Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [130]
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Long, skeletal arms went around the Old Mage. He took his pipe out of his mouth as he saw them come into view, turned smoothly within their tightening embrace, and said, "Ah, it is you. Well met, my lady."
Then, without a trace of repugnance, he leaned forward and kissed the tattered skin and bared bone and teeth of the undead thing's grinning mouth.
"Oh, Elminster," came a loud, dry voice in reply. "The years have dealt with you far more kindly than they have with me."
"Not by my Art," Elminster said gently, and his tone was sad. "I am as you see me now by the grace of Lady Mystra-and it is not, I must tell you, entirely a blessing."
"Live by your charm, Old Spellhurler," came the wry response, "and die by it."
Elminster chuckled, then seemed to remember the shocked audience below. "Excuse me," he asked, "but do you mind if I introduce you to my companions?"
"Not at all, El. They are welcome in my home."
Elminster bowed to her as if he faced a queenly lady and not a mold-covered, half-skeletal horror clad in rotten rags. Then he turned and looked down over the balcony rail.
Three silent, openmouthed, wide-eyed folk stood with blades wavering in their hands, looking up and obviously not knowing what else to do.
"Will ye come up?" Elminster asked. "I'd like ye to meet the Lady Saharel, queen in this, her castle of Saharelgard."
The undead lady came to stand at his shoulder and beckoned them with a smile. It looked ghastly, but its warmth was evident in her tone. "You may as well call it Spellgard, El. I've heard that name often down the years and become used to it. I think I'm even starting to like the name. Terribly pretentious, if I'd laid it upon this crumbling pile of mine, but rather impressive when bestowed out of fear by someone else."
She leaned over the rail, her wild, gray-white hair trailing forward. "Come up, yes. Please come up, and excuse the mess and general… decay. I've not the skill at Art or practical knowledge to keep my home in good repair. Moreover, I sleep much of the time, and when I wake I half expect to find that the whole thing has come down on top of me and I'm buried under my own folly… not an unusual fate for wizards, I'm told."
Elminster winced. "Ye haven't changed," he complained.
"Oh, no? Tell that to my mirror, the only one I haven't broken in rage over the years. I was beautiful once."
As Belkram, Itharr, and Sharantyr came hesitantly up the stairs, weapons sheathed, they saw Elminster draw the gaunt, long-haired lady to him. Her bared bones clung to his old arms.
"Ye still are, Saharel," he said, "when I look at you, and not merely what's left of your skin." After a moment he grinned and added, "Didn't I tell thee, once? Ye have beautiful bones."
The undead lady in his arms sighed loudly and swung her skull-like face toward Sharantyr. "He hasn't changed much, has he?"
Despite herself, Sharantyr came to a halt, but she managed a smile and said, "If you mean he was prone to shameless flattery and leering ways, when first you knew him, Lady-no, he has not."
Then she forced herself to step forward and sketched a court salute, that archaic bob of one lady to another.
Saharel shuddered. "That didn't catch on, did it?" Then she put bony fingers to her mouth. "Forgive me, Lady," she said, quickly. "I did not mean to offend… I have had few visitors of thy gentle nature, and am somewhat out of practice at common courtesies. Pray accept my apology." "Lady," Sharantyr said haltingly, "none is needed." The undead sorceress turned to Elminster and poked him sharply in the ribs. "Well, Spellhurler? I've never known your tongue to be so laggard before! You said you'd introduce us, and here I am speaking to a charming young lady and know not her name. What manner of gallant are you?"
"No gallant, Lady," Elminster said in an affected mock-courtier's voice, "but, I fear, a rogue."
"Words more true were never uttered," Belkram said to Itharr in a whisper loud enough to be heard all over the vast hall.
Elminster's glare was lost in the mingled, tinkling