Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [65]
"Get her!" Lanseril shouted from behind him.
Before Elminster could speak Florin and Merith had leaped past him, blades flashing. The elf s armor was torn and twisted crazily at one shoulder where a dragon claw had earlier caught it. Had not Merith jumped desperately upward into its closing grip to strike with his blade, the body below the armor would have been torn apart as well.
Elminster knew they could not hear him. He hissed words hastily, exerted his will, then vanished.
Florin could see The Shadowsil, struggling feebly on one elbow to roll herself over. The wand was still in her hand. She was snarling through the long hair.
He raised his sword as he ran, in desperate haste. He did not hold with slaying women, but this foe could be the death of them all, were he not fast enough.
Merith crashed along behind him, slipping and staggering among the scattered rocks and treasure.
Suddenly Elminster was before them, barring their path. "Stay back!" he commanded. "No more butchery is necessary." Wildly waving their swords, they skidded to a halt only feet from the old mage.
They cast quick glances back to ensure that this was not some illusion of their enemy's. "Put the steel away," the old mage said wearily and went to his knees beside Symgharyl Maruel. "The time for all that is past." As he spoke, she collapsed on her face with a groan, the wand clattering away on the rocks.
Gently he took the broken body under the shoulders and turned it until The Shadowsil lay face-up in his lap. Florin and Merith watched in astonishment, the elf s blade still wavering uneasily in his hand.
Florin drew off his gauntlets as he squatted, facing Elminster across the body of the foe who had sought to slay them all but a breath or two ago. "Elminster;' he asked gravely, "what are you about?"
Symgharyl Maruel opened her eyes at the sound of Florin's voice and stared dully up at them, as one who has traveled a very long way. She spat blood weakly, and her eyes found Elminster. "Master," she hissed, blood bubbling horribly in her throat.
"I-hurt." The last word was almost a sob. "Little flower," Elminster whispered gently as she drew a shuddering breath, "I am here." At his words, she coughed blood and began to cry weakly, the tears running down her cheeks as the knights gathered about in astonished silence. "If ye lie quiet," the sage murmured, "I shall see if I can find art enough yet in my tower to heal thee." He clasped her hand gently and began to slide out from beneath her. One feeble hand plucked at his sleeve, and the mage the knights had all hated or feared mastered her tears.
"No," she told him firmly, eyes burning upon his,
"promise me you shall not bring me back… I am too set to change now. I cannot learn this 'good' you stand for." The Shadowsil's eyes closed; her head fell back wearily. Then her eyes flickered. "Promise," she hissed, hands trembling on his.
"Aye, Symgharyl Maruel, I promise thee,"
Elminster told her gravely, stroking her shoulder almost absently with one old hand. Symgharyl Maruel smiled.
"Good, then," she said, voice trailing away. '"Ware my belt… it has a poisoned buckle. One more thing," she added, voice a hissing ruin now. Elminster leaned close to the bloody lips to hear, and the failing hands gripped his robes until they grew as white as The Shadowsil's face.
The mage raised herself, her body shaking with the effort. Dark eyes shone defiantly once at them all, and then her head reached Elminster's shoulder. She clung there, shaking like a leaf in a gale, and then leaned forward to kiss his cheek, softly and yet fiercely. "I love you. I wish I could have had you."
And The Shadowsil turned her head against his chest, smiled, then died.
There was silence for the space of many breaths while the old mage sat motionless, cradling the still body in his arms. The slim hands loosened their hold on him, but Elminster held her. No one moved or spoke. All stood waiting. From Elminster there came no sound.
After a time, the sage looked up, laid his burden gently upon the stones beneath,