Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [159]
"Cheer up," said Manshoon in parting. "You'll have your chance to fight with the others for all this"-he shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the dark spires that rose all about them-"someday. I can't live forever, you know." With that he turned on his heel and was gone down the cobbled street into the night, Sarhthor at his heels.
Sememmon stared after them in the faint light and tasted fear. When would Manshoon feel that Sememmon had lived long enough? He entered hastily, the little eyeball that Manshoon had sent to spy floating in, unseen, with him, too.
"We just happened to be riding this way," Rathan said gruffly. "It's an open road, is it not?"
"No" Shandril said with a crooked smile. "You came after us to protect us. Did you not trust Tymora to look after us!"
The burly cleric grinned. "Of course Tymora watches over ye… Am I not an instrument of Tymora's will?"
"Is that why you moved a sleeping man and left all the fighting and dirty work to me?" Torm said. "Not a copper's worth of value in the pockets of his robe, too."
"Dirty work, is it? Who took off his boots, I'd like to know!" Rathan teased him.
"I thank you both," Narm said, "despite your feeble attempts at humor. Again my lady and I owe you our lives. And our horses', too, it seems. Your spell even took away the pain in my head."
Rathan grinned. "If ye want it back, I can lend thee Torm for a few breaths." Torm favored him with a sour look.
Shandril giggled. "I don't think that will be quite necessary, Rathan. I have a man to drive me beyond endurance, now." Narm gave her a hurt look, to which she replied with a wink, but Torm looked delighted.
"Oh, you can leave him with Rathan, to learn how to ride and fight and worship and all," he said, "and I'll ride with you. I'm witty, agile, clean, quick, and experienced. I know lots of jokes, and I'm an excellent cook, so long as you're partial to meat, tomatoes, cheese, and noodles all cooked together.
I'm fully conversant with the laws of six kingdoms and many smaller, independent cities, and I'm an excellent gambler" He batted his eyelashes at her.
"What do you say? Hmmm?"
Shandril gave him a look that would have melted glass. "Is there nothing you can do about him?" she asked Rathan.
"Oh, aye," Rathan agreed. "Ye can give him first watch, so we can all get some sleep. Narm and I'll sleep on either side, close against ye, and ye wont have to worry about him getting cold and wanting to snuggle up."
"Ah, hah," Shandril agreed dubiously. She rolled her eyes and flopped down into the bed of folded tent without replying. Rathan grunted and lowered himself slowly to a lying position, rolling his cloak up as a pillow. He lay on the grass fully clad, without bedding or blanket, grasping his mace. He nodded then, as if satisfied, and within a few breaths he was snoring. His booted feet twitched now and then.
Torm winked at Narm and reached out to pinch one of them. His fingers were still inches away from their goal when Rathan rolled open one eye and said, "Ye can forget pinching, stroking, and tickling honest folk-or even us- who're asleep in the arms of the gods. Just see that the fire stays high."
Narm fell asleep chuckling.
The soft morning sun breaking over the rolling hills and fields of Battledale and northern Sembia lit up the sky to the east, and found Rathan Thentraver thoughtfully warming water for tea over the dying fire.
He looked around at his sleeping companions, got to his feet with a slow grunt of effort, and clambered up the bank to look at the land about. It was bare of all but grass, rolling and very empty. He nodded in satisfaction, tucked his mace under his arm, and sat down again and cleared his thoughts of all but Tymora, as he tried to do every morning.
He opened his heart to her and prayed that the two young folk beside him-aye, and Torm, too, hang him-would see only her bright face until they had at least reached Silvery-moon and befriended Alustriel.
Everyone needs at least one safe journey-and these two, more than most,