Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [144]
"Aye, but let not the looking make you sour,"
Shandril told him. "You would come down here?"
"Have we anyplace else?" Narm asked. "I doubt the art that protects Storm's home will be kind to us now, if we come calling when she is not there."
"True," Shandril agreed and took one last look around from their height, looking north over the Old Skull's stony bulk to the rolling wilderness beyond.
The wind slid past them gently now. "Learn this spell yourself, as soon as you can," she urged as she clung to him. "It is so beautiful."
"Aye." Narm’s voice was husky. "It is the least of the beauty I have known this day."
Shandril's arms tightened about him, and she and Narm sank gently to the earth in a fierce embrace in front of Elminster's tower.
Overhead, a falcon waggled its wings to an eagle and veered away to the south. The eagle bobbed in slow salute and wheeled about, sighed audibly, and dove earthward.
"Must ye stand about, naked, kissing and cuddling, and generally inflaming an old man's passions?"
Elminster demanded loudly, inches behind Narm.
Narm and Shandril both jumped, startled, but barely had time to unclasp and turn about before the sage was pushing them roughly toward the door. "In! In, and try your hands at peeling potatoes. Lhaeo can't feed two extra guts on naught but air, ye know!"
Shandril's fending hands encountered a deep and silky beard.
Elminster came to a dead halt and glared at her.
"Pull my beard, will ye? Ridicule a man old enough to be thy great – great – great – great – great – great – and – probably -great-again-grandsire? Are ye mad?
Or just tired of life? How would ye like to enjoy the rest of thy life from the mud, as a toad, or a slug, or creeping moss? Aye? Aye? AYE?"
He was pushing them both again, now, step by step to the door. Narm had begun to chuckle uncertainly.
Shandril was still white and open-mouthed. The door opened behind them, and Elminster added in sudden calm, "Two guests again, Lhaeo. They'll be needing clothes first."
"Aye," came the dry reply from within. "It is cold in the corners, herein. How are they at peeling potatoes?"
Elminster's answering chuckle urged them in, and he closed the door with a brief, "I'll follow, anon… some tasks remain." They were inside in the flickering dimness with Lhaeo, already moving toward a certain closet.
"We've gone through more clothes since you've come to Shadowdale," he said. "You were a head shorter than I, were you not, Shandril?"
"Yes," Shandril agreed, and she began to laugh.
After a moment, Narm joined her. Lhaeo shook his head as he handed clothes backward without looking.
Truly they serve most who know when to laugh and when to listen.
The stew warm inside her, Shandril leaned back against the wall on her stool happily. She looked over at Narm, clad in the silk robes of a grand mage of Myth Drannor, and smiled at him, heart full. The hearth glowed, and Lhaeo moved softly back and forth in front of it, stirring and tasting and adding pinches of spice kept in a rack above his cutting board. Pheasant hung from the rafters above the scribe, and a plump gorscraw lay upon the table, waiting to be plucked and dressed. Narm sipped herbed tea and regarded Lhaeo's deft movements over his stewpots. "Is there anything we can do to help?" he asked.
Lhaeo looked up at him with a quick smile. "Aye, but it is not cooking. Talk, if you would. I have heard little enough speech that is not Elminster's. Tell me how it is with you."
"It is wonderful, Lhaeo," Narm said. "I am as happy now as I have ever been in my life. We are wed this day and henceforth. It is joyous indeed!"
"You, too?" the scribe asked Shandril. She nodded, eyes shining.
Lhaeo smiled. "Both of you," he said, "remember how you feel now, when times are darker, and turn not one upon the other, but stand together to face the world's teeth. But enough. I will not lecture you. You must hear enough of that from other lips, hereabouts."
They all laughed. Shandril stopped first and asked,
"Those men-at the wedding? Who were they, do you know?"
"I