsidian slabs.
Laeral's dark, beautiful eyes widened for an instant over the wineglass. Then they crinkled into a smile of pure pleasure. "You never cease to amaze me," she said lightly, set down the glass, and threw her arms about him.
They embraced, there in an upper room of Blackstaff Tower, kissing in fondness and then in passion. After fiercely embracing one another for a time, they loosed and studied each other, and sighed as one.
"More bad news, Lord?" Laeral asked, knowing her lord and love well, and reading in his face more than he ever thought it showed.
Khelben nodded, unsmiling. "Chaos grows across the Realms. Beasts not seen in an age swarm over the land, roaming even into the streets of large cities like Iriaebor and Crimmor. Brigands and all manner of orcs, drow, and goblinkin are on the move, raiding, and from everywhere come reports of religious fanatics burning, slaying, and inciting others to open war. The gods themselves are walking Faerun, destroying this and ordering that-and always, Art grows wilder, less reliable, more savage and apt to have unforeseeable effects."
Laeral nodded. "So much has been apparent for some days, Lord. Yet I sense a darker shadow. Unburden yourself, please. We work better together than when one of us broods alone."
Khelben smiled. "I apologize… I can see myself when you speak so. Well, then, my dark thoughts are bent on Manshoon of the Zhentarim. He has set to work in all this frignt and wild worry to develop a spell that augments the wild effects of other spells. He's been using this dark magic to turn the Art of foes back on them, or to bring harm through the wild effects of twisted spells."
Laeral nodded, her eyes large and dark. "So I have heard from two sources, now. You have seen him work this?"
Khelben nodded grimly. "It is high time, and past time, that we dealt with the Black Master of the Zhentarim, whatever the cost to us. I think I shall begin preparations."
Laeral reached for him. "The danger! Especially now, when our Art is needed to protect and defend, and this wildness of magic aids his dark spells."
Khelben nodded again. "I know all this, and yet it is a responsibility I cannot evade longer. If Noumea were more… warlike, the task is rightfully hers. But time passes, and his power grows, and she acts not. So…"
Laeral managed a smile. "If you go up against the Dread Lord," she said quietly, "do not deny me room to stand at your side."
Khelben came toward her then, opening his arms to her embrace. "No," he said quietly, "that one thing at least I have learned in our years together. I will not try to keep you from the fray, or tell you what is wisest and safest, or try to shield you. I love you too much, Lady, to so insult you anymore."
A thought then came to him, one he'd had several times before. Nothing in all Faerun tasted so sweet as one