Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [131]
The two Harpers bowed solemnly and Sharantyr repeated her salute. Elminster rose between them and said to Saharel, "Good lady, I present to you three distinguished adventurers of the sword. Firstly, the Lady Sharantyr of Shadowdale, Knight of Myth Drannor."
Saharel stepped forward to lay a hand over Sharantyr's. The bones were cold, smooth, and hard but patted her fingers reassuringly. "Try not to mind my looks," came the dry voice. "I would be your friend." Then she added, "I am glad to hear that Myth Drannor flourishes."
"Well, actually," Elminster said rather sheepishly, "it does not. It lies in ruin, but the Fair Folk have recently withdrawn from the elven court, and this brave lady is one of a band who have dedicated themselves to guarding the city from those who would pillage it, and to rebuilding its glory someday."
"So how come you here?" Saharel asked, gazing at Sharantyr.
The ranger sighed and said, "I came to guard him." She pointed at Elminster.
"Guard?" The undead lady, obviously astonished, turned to look at Elminster. "From me?"
"Ah, no-no," Elminster said. "It's a delicate matter. Oh, gods blast, ye may as well know it, too." He straightened up. "The gods walk Faerun, Saharel, even as we speak. They are thrown down among us by a greater power, and much of their might stripped from them. By Mystra's will I hold much of her power, and the carrying of it has stripped from me the use of my own Art. I can't conjure up even a hand-glow… and I must survive, to pass on what I hold to Mystra or to some mysterious successor she spoke of."
He sighed and then grinned. "It's all rather a mess, I suppose."
"And I suppose," Saharel said archly, "you're going to try to pretend to me that you had no part in causing all this?"
"Ah, indeed," Elminster replied. "For once." Two twinkling lights rolled in the skull's empty eye sockets, a sight that made Sharantyr and the Harpers burst into helpless laughter. The glowing eyes came down to fix themselves on the two young men, whose laughter rapidly died away under the eerie scrutiny. "And who are these two loud, handsome young men?" "These are Itharr and Belkram," Elminster said with a grand gesture, "of the Harpers."
"Oh, so that caught on, did it? Welcome, gentle sirs, welcome."
"That?" Itharr asked, guessing what she meant.
At the same time Belkram said, "Lady, we have come here from the High Dale by means of a magical gate, to defend Elminster. We have been given to understand that his survival, and that of the Realms entire, are one and the same."
"Well, ye don't have to be so melodramatic about it, lad," Elminster said testily. "It's not the first time around for me at this, ye know."
"What?" the ranger and the two Harpers erupted, more or less together.
"Oh, no," Saharel said, obviously enjoying this. "But come. Let us find a place where there's furniture left to sit on in some comfort-the Fountain Hall, perhaps, so you can drink your fill. This one, at least"-she poked the Old Mage again-"is apt to flap his jaw so much he gets thirsty."
"Besides," the undead mistress of Spellgard added as she led the way from the balcony along a narrow, dark hall, waving aside cobwebs, and down a crumbling stair, "there are things I must tell you before I grow tired of your fearful looks, you young three. I'm an archlich, not one of your evil lichnee. I don't eat people, or chill the life from them, or steal their spells or souls, or suchlike. It's quite safe to touch me."
"Aye," Elminster agreed absently. Saharel favored him with a look. Elminster's companions all saw it, in the darkness, by the light the archlich had begun to shed. Her hair and white flesh seemed to glow with a faint silvery radiance.
They noticed another