Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [148]
"Aye, it is his field," came one reply.
"Aye, it would be folly to do otherwise," said another.
"Aye-and if he comes not back, we can always raise other mages to the Purple."
"Aye to that, too!"
"Aye," the others all put in, in their turn. So it was agreed, and they all rose and left that place.
It was late in Shadowdale, and in the Twisted lower the candles burned low. In an inner room of Lord Mourngrym's chambers off the great bedroom, there was much discussion over the remains of dinner-in low tones, as Lady Shaerl slept in her chair at one end of the table, and Rathan Thentraver dozed over one arm of his chair.
"We must leave," Shandril said, close to tears.
"Leave? Of course… how can you know yourselves and become strong if you are always in the midst of our hurly-burly?" Florin agreed. "But come back one day to see us, mind," he added softly.
"Have you a place in mind?" Jhessail asked, as she leaned drowsily upon Merith's shoulder. The elf s eyes gleamed in the candlelight. Tonight he had said little and listened much.
Narm shrugged. "We go to seek our fortune. The Harpers said to seek High Lady Alustriel in Silverymoon."
"Would you have some of us ride with you?"
Lanseril asked. "There are greater evils in this world by far than those you have fought."
"With all respect, lord," Shandril answered him, "no.
Too long you have watched over us and spilled much blood on our account. We must make our own way in the world and fight our own battles-or in the end, we will have done nothing."
" 'Nothing,' she says," Torm said to Illistyl. "Two dracoliches and a mountaintop and a good piece of Manshoon of Zhentil Keep, yet, and 'nothing; she calls it! It's scary. What if she tries 'something'?"
"Hush you," Illistyl said, stopping his mouth with a kiss. "You're a worse windbag than the old mage himself."
"Why, thank ye," said a familiar voice wryly from the far darkness of the room. Narm saw the battered old hat first, perched atop the staff that Elminster bore, as the sage's bearded old face came forward into the light and regarded them all. He looked last at Narm and Shandril.
"Ye might," he said dryly, "go to The Rising Moon for a night, at least. It would be a kindness to Gorstag.
He has been worried about ye."
Shandril met his gaze in silence, and a breath had passed before Narm realized that she was crying.
Silent tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. He turned to her and took her in his arms, but her tears still fell.
"Don’t cry, beloved," Narm soothed her. "You're among-"
"Shush her not," Merith said gently. "It is no shame to weep. Only one who cares not, cries not. I have seen what happens to those-Florin and Torm, at this table-who cry inside and try to hide it from others. It sears the soul"
Jhessail nodded. "Merith is right," she said. "Tears don’t upset us, only the reasons for them "
"Cry here, lord," murmured ShaerI in her sleep, patting her own shoulder. "It is soft and listens to you." Mourngrym looked faintly embarrassed. Torm grinned.
"You see?" he said to Illistyl. "You could do that for me… You have the shoulders for it." She slapped him fondly.
ShaerI stirred and frowned. "Oh, it is that game tonight, is it?" she murmured. "Well, my lord, you'll have to catch me first, I assure you." Chuckles arose from around the room. Mourngrym leaned forward and lifted his lady gently from the chair. Sleepily she clung to his neck and drew her legs up across his chest, settling herself with murmurs of contentment.
Mourngrym turned to them all with ShaerI cradled in his arms. "Good even, all," he said with a smile.
"ShaerI should be in bed-and so should all of us."
"Now where were we?" Elminster asked, settling himself into a chair that looked as old, shabby, and well-worn as he did. "Oh, aye… your plans for the future, Narm and Shandril." Groans, silence, and faint snores answered him from elsewhere, as the newly healed knights