Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [75]
"Our thanks, Rathan " Shandril said huskily, and he bowed again and said, "Tymora's will, but my pleasure!'" and made of the formal words the approval and joy of a friend.
Narm spoke then. "My lord Florin," he said to the tall ranger in the scorched and claw-scraped armor,
"may we come to Shadowdale for a time, with you all? We have no home, and my lady-no, we are both weary of running and fighting and never knowing rest, or a home. It is much to ask, I know, but-"
"But no more drI’vel," said Torm unexpectedly. "Of course you will come to the dale… where else would you go?"
Florin looked at him sternly, and then grinned. "In truth, Torm," he said, "I could have put it in no better words myself… you are welcome for as long as you both desire it. I daresay you can study art better in Shadowdale's peace and quiet-relatI’ve though that may prove-than out here, as one mage after another hurls it at you."
"Study?" asked Narm faintly, staring at Elminster, who stood puffing his pipe expressionlessly.
"Yes, with Illistyl and I," said Jhessail. "He," she added, nodding at Elminster, "will be studying your bride. It's been a long time indeed since someone last mastered spellfire so ably-and survI’ved its use so well."
Flames flickered red and angry orange in two braziers. They stood in a vaulted stone hall, and between them was an altar of black stone, polished glossy-smooth and shaped like a gigantic throne, forty feet high. At the foot of the Seat of Bane was a much smaller throne, and upon it sat a cold-eyed man with pale brown hair and wan features. His high-cowled robe was deep black and simple, and his hands gleamed with many rings. None living knew his truename, save himself; few knew his common name. He was the High Imperceptor of Bane, and he was very angry.
"GI’ve me good reason," he said coldly to those who knelt before him, "why I should not put you to death.
You have failed me. Manshoon was to have receI’ved our message at this meeting with his lords.
Ws cannot move against the traitor Fzoul with Manshoon in the city, or we shall know certain defeat. You had the message; you delivered it not.
What can you say to stand against this?"
"M-my Lord," said one of those kneeling, hesitantly,
"the message was about to be passed on to Manshoon, in a believable manner-and for that, we needed those assembled to be on the topic, or he might well have smelled out our ruse. The meeting was scarce begun, and the fool Kalthas telling all grandly that garrisons across the northlands were wasteful and needless, when Manshoon stood up, all of a sudden, and upset the table and all. He-he began to cry, Dread Lord. He whispered a word, 'Maruel' or something similar, and then summoned a scrying-crystal. He was not even looking at us. He looked into the globe when it came to him-"
"The word of summoning!" the High Imperceptor interrupted sharply. "What was it?"
"Ah-a moment. Dread Lord, it began, 'Zell… ah, it was 'Zellathorass' the kneeling man said triumphantly. The High Imperceptor nodded.
"Rise, and continue," was all he said. Bowing, the man did.
"The-the word he dismissed the globe with, Dread Lord, was 'Alvathair' I do recall. He seemed furious after that and dismissed us. He said, 'Sirs, this meeting is at an end. For your safety, leave at once.'
And he called down gargoyles upon us from above, and-and we fled."
"Did you see where Manshoon went?" asked the High Imperceptor eagerly.
"N-no, Dread Lord. He was not seen in the city all the rest of that day." The speaker spread his hands.
"We came straight to you, leaving that night, for fear of delivering our message wrongly, once the chance you had directed us to take was lost."
The High Imperceptor nodded shortly. "Well spoken, well recalled. Rise, all of you." When the brief shuffling and rustling had died away again, he looked down at the line of men facing him. "Do any of you have aught else to report?"
One Theln spoke.