Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [141]
Out and dry yourself! If ye are so heedless as to get the chills, Shandril may wed a walking corpse!"
"Cheery, aren't you?" Narm observed, as Rathan unwrapped heated linens from hot rocks, grunting and licking his fingers, and held the linen out for Narm to take.
"If it's a clown ye want, I'll send for Torm straightaway" Rathan replied. "But don't blame me if he gets thee so drunk and distracted that ye forget to come to thy wedding-or if he locks thee in a chest somewhere so that he can have the pleasure of marrying your Shandril himself!"
"Torm?"
"Aye. And if he's busy misbehaving elsewhere, I may take his place in such adventures myself."
Eressea was kissing Shandril's forehead formally, and then hugging her fondly. "We must make haste now," she said. "Your lord-to-be awaits you.
Shadowdale gathered awaits you, too. So let us 'scoot,' as Elminster says." Shandril rolled her eyes, and together they hurried down the stairs.
A lone horn rang out from where Sylune's Hut had been and echoed in the dale, to signal that Narm waited with Rathan. It was answered immediately from the battlements of the tower of Ashaba, as the bride-to-be and the Preceptress Eressea set forth on the long walk south.
Storm Silverhand walked behind them, blade drawn, as the guard of honor. Any hostile eyes watching and planning an attack on the maid who commanded spellfire could not help but notice the many bright glows of art that hung about the bard's person. She was armed with power and expecting trouble. There were not a few gasps and mutters among the dalefolk at the display.
Well ahead of them walked Mourngrym, Lord of Shadow-dale, bareheaded but fully armored, the arms of the dale upon his breast, and a great sword at his side.
The trumpeters along the route bowed to him but did not sound their horns until Shandril reached them.
One by one their calls rang out as the bride drew nearer.
Mourngrym saluted Narm and then stepped aside. A few bare stone flags among still-scorched grass marked the spot where Sylune's hut had stood. When she lived and was Lady of the Dale, no temples had stood in Shadowdale. All had come here to be wed before her. Now at least one more couple would be wed here.
Rathan stood square upon the stones, looking for Shandril. The disc of Tymora upon his breast began to glow as he cupped it in his hands.
Nearer they came, Shandril and Eressea, and the last trumpeter blew two high notes. A fanfare of all the trumpets joined him, loud and long and glorious.
When the last, thrilling echoes had died away, Shandril stood before Rathan.
The priest smiled at her and cast the disc of Tymora, which he had taken off its chain, into the air. It hung a man's height above their heads, spinning gently, and its glow grew brighter.
"Beneath the bright face of Tymora, we are gathered here to join together Narm Tamaraith, this man, and Shandril Shessair, this woman, as companions in life.
Let their ways run together, say I, a friend. What saith Tymora?"
Eressea stepped forward and spoke. "I speak for Tymora, and I say, let their ways run together"
Rathan bowed his head at her words.
"We stand in Shadowdale," he said then. "What saith a good woman of the dale?"
Storm Silverhand took a step forward and spoke. "I say, let their ways run together."
"We stand in Shadowdale, and hear you. What saith a good man of the dale?"
The smith Bronn Selgard stood forth from the gathered Dalefolk then, his great grim face solemn, his mighty limbs clad in old, carefully patched finery.
His deep voice rolled over them all. "I say, let their ways run together."
"We stand in Shadowdale, and hear you," Rathan said in response. "What saith the Lord of the Dale?"
Mourngrym stood forth. "I say, let their ways run together"
"We stand in Shadowdale, and hear you," came Rathan's voice, and it suddenly rose into a deep challenge. "What say the people of the dale? Shall the ways of these two, Narm