Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [179]
"Forgive me," she gasped when she could speak again. By then Shandril had straightened her belt and started down the stairs, and Narm had halted her with a firm arm to the chest. He handed her the bowl of stew.
"-You two," Lureene continued, "but I doubt I shall ever see a mage of power so discomfited!
Whhooo! Ah, but you looked funny, gobbling like that!"
"You should see me casting spells," Narm said dryly.
Then he asked, "When did she awake like this?"
"Scarce had you gone down when she sat upright, straight awake, and called for you. Then she scrambled up, grabbing for clothes and the tike, all in haste. She dreamed that enemies follow fast upon your trail."
"She's probably right," Narm said ruefully, and began scrambling for clothes himself.
"Did your art have the desired effect?" Sharantyr asked softly.
"Yes," Jhessail said heavily. "This dream-weaving's wearisome work. No wonder Elminster was so reluctant to teach it to me. Yet, I think I scared Shandril enough to get her moving before the cult tries again." She lay back in her chair wearily, rubbing her eyes. "Ahhh, me," she said. "I'm ready for bed."
Sharantyr arose. "I'll get Merith," she said, but Jhessail shook her head.
"Nay, nay… it is sleep I need, not cuddling and companionship… you have no idea, Shar-it is like a black pit of oblivion before me, I am so tired…"
With that the lady mage of the knights drifted forward into the pit, and was gone. Sharantyr found a pillow for her head, drew off her boots, wrapped her in a blanket, and left her to sleep.
Then she drew her sword and sat down nearby where she could- watch Jhessail, laying it across her knees. After all, it had been overlong since Manshoon had worked his last mischief in Shadowdale.
They kissed Lureene good-bye in excited haste, thrust the empty bowl into her hands, and were downstairs and out through the taproom, and into the sunshine, before they drew breath again.
There in the inn yard Gorstag stood with their mounts and mules ready-harnessed. The latter two mules of each train bulged suspiciously here and there where they had not bulged before.
"Bread. Sausages. Cheeses. Two casks of wine.
Pickled greens-this jar, sealed with clay. A crate of grapes and figs. A coffer of salt. Some torches,"
Gorstag said briefly. "And the gods watch over you."
He enveloped Shandril in a crushing hug and swung her up into her saddle. "Carry this," he said, and pressed a bottle into her hands. "Goat's milk.., drink it before highsun tomorrow, or it may well go bad?'
He turned to Narm without waiting an instant, like a swordsman turning from a kill in battle, shook the conjurer's hand in a bruising grip, took him by both elbows and lifted him bodily into the saddle. He then thrust a small, curved and polished miniature disc of silver into his hands.
"A shield of Tymora, blessed by the priests in Waterdeep long ago. May it bring you safe to Silverymoon."
He stood looking up at them. "You are in haste," he said gruffly, "and I was never one for long good-byes.
So fare you well in life-I hope to see you again before I die, and 'you both as happy and as hale as you are now. I wish you well, both of you." He stretched up to kiss them both. "You have both chosen well, in each other." He patted the rumps of their horses to start them on their way, and raised his fist in a warrior's salute to an honored champion as they called their good-byes.
As they turned out of The Rising Moon's yard, Shandril burst into tears. When Narm looked from comforting her to wave, Gorstag still stood like a statue with his arm raised in salute. He stood so until they were out of sight.
When Lureene came down to him, standing there, she heard him muttering prayers to Tymora and Mystra and Helm for the two who had gone. When she put her arms around him from behind, and leaned against the old might of his many-muscled back, she could feel the trembling as he left off praying and began to cry.
It was dark in the meeting chamber