Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [42]
The Oversword snarled and said fiercely, "Never ignore orders in the High Dale, old man, if you would live."
Slow eyebrows rose. "What orders?"
"I told you to hold, whitebeard, and I meant it! I'll see to you when I'm done here, and I care nothing for your haste or importance!"
"Oh. I see," Elminster said courteously. "I misunderstood ye."
The Oversword looked him up and down coldly. "My words were quite clear," he said slowly and dangerously. "What was your problem?"
"Ye kept saying 'old man,' " Elminster told him. "I assumed ye were speaking to someone else. I'm not old- not yet, by the sun, though if ye waste much more of my morning I may come to be." He turned and continued on his way.
The Oversword snarled again and gestured. Drawn swords rose to bar Elminster's way on all sides. Elminster turned about. "Yes?" he asked mildly. "Sirs!" Sharantyr's voice came urgently from behind them. "Please forgive my fa-"
"That will be enough, girl," Elminster told her sharply. "How can ye learn, if ye persist in speaking out of thy place? Be ashamed. And better, be silent."
He turned to face the Oversword. "My daughter," he explained apologetically. "She's not been out of Zhentil Keep before and is overexcited."
The Oversword's eyebrows drew together in a wary frown. "Zhentil Keep?"
"Aye. I was speaking with a friend there, Lord Manshoon, and as I was passing this way, he asked me to look in on a certain wizard for him. To-ah, forgive me-deliver a private message." He smiled. "While I appreciate your diligence, Oversword, I am in some haste. I was told that the one I sought would probably be here, either in yonder hut or in the keep beyond. May I?"
Politely he turned his back, pushed aside two blades with the backs of his open hands, and went on. Without turning, he called back, "Come, lass!"
Sharantyr bent her head and lowered her blade. "Yes, Father," she replied in tones of weary resignation. In wary silence the Wolves stood back to let them through. The Oversword noted that none of his men would meet his eyes. Good. He turned savagely back to the fat Sembian and curtly ordered his men to slit open the seams of everything, including every stitch of clothing the man was wearing. But somehow, he couldn't enjoy the fun that followed.
* * * * *
The fat man was making so much noise, wailing and cursing and calling on more gods than the Oversword had ever heard of, that it was a good while before they heard the disturbance from the guard hut: the sounds of shrieking and sobbing, and the frenzied cracks of a whip wielded with some strength. The guards did not react; they were clearly used to such sounds. One or two glanced casually back at the hut and saw the white-beard's daughter standing uncertainly near the curtain that hung across its open doorway. The guards shrugged and turned away.
That all changed two instants later. The white-bearded man strolled calmly back out into the sun, smiling at his daughter. He seemed as startled as the Wolves when an agonized cry rang out from inside the hut.
"Help! Cabalar! Dhondys! Aid, by Bane and Mystra both! Ohhh! She's killing me!"
The Oversword paled, jerked out his sword, and snapped, "Sabras! Mykhalar! Stay on the road! Everyone else come with me!" He swept his arm toward the hut and charged. Six black-armored men hastened at his heels, blades flashing.
The gaunt old man with the long white beard bent down and pulled something from his boot. As he rose, he threw off his tattered over-robes and charged to meet them.
The old fellow was scrawny. The Oversword could see his ribs as he ran toward them, beard streaming back over his shoulder. He wore only dusty leather breeches, gray with age and shiny at the knees, and his boots. A wand flashed in his hand, and from it blue-white death lashed out twice to strike one of the Wolves, leaving the soldier staggering and groaning in pain.
A wizard! And the crossbows were in the hut beyond him, by Bane's black heart! The Oversword looked over