Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [139]
After a startled look, Narm politely turned his back.
Unconcerned, the bard drew on her clothes. Shandril saw that her arms, back, and flanks were covered with faint white, twisting sword-scars. She looked up at Shandril's wondering eyes and winked. "I've walked many roads. Some roads leave little maps."
She traced one scar with a long finger and tied her halter,
"You can turn about, Narm," Storm said dryly. "I'll soon grow tired of talking to your shoulders." Narm obediently turned about, grinning. "Now," Storm continued, "I'll tell you a few things about the journey ahead of you. First: trail marks. You'll see a few runes scratched or burned on rocks, trees, or in the dirt as you go." Storm picked up a stick and then shrugged. "Nay… I'll draw them for you in the house.
It is Elminster's way to expect one to remember half a hundred things in a morning; I'll not do that. I will tell you the names of Harper agents along your way.
Look to them for aid if you need it.
"These, too, I'll write for you, on a bandage. I'll need you to prick your finger and bleed on it afterwards. It must look well-stained and disgusting if you don't want it to be looked at too closely, if someone searches or robs you. But these I'll tell you about, in case you get separated, or lose your list. If you lose the list of runes, stay clear of all such that you see.
"First, in Cormyr…"
After a long time, Storm rose, belted her horn at her waist, and led them back up the path to her back door.
"What if someone-by art, I mean-heard all this?"
Narm asked, looking at the trees all around. Storm shook her head.
"I have art of my own to cloak this little, hidden place. Manshoon himself could not hear us unless he sat with us." She went in and set the men-at-arms to cutting cheese and apples for all, while she prepared the bandages.
Storm vanished up a stair half-hidden in the shadows of the old stone kitchen, taking Shandril's hand and drawing her up, too. When they reappeared there was no sign of the promised bandage.
Shandril's eyes told Narm readily enough that it was hidden upon her somewhere. The bard now wore black fighting leathers and a sword.
"To the temple, then," Storm said briskly, "for we have much to talk about with Rathan and Eressea."
West of the tower, over the bridge that spanned the river Ashaba, rose the solid stone temple of Tymora without ditch or palisade. Its open gates stood in tall green grass without any wall, so that anyone could easily walk around. Storm led them between the gate-pillars and along a wide flagstone path to the temple. The path led to circular, arched double doors of gleaming metal, fashioned to resemble the disc symbol of Tymora. An acolyte stood guard before them, manning a polished circular alarm-gong. He was young and pimply and very earnest. "Why come you to this house of honor to the Lady?" he inquired, in the words of the ritual.
"To take our chances," Storm replied formally, "and to speak with the Lady's servant, Eressea Ambergyles, and with the faithful Rathan Thentraver if he is within."
"Yes, lady," said the acolyte with respect. "He is, and you are welcome. Enter, if you will." He opened the doors and stepped within to signal another to take his post as he escorted the visitors into the temple.
In a moment, he reappeared and beckoned wordlessly, leading them into a large circular chamber whose pillars held up a domed ceiling high overhead. He led them up a broad stair without haste, past a watchful priest who sat at the head of the stairs with plain brass rings gleaming upon his fingers and a bare mace laid across his knees. The mace glowed faintly.
Beyond the priest a gallery opened out to the right and left, running around the inside of the dome, past many closed doors. Their escort knocked upon a door straight ahead, and it swung open. Rathan and Eressea, both clad in plainspun robes, were seated at