Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [157]
Wha-why did you do that? Am I not to kiss you?"
"They could be dead by now!" Sharantyr said angrily. "I ride patrol for a few days and return to find you've put your toes to the behinds of two of the nicest young people I've met! One struggles with half-trained art, and the other bears spellfire that every mage in the Realms would slay her to gain or destroy, and both are mad enough to seek adventure.
And but days married, too! Where is your kindness, Knights of Myth Drannor? Where is your good sense?"
Easy, Shar," Florin said gently. "They joined the Harpers and wanted to walk their own road. Would you want to be caged?"
"Caged? Does a mother turn her infant out of the house because it's reached twenty nights of age?
Alone, you sent them!" She turned upon Elminster.
"What say you, old one? Can they best even a handful of brigands on the road? Brigands who attack by surprise in the night? Speak truth!"
"I have never done aught else," Elminster answered her. "As to the fight ye speak of, I think ye'd be surprised." He drew out his pipe. "Besides," he added, "they're not alone. Not by now. Torm and Rathan rode after them."
Sharantyr snorted. "Sent the brightest lances, didn't you?" She paced, sword bouncing on her hip, and then sighed.
"Well enough. They are not unprotected." She folded her arms and leaned back upon the wall by the hearth. "Gods spit upon my luck," she said more softly. "I wanted to say farewell, not just ride away and never see them again."
"They'll be all right, Shar," Storm said, "and they'll be back again."
"Sharantyr raises a good point, though," Lanseril said from his chair. "The wisdom of sending them alone, with only a rescue squad hurrying along behind, can well be questioned." He raised thoughtful eyes to Mourngrym and Elminster. "I take it you considered their slipping away while we rode a distraction to Hillsfar was a good risk?"
Elminster nodded. "It had to be. Think on that, Sharantyr, and be not so angry, lass."
"They passed the vale without loss or upset," Merith put in, "I heard from one of the people who was watching the road there."
Sharantyr nodded. "Since then?" she prompted.
Merith shrugged.
"I scryed Torm and Rathan yestereve," Illistyl spoke up. "They were cutting across country, southeast of Mistledale, and had met with no one then. I'U try them again tonight."
"Soon?"
"Aye… you can watch, if you like. You too, Jhess, if you have no greater game afoot"-she looked meaningfully at Merith, who grinned-"at such an early hour of the evening. We might need your spells if there is danger or alarm."
Jhessail chuckled. "It is a good thing none but the gods look over your shoulders to see all we-and Narm and Shandril, gods smile upon them-get up to. It would make a long, confusing ballad."
Elminster scowled. "Life is seldom as clear-cut, smooth, and as easily ended as a ballad," he said and put his pipe in his mouth with an air of finality. The fire crackled and flared up in the hearth. The sage stared at it thoughtfully. "She's so young to wield spellfire," he murmured.
"He lies within," the acolyte said fearfully, hastening away from the door.
Sememmon thanked him curtly and said, "Open it."
The acolyte stood a moment in silence. Then he glided forward and swung the heavy oak and bronze door wide. Sememmon motioned him to pass through. The acolyte nodded and stepped forward, face impassive. The mage followed, through very thick stone walls, into a vast chamber that glowed a faint and eerie blue.
This was the center of The Black Altar, the Inner Chamber of Solitude, where one was said to be closest to the god. The forces of the High Imperceptor had not penetrated this far, although Sememmon felt much hidden satisfaction at the extensive damage he'd already seen. The priesthood would be a while recovering its strength, indeed.
Perhaps, Sememmon thought, never, if certain misfortunes befall them now, while they are weak and disorganized.
Sememmon came fully into the chamber, and such thoughts ceased. Vast and dark above him hung a