Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [121]
In a turret that curved out from the inner face of the walls of Zhentil Keep, in a small, circular chamber, Ilthond lay on a familiar floor. He lay upon the painted circle that he had practiced teleporting to over and over again, and groaned in pain. None were there to see or hear; he was alone behind three locked and hidden doors. The pain wracked him in waves of red agony, like a man struggling through the breakers upon a beach. Ilthond crawled forward between waves, seeking the cabinet where he kept his potions. He wondered dully if he'd make it in time.
"That's quite enough of this foolishness," Elminster said peevishly. "I leave ye and within half a dozen breaths ye're fighting yet another mage trying to steal spellfire for himself! Well, then, I'll not leave ye again… yell stay in my tower, ye two, with my scribe Lhaeo and myself.
"To draw off all who are snooping about hoping to seize spellfire for themselves, Illistyl and Torm will impersonate ye, and will stay in a tent with Rathan upon Harpers' Hill. Merith, ye and Lanseril will keep a watch upon them. Now pass that wine ye're curled so lovingly about, Rathan, and let's have no argument or endless clacking of tongues; the matter's settled."
"I'm glad of that," Florin said dryly. "Have you no task for Jhessail or myself?"
"Eh? Gods' watch, man! Someone has to watch over the dale, and fight the armies of Zhentil Keep if they come calling! You two ought to be able to manage that!"
There were dry chuckles, and then a yawn.
Shandril's eyes were nearly closed. "Love," Narm said gently, shaking her. "Are you sleepy?"
"Of course I am," she replied faintly. "We were going to bed when this uproar started, remember?"
"To bed, then!" Elminster said gruffly. "All of us will go over to my tower together-and then mind the lot of ye all return here, except ye two. I don't want to be falling over a lot of snoring knights in the morning!"
"At this rate," Lanseril replied, "you're safe on that score. You'll be falling over a lot of snoring knights at highsun, instead." Amid chuckles they went out into the night.
"Keeping you awake, Rold?" one of his fellows grunted jovially at dawnfry that morning. The guardroom was strewn with gloves, helms, and scabbarded blades, as their owners lingered over the last of fried bread, tomatoes, and bacon. The old veteran yawned again.
"Glad I am, indeed," he said, "that the young lord and lady are out of the tower. No offense to them, mind you. It's just that I'll be more likely to sleep when I'm off duty."
"Less of sinister mages and assassins skulking in every hall and chamber and peeking in at all the windows, you mean," another, sharp-voiced guard agreed, buckling on his sword.
"Aye, Kelan. Less art we cannot hope to fight… and less treachery from within." A little silence fell at the veteran's words. Then Kelan spoke softly to them all.
"Who d'you think got to Culthar? What did they offer him to chance such a reckless grab at one who could cook him to the bones in an instant?"
"Who can know another man's price?" Rold replied, as quietly. Several of the guards nodded. The veteran added, "I doubt that he needed much persuading. I think he was already loyal to someone or some group outside of the dale, and they merely told him to do this thing for them."
"What group?" came the blunt question, as swords were readied in sheaths, and belts settled about hips.
Rold shrugged.
"That, I know not-or I'd be at Lord Mourngrym to let me go after them. Nay, do not laugh. It is always easier on one's temper, if not one's hide, to be moving and attacking, instead of growing weary and cold at a guardpost, never knowing where and when strikes a blade-or worse, art you cannot avoid or counter."
"Where did they go, then?" one of the younger guards asked; a late riser, still heavy about the eyes, dawnfry on a plate in his hand. Rold chuckled.
"Mind you aren't late for your own funeral, some morn, Raeth; he said. "The young lord and lady will be camping out by Harpers'