Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [153]
"And to you, my love," Shandril replied softly. "It is nice to be alone for once, without mages attacking us and guards watching over us always, and Elminster fussing about… I love you, Narm."
"I love you, too," Narm said quietly. "How lucky I've been to see you in the inn and then be parted, only to find you deep in ruined Myth Drannor again.
I would have come back to The Rising Moon someday when I was free of Marimmar, only to find you long gone."
"Aye," Shandril whispered against his chest. "Long gone and probably dead. Oh, Narm…" They lay in each other's arms, warm and safe and unwilling to rise and end this feeling of peace.
Then they heard the dull thudding of hooves from the road nearby, and the creak of harness leather.
Shandril sighed and rolled free of Narm. "I suppose we must get up," she said, long, blond hair hanging about her shoulders as she rose to her knees, pulling the cloak about her against the chill. "If we stop in Essembra only to buy feed and to eat and then hasten on, we could camp on the southern edge of the woods this night. I would be out and away, west of the Thunder Peaks, before the Cult of the Dragon and Zhentil Keep and whoever else is after me know we have parted from the knights. Come, now. You can kiss me more later."
Narm nodded a bit mournfully. "Aye, I know." He sat up and looked all about at the drifting mist in the trees, and the horses chewing on leaves patiently. He sighed too, then, and scrambled up to draw on his clothes. His thighs were raw from yesterday's riding.
He drew on his belt, then stopped abruptly, listening.
He could have sworn he had heard a chuckle, but there was no one to be seen. All was quiet from the road, too. After a long time he shrugged and continued on, glancing back often at his lady. He never saw the black falcon winging low over the treetops to the east on the long flight home.
In falcon shape, The Simbul shook her head and chuckled again. They were good folk, she thought, and then rose on powerful wings to look around at the trees below. Children, still, but they'd not be for much longer. She had other concerns, too long neglected, to see to now. Perhaps they'd be killed-but then again, it was entirely possible that they'd do the killing if any in Faerun quarreled with them. Farewell, you two. Fare-you-very-well. The lonely queen of Aglarond flicked raven-black wings and rose higher.
They made good time across the strangely still place known as the Vale of Lost Voices. Sacred to the elves, it was, and men whispered that something unseen and terrible guarded it. Something that destroyed axe-wielding men and great mages alike, and left no trace behind. In the vale the elves of the Elven Court buried the bodies of their fallen, but those who dared to dig for treasure there vanished in the mists and were not seen again.
Narm and Shandril, and those who passed them there, said not a word all the time they rode across that tree-choked valley. The largest trees they had seen yet grew in the vale, some as big around as Elminster's tower back in Shadowdale. The light was eerily blue under the trees where mists coiled slowly far off, and faint glowing lights drifted and danced.
No one stepped off the road while they traversed the vale.
They left it at last, Shandril shivering in sudden relief as they came up over the crest of the steep hill that marked its southern edge.
"The Lost Dale, they call it in Cormyr," Narm said, low-voiced. "Forever lost to men, because of the elves."
Shandril looked at him. "They say in the dales that every elf in the Elven Court would have to be dead before one tree of the vale could be safely cut."
"But all the elves are gone now," Narm said.
Shandril shook her head.
"No. I saw one in the woods at Storm Silverhand's.
She waved to Storm and went away as we came down to the pool." Shandril turned to peer all around into the trees.
"But that's far from here," Narm protested.
"Think you so?"