Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [103]
"So I fear. Yet it was my choice to leave the inn. All else has followed on that. I suppose there is no other choice now." Shandril smiled. "Yet I do not regret any of it, for it has brought me Narm."
"Hold to that," Illistyl said, almost fiercely. "Do not forget that you have felt so. Hard times lie ahead, I fear. Your power, if wielded with deliberate intent, is a menace to all workers of art in this world. Few are stupid enough not to realize that. All who have the inclination will attempt to destroy you or control you as a weapon against others.
"You will see spellcasters enough to sicken you before long, and yours is an endeavor in which no matter how mighty one becomes, there is always someone more powerful. Learn that very quickly.
The lesson is usually a fatal one if ignored. It can happen to you, too, Shandril-something of art may well be able to counter spellfire, perhaps something as simple as a cantrip most apprentices know."
Shandril nodded, soberly. "Sometimes I think I cannot do it… and yet it feels so good, even with the pain-when I let it out, that is. I see Jhessail, too; how happy she is with Merith, and both of them are adventurers. Even if she is not slain, Merith, as an elf, must know his lady will die hundreds of winters before he does. Yet they married, and seem happy. It can happen."
Illistyl nodded. "It is good you see that. It takes much work and patience, mind. Look-how does Jhessail seem? Her character, I mean."
"Warm, kind, yet strict and proper… understanding.
I can say little more; I barely know any of you."
"Indeed, yet I would say you've seen Jhessail well enough. But there is more. Her control is so great that one does not notice that which won her Merith, which underlies her warmth. She is passionate-not just romantically, but spiritually-and strong-willed.
"Jhessail and the cleric Jelde were lovers when I first came to the tower. There was a great fight between Jelde and Merith over Jhessail. Jhessail decided she loved Merith more, so she set out to win him, before all the Elven Court and mindful of her brief span of years. She seeks longevity by her art, always, but she has never thought to outlive even his youth.
"That sort of control is required to master all but the simplest art. It is the sort of control you will need to stand at Narm’s side through all that will come against you both. Hear and heed, Shandril, for I would be your friend for more than a few years, if I can." The theurgist grinned suddenly. "I seem to be one for long speeches this day."
Shandril shook her head. "No, no, I thank you! I’ve never had someone my age-or close, you know-that I could talk of things to, and not have to curb my words. Even Narm… especially Narm."
Illistyl nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "Especially Narm." She glanced around. "Remember the places I'm going to show you now," she added, as they got up. "One day you and Narm may be glad of a place to hide away in, together.
"One day soon," she added warningly, and Shandril could only agree.
Night had fallen, deep and dark, before Rozsarran Dathan rose from his table in the Old Skull's taproom, waved a wordless good-night to Jhaele, and staggered to the door.
Behind, the plump innkeeper shook her head ruefully as she went to mop up the table where two of Rozsarran's fellow guards slumped senseless and snoring in their chairs, dice and coppers alike fallen from their hands. They were like children sometimes, she thought, lifting one leather-clad sleeve out of a pool of spilled ale and adroitly avoiding the instinctive yank and punch its sleeping owner launched vaguely at her. Good lads, but not drinkers.
Outside, in the cool night air, Rozsarran reached the same conclusion, albeit slowly and less clearly.
Hitching up his swordbelt, he began to walk hastily back toward the tower. An overcast sky made the night very dark, and a brisk walk might make him feel less rock-witted before he reached his bed. Late duty tomorrow, praise Helm. He could use the sleep…
A silent shadow rose out of the night clutching a horse-leather