Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [152]
"Go now," Elminster said gently, "or ye'll be seen.
We shall ride north toward Hillsfar with illusions of ye for a time to confuse any who seek ye, but those who pursue ye are not weak-minded. Go now, and go swiftly. Our love and regard go with ye." His clear blue eyes met theirs fondly and steadily as they slowly turned their mounts about, and then, with a vast wave, spurred away.
Looking back as they thundered south along the road with tears stinging their eyes, Shandril and Narm saw the knights sitting their saddles watching.
Florin raised something that flashed silver to his lips as they rode on over the first rise, and as the descending slope of the road hid the knights from their view, the clear notes of the knights' battle-leader's war-horn rang out in a farewell. He was playing the Salute to Victorious Warriors.
Shandril had heard it played by bards at the inn, but she had never dreamed it would someday be played for her!
"Will we ever see them again?" Narm asked softly, as they slowed.
"Yes," said Shandril, with eyes and voice of steel,
"whatever stands in the way." She brushed her hair out of her eyes. "It is time we learned to look after ourselves. If I must slay with this spellfire every jack and lass seems so eager to take, then so be it. I'm afraid I can't laugh at devils and dracolichs and mages and men with swords the way Torm does.
They just make me angry and afraid. So I'll strike back at them. I hope you won't be hurt… I fear much battle lies ahead of us."
"I hope you won't be hurt, my lady," Narm answered her, as they rode on. "You're the one they'll be after."
"I know," Shandril said softly, and steel shone in her eyes again. "But it is I who'll have spellfire ready when they find me."
They slowed their horses to a steady trot. The road was lightly traveled that day. They saw no one traveling south, and only a few merchants heading north. AD rode ready-armed, but nodded without incident or ill looks.
Great old trees of the Elven Court rose on both sides of the road. Between them and the road itself stumps rose out of the ditch like the gray fingers of buried giants, all that remained of saplings cut by travelers as staves and litter-poles and firewood. Narm watched these narrowly as they rode, half-expecting brigands to rise up out of them at every bend and dip of the way.
They rode in silence for the most part, until the sun glimmered low, and the trees laid dark shadows across the road.
"We should find a place to sleep, love," Narm said as shadows lengthened and their horses slowed.
Shandril looked at him and nodded soberly. "Aye, and soon," she said. "We are almost upon the vale. A cursed place. Let us stop here-at that height, ahead-and hope none find us."
They reined to a halt, and Narm swung down.
"Ohhh," he groaned. "Stiff… ohhh. Tymora watch over us." He patted his mount's head and listened.
"Water, down there," he said after a moment, pointing.
Shandril swung down into his arms. "Good, then," she said lightly, inches from his nose. "You fetch some while I tie the horses, oh mighty conjurer."
Narm growled and kissed her, and then unhooked the nosebags from the mules and went down to get water. Somewhere nearby a wolf howled. Overhead, as the last light faded and the moonlight began, a black falcon came silently to a branch above Shandril, and clung, watching.
They awoke in each other's arms on a hard bed of canvas tent laid flat upon mossy ground. Birds called in the brightening morning. It was damp and misty among the trees. They were in a beautiful place, but somehow it was not welcoming. They were intruders, and could feel it.
Once Narm thought he saw elven eyes far off in the gloom, regarding him steadily, but he blinked and they were gone. The Elven Court itself may have gone from these woods, but the hand of man had not tamed them-yet. Narm felt more comfortable with his hand resting on the hilt of his drawn dagger, beneath the cloak that covered their shoulders and throats. He turned to Shandril, who smiled through