Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [56]
The guard looked at him. "You a wizard?"
"Nay, nay," Elminster said with a regretful sigh. "Fascinated by the stuff. See as much of it as I can, and trade in it when Lady Luck has it so, but I can't call up even a spark, even when lowly apprentices take too many gold pieces from me for showing me how to. It's just not something the gods meant for me, it seems."
The warrior chuckled. "Aye, you and me both, old man." He jerked his head. "Go on, then," he told them. "We'd better see to Lord High-and-Mighty." He stared over at the chair with long-suffering good humor, and Elminster chuckled in the easy fellowship of one downtrodden jack to another.
"My thanks, goodsir," the Old Mage told him and trudged eastward into the High Dale, with Sharantyr in tow.
* * * * *
Elminster waited until they were safely screened from any curious eyes on Westkeep's battlements, then stopped and extended a hand.
Sharantyr calmly loosened the lacings of her leathers, looked swiftly about, and slid his wands out and returned them to him, somewhat warmer.
Elminster stowed them away as smoothly and said, "My thanks, Shar. We do work well together."
Sharantyr smiled at him. "Well, Mysterious One? What happened back there?"
The Old Mage shrugged. "Magic is going awry all over the Realms. We've just been treated to more evidence of that." He looked at her rather sadly.
"I must warn ye: Rely not overmuch on the magic we're carrying, either."
Sharantyr nodded slowly and took his arm. They walked on.
"Tell me," she said in low tones as they went over a little rise and houses began to appear before them, "why you had no fear of being found out, if that mage could read minds? Did you know his spell would fail?"
Elminster shook his head. "If I could predict its working, 'twouldn't be 'wild magic,' now, would it?"
Sharantyr nodded. "Mystra's burden, again?" she asked softly.
"Aye," Elminster said briefly, his gaze leaping here and there ahead of them as alertly as any battle scout.
"That sounds very useful to a Harper-or a courtier, I suppose," Sharantyr said almost wistfully. "No enemy can read your thoughts or twist your will. Why do they call it Mystra's burden?"
"Think, if ye will," he replied, "of the loneliness ye would feel were ye to outlive all thy friends except fellow bearers of the burden. Ye'd see kingdoms fall, not once but again and again, and favorite places changed or swept away in the passing years. Think on this and ask me again why we call it Mystra's burden."
Sharantyr was silent beside him as they walked a long way. Then she asked almost timidly, "What, then, will we do now, Old Mage?"
Elminster looked at her in surprise. "Why, go and defeat this Longspear, of course."
* * * * *
Jatham almost fled out of his dark room, breathing heavily. The spells had worked, aye, but he'd never before had Art curl away from his control with almost contemptuous ease. Ye gods, what was happening to him?
He paused out in the shop to wipe cold sweat from his brow and restore his usual lazy smile before he threw back the bolt. The smile took a lot more effort than usual.
Rogue magic! What could have caused it? Was Storm-cloak an even greater danger than he'd thought?
Or was it the mysterious enemies? What Art did they wield?
What dark creatures were they?
* * * * *
Belkram looked around at rolling fields, trees clustered along little streams that babbled down from the ever-present watching gray walls of stone above, and drew a deep breath.
"Ready?" he asked, loosening his blade in its sheath.
Itharr nodded. "As ever," he replied, adding a wry smile. "Harpers rush in"-he quoted an odd saying Elminster of Shadowdale had uttered just last summer, but which was already well known across the North-"where even fools fear to tread."
"Aye," Belkram agreed dryly. "So let it begin." He pushed open the door and they went in. Above their heads, the worn signboard told all passersby that they were looking at "A Good Inn: The Shepherds' Rest." The sign creaked slightly