Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [58]
"Rathan-scrolls enough for both Lanseril and Shandril." Elminster held out the rolls of parchment to the cleric as he came forward, set aside his staff, and bent down. "I only hope the force within her did not damage her overmuch."
"Damage?" Narm asked.
"The spellfire burns inside," Elminster said gently.
"It can burn out lungs, heart, and even the brain, if held overlong." He shook his head. "She seemed to be master of it at the last, but she held more than I have ever known anyone to bear before, without bursting into flames and being entirely consumed on the spot."
"Cheerful, isn't he?" Torm put in lightly. Narm stared at him in horror, then burst into tears and started to tremble. Jhessail held his shuddering shoulders and looked at the thief levelly.
"Torm," she said in a cutting tone, "sometimes you are a right bastard."
Torm indicated Narm with one hand. "He needed it," he said soberly.
Jhessail held his gaze for a moment and then said,
"You're right, Torm. I'm sorry. I mistook you." She enfolded Narm in her arms, and he uncontrollably sobbed out his relief into her breast.
"You and the rest of the world," said Torm mournfully. "Most of the time."
"And with no cause at all," Merith added innocently.
"Now shut your clever lips and help me spread my cloak over her."
Rathan nodded that he was done as they approached and got up wearily to see to Lanseril.
"A hard day of healing?" the half-Elven druid asked wryly as the cleric knelt beside him. Rathan grunted.
"Hard on the knees, anyway," he agreed, rolling open the next scroll. "Now lie there, damn ye. It is hard enough convincing the Lady that healing an unrepentant servant of Silvanus like thyself is a devout act, without ye squirming around."
"True enough," Lanseril agreed, settling himself.
"How does the young lady fare?"
Rathan shrugged. "Her body is whole. She sleeps.
But her mind? We shall see."
Across the cavern, Narm looked down from Jhessail’s arms at the softly breathing form. "Why does she not awake?" he moaned. "She's healed, the priest said. Why does she sleep?"
"Her mind heals itself," Elminster said from near at hand. "Do not disturb her. Be calm, Narm… a fine mage yell make, indeed, with all this weeping and shouting! Come away, and eat something and rest."
"I'm not hungry," Narm said sullenly, as Jhessail rose and pulled him up, her slim arms surprisingly strong.
"Oh, aye," Elminster said in obvious disbelief, handing him a sausage and producing a knife to saw at the hard piece of bread on his lap. Narm stared at the sausage and thought of Shandril and himself and sausages, and burst into laughter. Tears came again as he rocked helplessly back and forth.
"Stable fellow, isn't he?" Elminster inquired of the world at large. "Eat," he commanded, thrusting Narm's arm toward his mouth with a flick of his fingers and the quick saying of an unseen servant spell. The wood and string in the mage's hands melted away into nothingness, and suddenly Narm was sobbing on sausage, then eating ravenously.
Elminster, shaking his head, used the spell to convey a flask from where it lay by Torm through the air to his own waiting hand. Torm discovered its theft, but snatched for it much too late.
Merith, who had been carefully examining the chamber with Florin, came over to Narm in his customary silence and touched the young mage's elbow. Narm surfaced from his sausage slowly. "Yes?
Oh, sorry."
"No, lad. Don't be sorry," Merith told him. "If you would, point out to us where this mage your lady felled with the balhiir-globe and a rock lies now."
The elf s eyes were serious and wary.
Narm blinked at him. "There, among the rocks." He pointed, but his hand moved uncertainly when he could not see Symgharyl Maruel's feet.
"Aye," Merith agreed soberly. "We thought so."
"She's gone?" Narm asked, astonished.
"She is nowhere in this chamber," Florin said quietly. "Not even among the bodies at the entrance."
"Then… where is she?" Narm asked, his mind still on Shandril and spellfire and sausages.
"I'm afraid," the