Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [120]
As she spoke, they heard the sounds of running feet.
A guardsman reached the head of the stairs, yelling,
"Lord Mourngrym! Lady Shaerl!"
Shaerl turned. "Say on."
"My lady, the prisoner is gone! We had him in the cell, and his hands were bound-yet he vanished before our eyes!"
"The man Culthar?" Shaerl asked. "How could this happen?" She turned to Jhessail, and then back to the guard at Jhessail's calm-faced nod. "My thanks. I hold you blameless. Return to your post, with our thanks."
The guard nodded, bowed, and hurried off.
Jhessail shrugged. "A teleport ring, perhaps, or even a rogue stone. There may be other ways of art Elminster and I don’t yet know. All would require outside aid. The Zhentarim, perhaps, or the priests of Bane. He was the eyes for someone, here in the town" She spread her hands with a ghost of a smile.
"All the ravens are gathering."
Shaerl sighed. "Yes, I'm growing tired of it."
Rathan looked up. "Ye're growing tired of it! What of we who heal?"
"Ah, but you have divine aid," said Mourngrym weakly from below him. "Mind you see to Florin, too," the Lord of Shadowdale added. "I need him healthy and alert."
The man who had declined the lordship of Shadowdale, and led the knights from their early days, was leaning against a wall in pain-wracked silence. "Florin?" Jhessail hailed him tentatively, as she drew near. "Are you badly hurt?"
"As usual." Florin's voice was rueful, and he lowered it so that only she could hear his next words, so faintly that she almost missed them. "I fear I am growing too old for this constant battle, Jhess. It's not the thrill it used to be."
"Oh, no, you don't," Jhessail said briskly, putting a slim arm about his great shoulders. "Not now. We need you." Awkwardly she drew him down until he was sitting against the wall. "You'll feel much better once you've been healed." Merith joined them. Florin nodded gratefully to them both, and then quietly fainted.
Jhessail let his head rest heavily on her shoulder and said to her husband, "My lord, please run to the strongbox for one of our potions. He's hurt worse than I thought."
Shandril, watching this, turned her face to the wall and leaned her forehead upon her arm. "I-I-we must leave you. You are always hurt for our sake, one attack upon another. You are my friends! I must not do this to you, day after day, mages attacking and all…" She burst into tears.
"Must we have all this weeping?" Rathan complained. "It's as bad as all the fighting! Nay, worse-ye can stop the fighting by slaying your foe!"
Narm rose to defend his lady, but Rathan pushed him down again with two strong fingers. "Don't start!
Ye're not fully healed yet, not nearly. I'm not having ye rushing around getting hurt and dispensing worldly sage-speech and crying all about the place, yet. D'ye hear? Just lie back down and wait. We'll see if there's time for me to spare to listen to such foolishness later."
Merith went to Shandril then, and tickled her gently under the ribs on one side, until in irritation the young lady turned from the wall. Then he swept her up in his arms and kissed away her tears. "Nay, nay, little one, you need not be ashamed or upset on our account. It is a hard road you walk, an adventurer's road. Would you not walk it together, with us? It is not so lonely or hard, with friends."
"Ohh, Merith," Shandril said, and sobbed upon his shoulder. Merith carried her over to where Florin and Jhessail sat, and sat her down upon his own lap before them. Jhessail and Florin both looked at her with smiles.
"You must not cry so," Jhessail chided her. "Does the hawk weep because it has wings? Does the wolf howl because it has teeth? We do what we can with our art or our skill-at-arms. Is your spellfire so different? Use it as you see fit, and don't hold yourself responsible for the attacks others make on you, or this place. We do not blame you for them."
She reached over and patted Florin's knee. "Let's all go down to the great hall as soon as Eressea has done her healing," she said,