Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [124]
"All well?" he asked.
Lhaeo came to the door with Narm leaning limply on his shoulder. The scribe's arms were clasped about the conjurer with casual strength.
"All well. They'll both sleep till tomorrow morning, with no ill effects, by the dose they had. I mixed it carefully, and they drank it all down."
"Good. I'll take his feet. A sound sleep will do them both great good, and I'll be able to have a look at the lad's spellcasting when he's rested and not worried sick about his lady love."
"How about her?"
"No training needed. She's already learned much precision. When we fought Manshoon, she was still at the stage of hurling it as a child does a snowball.
Now, she can do more with it-uumph, mind this bit; the lad's heavy!-than many mages ever do with fire magics."
They laid Narm on the bed and went back for Shandril. "Hmmm… we have much that will fit the lad, but what of this little lady?" Lhaeo asked, as they went carefully up the stairs again.
Elminster looked wise. "I've already thought on that," he said. "Some of the gowns that Shoulree of the Elven Court wore, in the days of Myth Drannor.
They're in the chest closest to the stairs. She, too, could wield spellfire, if the talk in the city then was correct. She won't mind."
"Walks she yet?" Lhaeo asked, as they laid Shandril gently on the bed beside Narm, and drew off her boots.
Elminster looked thoughtful. "I doubt she does… but perhaps some of the Elven Court who joined the long sleep years ago stir now. That would explain why the devils in Myth Drannor have not troubled us here more." He nodded. "Something to look into, indeed."
Then his face split into a wide grin. "In my copious free time," he added.
"I know it is wisest and safest," Shandril said, "but I grow so bored, Lhaeo. Is there nothing I can do? I know I shouldn't pry about in the spellbooks; I'll only get hurt or changed into some ugly creature or other.
I cannot tidy for the same reason!"
Lhaeo looked at her with his usual expressionless face. "Do you cook?" he asked. Shandril turned.
"Of course! Why, at The Rising Moon-" She stopped, eyes alight, and smiled. "May I cook with you?" she asked, delighted. Lhaeo bowed.
"Please," he said. "It is seldom I get to talk to others who spend much time in a kitchen. Few want to talk to someone who speaks thus," and his last words were spoken in a mincing lisp.
Shandril looked at him. "Why do you pretend to be- Elminster's companion?" she asked. Lhaeo looked at her soberly.
"My lady," he said, "I am in hiding. I will tell you who I am only if you never tell anyone-except Narm," he replied.
"I promise," Shandril said solemnly. "By whatever oaths you wish." Lhaeo shook his head.
"Your promise is enough," he said. "Come into the kitchen." The room, warmed by a small fire in the hearth, smelled deliciously of herbs and simmering stew and onion soup.
"Are you a lost prince?" Shandril prompted him as he waved her to a stool and went to inspect the huge pot of stew upon the fire.
"I suppose," Lhaeo said slowly, stirring the stew with a long-handled ladle, "you could say that. I am the last of the royal house of Tethyr. In happier times, I was so far from the throne that I never thought of myself as a prince or even as one of the court. But there have been so many deaths that I am, so far as Elminster and I can tell, the last left alive of royal blood.
"Why do you hide? You have no army to take back your kingdom. Why would anyone want to kill you?"
Lhaeo shrugged. "Because all who have seized power expect others to do as they would. Anyone of royal blood must want to wear the crown, they think.
I live because they don’t know that I still live. I fear that's all there is to tell. Not so impressive, is it? But it is a secret that must be kept, for my life hangs upon it."
"I shall not tell it," Shandril said. "What can I help you with, here?"
Lhaeo looked at her. "Cook what you like, and teach me as you go," he said. "Please?" They smiled at each other