Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [26]
Then from the trees came the unmistakable booming sound of an alarm gong, the finest brass-and-drum sort sold in Sembia for a gold piece each.
"Oh, dung," Elminster said clearly into the night. From somewhere off to his left he heard a snort as Sharantyr stifled a giggle. Elminster rolled his eyes and trotted forward. The sentinel would have to be up a tree, now that the heroic archmage of Shadowdale was getting a bit too old for climbing trees in the dark. Oh, dung and double dung, indeed.
5
Alarms, and Adventure Found
Sharantyr had expected trouble on the other side of the gate. A temple or gloomy spell chamber, perhaps, crowded with evil-looking men and weird, gibbering creatures who slunk, slithered, or prowled the lengths of their chains-or worse, prowled unleashed.
She'd expected trouble, and Elminster had not failed her. They'd found it.
Instead of a castle or cavern, they stood under the open sky between two mountain ranges. By the stars, they were south and a little west of Shadowdale, and she was facing south. Here it was a fair, clear night with a cool breeze blowing gently from the east. The grass under her feet descended to trees, the source of their trouble: an alarm gong and someone who had fired two ready crossbows dangerously well. Or more than one someone.
That thought kept Shar crouched low as she ran forward across the little dell, dodging but heading to the left, trying to get as far as possible from the amber radiance of the gate behind her. The gong sounded again, a faster, repeated ringing as if the sentinel were scared. Wise of him.
Sharantyr's rapid progress brought her to the lip of the dell. A track-grassy and rutted, wide enough for carts- descended toward barnlike buildings, lamplight, and, in the distance amid a torchlit cluster of buildings at the bottom of the valley, the unmistakable walls of a small, stout old castle.
A faint crackling of branches warned her of the guard's descent and probable attack. Sharantyr turned to face the sound and shrank farther to the left into the concealing shadow of bushes. What was Elminster doing?
More crackling. The guard was descending a wooden ladder, snapping branches aside in his haste. Sharantyr tried to look like part of the night, her blade held low and ready in her own shadow, her head bowed to keep her eyes small and screened by her hair. Soon… soon…
Now!
The guard was hurrying the last few steps. His haste would carry him right past her. His gaze could not help but fall on her, and he could stick her with anything long and sharp he might have before she could even land a blow. Gods spit on us all!
A familiar, testy voice came out of the night from the other side of the ladder, behind the descending guard. "I'm over here, by the gods! Who taught ye to shoot a crossbow, anyway, Manshoon himself?"
Sharantyr didn't blame the guard. She could not have heard that taunt and failed to turn and look. The shadowy man pivoted as he landed, blade sweeping around to confront the unseen speaker. Sharantyr rose out of the night from behind him like a hungry shadow. Her hand jerked his head back sharply, covering his mouth and robbing him of breath at the same time. Her blade flashed as she drew it sideways with cold precision, and she ducked low to keep most of the blood out of her hair. "Done this before, have ye?" Elminster asked out of the darkness. Sharantyr sighed loudly and shook her head as the man died in her arms.
"Old Mage," she hissed in anger. "Must you?" Elminster spread innocent hands. "I'm not sure what ye're on about, this time, but we have only breaths before whatever comrades this fellow has-er, had-respond to his gong. Flip him over and drag him by the feet, facedown, to the gate. I want a trail of blood even a blind Calishite couldn't miss. Where'd he drop his crossbow? Ah, I have it. Come!"
Sharantyr did as she was bid. In