Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [40]
"Don't think of arranging my death," came the Sword's cold voice from behind him. "Lord Manshoon always probes such things very carefully-by speaking to the deceased, if necessary. He knows my worth; you'd probably have to face me again. If Manshoon got tired of raising me, you'd pay the price, never doubt it. You'd make an adequate walking dead man, I suppose."
Nordryn turned and walked toward the flames, wondering which of the careers he'd just seen so bleakly would be worse. The flames roared and crackled, warming his face even from this distance, and he just couldn't decide.
* * * * *
Sharantyr came awake slowly, enfolded in unexpected warmth. She opened her eyes and looked around hurriedly, coming up to one elbow and feeling for her sword.
During the night, the Old Mage had somehow wrapped his bony arms around her without wakening her. That simply shouldn't have happened, but Sharantyr did not move away when that familiar, wild-bearded visage smiled at her, only inches away.
"Fair morn, Lady," Elminster said with courtly formality and leaned forward with smooth speed to kiss the end of her nose.
Sharantyr blinked. Some sorceresses would die, or kill, or whatever, to trade places with her, no doubt. His beard tickled like something between a scurrying centipede or an amorous cat. After a few breaths, she remembered to smile in reply.
Elminster chuckled. "Up, lass," he said. The mists were rolling away down through the trees as they rose and stretched to ease the stiffness that comes from sleeping in the open on rocky ground. "I fear I neglected to provide us breakfast, but I remain both open to suggestions and thy humble servant."
Sharantyr shook her head incredulously and pecked him on the cheek, more to shut him up than anything else. Ye gods, what had she gotten herself into now?
* * * * *
The day grew both warm and splendidly clear. The ranger and the wizard spent the morning sitting in the shrubbery at the trees' edge, watching black-armored gate guards working the road into the High Dale. East-keep rose small but grim at the warriors' backs, and they were most efficient.
Sharantyr didn't know the place and said so, but Elminster told her grandly that he knew it and would recognize it for her. Sharantyr rolled her eyes, not for the first time. Their stomachs chose that romantic moment to growl together.
The gate guards went steadily about their work, extracting passage tolls from all travelers coming into the dale from the east, inspecting their goods and gear, and turning back all wizards. Traffic leaving the dale from the west was given only a cursory search. These well-armed guards expected no trouble from that front.
There was a stir, once, as the guards suddenly swarmed over the wagon of a fat merchant. A shout brought six more guards with drawn swords out of the little shanty that served them as a duty shelter. The newcomers surrounded the merchant with a ring of sword tips at his throat while the search went on.
Shortly, two stout guards clambered triumphantly down from the wagon, each showing something to the officer in charge. He nodded and waved his head; the two men trotted away to the guard hut.
"Their commander-have I seen that harness before?" Sharantyr asked.
Elminster nodded. "No doubt. That's a Sword, and these are Zhentilar warriors or I'll miss my breakfast."
Sharantyr grinned. "They're Zhents, then." As they watched, one of the guards returned with a scrap of parchment, which he handed to the red-faced merchant. The wagon and its occupant were brusquely ordered on with imperious waves of naked swords. The wagon rumbled away, the merchant shaking his head.
Sharantyr's eyes narrowed. "What's going on? They took something from him, aye, but what?"
Elminster assumed the pedantic air of the lofty scholar addressing a pupil too dense to be worth the time teaching takes. "Regard ye," he said in measured tones, "yon hut. 'Tis home to a mageling, I doubt me not. He has examined the items they took from the merchant and pronounced them magical. They hold these objects, returning to