Shadows of Doom - Ed Greenwood [74]
The horse bugled. Elminster let it dance under him as battle raged in the marketplace ahead. Few horses were left now. From the castle came the sound of horns blowing the same call he'd heard earlier: the retreat and rally.
He'd have to move quickly or they'd all be in his way. Elminster crouched low in the saddle, grinned at the thought of how long it had been since he'd last done this, and set the horse into a gallop.
It hurled itself forward, putting all its fear into flight, and burst through the running, milling mob with only a few shouts and a near miss or two. Then he was charging up the road to the castle gates, beard streaming behind him, a few crossbow bolts whistling past.
* * * * *
In the fray, Itharr thrust a Wolf through the throat and turned to Belkram, ignoring the spray of blood that drenched him. "That is Elminster, isn't it?"
Belkram nodded, teeth shining in a sudden smile. "Definitely."
Itharr wrenched a shield from the Wolf he'd just unhorsed and slain. "Let's go, then. After him!"
Belkram looked about. They'd cleared a little space around them, Wolves falling back warily before the blades of the two madmen in leather. He smiled at them and advanced.
Uneasily they gave way, and he moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Itharr, who'd taken up the shield. Crouched together behind its angled protection, the Harpers hastened up the road to the castle.
Bolts thudded into the shield. Some snarled across the curving metal and were turned aside. Others stuck fast, dealing numbing blows to the arms beneath the shield. One pierced through, but its gleaming tip stopped a bandwidth short of the two sweating Harpers. They traded rueful glances and hurried on.
Belkram kept a wary eye behind, blade ready, but the Wolves were too busy staying alive, as they fell back toward the castle, to chase two men already halfway up the road to the gates.
"Storm did promise us adventure," Itharr said dryly. A quarrel struck the shield sharply, jarring them both, and glanced away.
"I didn't think just catching up with a hundreds-of-years-old wizard would be this exciting," Belkram replied, "whether he was a trouble-gatherer or no. Well, I've been wrong before."
They were laughing together at that like crazed men as they came to the gates and found the high constable of the dale flailing away with blood-smeared chains manacled to his wrists, holding three battered Wolves at bay as the lady ranger Sharantyr fenced with them. A trail of blood and trampled, moaning guardsmen led from the gates to the courtyard beyond, where a riderless horse was rearing and screaming, lashing out with its hooves at the Wolves who tried to calm it. Elminster was, as usual, nowhere to be seen.
14
Doom Comes to the High Castle
Elminster of Shadowdale, once an archmage of Myth Drannor and now and forever one of Mystra's Chosen, clung to the reins as the horse moved powerfully under him, its neck strong and warm in front of his nose, its mane whipping at his face. He had time to wonder what in Mystra's name he was doing here, with quarrels whipping and humming like angry wasps through the air all around him. He also found time to shrug and grin; this was not a new thought.
A breath later, as the horse carried him away from the clash of steel and the cries of men, he found time to answer himself. He was here simply because he was who he was. This was the way he took life, making of it what best pleased him: a tapestry as rich and deep and colorful as he could manage, much longer than most ever have the chance to weave. His tapestry, whose great weight of years all too often hung by a single thread. Because he dared it so and would not have it otherwise.
As it hung right now. Elminster crouched low as a quarrel flashed by very close on his right, and saw the set, grim faces of angry guards growing rapidly larger ahead. Thinking on his recent conclusions about life, he told himself aloud, "My, aren't we high and mighty today, hmmm?"
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