Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [76]
The High Imperceptor was leaning forward on his throne now, interested. At a subtle signal of his hand, an unseen upperpriest behind black tapestries nearby had cast a spell to detect any lies Theln might speak.
"They take her to Elminster, no doubt. Very powerful, indeed. If we held this power, we could strike down those who stand opposed to our great Lord"-all save the High Imperceptor bowed again-"and those traitors who were once our brothers, alike. We must try for this spellfire, if this tale be true. This faithful-who is he, and how old his news?"
"One Raunel, a dealer in sausages from the Vilhon Reach. He spoke to me on my way to you, on the road very close. He said he'd spoken with a forester who'd seen the girl and all himself, near the Thunder Peaks, in the late morning yesterday. He met this forester, one Hylgaun, yestereve at a roadside fire they shared."
The High Imperceptor nodded again, and almost smiled. "You have done well, Theln. You will be rewarded. Go you and call upon the priest Laelar to attend us at once. All of you, leave us."
The last to leave stepped from behind tapestries, bowed, and said merely, "No lies, Dread Lord," as he left. Good. That left only two possible liars in this matter: this Raunel and the one called Hylgaun. It felt true.
When he was alone, the cold-eyed, wan man looked thoughtfully across the empty chamber. "Maruel…
Maruel. I know that name." He caught up the great black mace of Bane and hefted its dark and cruel length absently as he pondered. Why could he never remember such things? Why? It could well bring death one day… the wrong detail forgotten, the wrong precaution taken. The High Imperceptor sighed. It had not been a good day.
The black dragon flew heavily and raggedly. Often its wings faltered and it would sink down and to one side or the other, despite Manshoon's commands and curses. Orlgaun was sorely hurt, and might never bear him again. That thought burned in Manshoon's mind, atop his defeat, and he almost turned back in anger to slay with the art he yet held ready.
It was impossible. Orlgaun was flying on the last of its lagging strength now, lower than Manshoon would have preferred. The seemingly endless green of the great Elven Court stretched on beneath them as the dragon flew north and east. Manshoon thought back over the fray and concluded bitterly that he'd probably not slain a single one of those who'd stood against him. Elminster had shielded them at the first, aye, but few could survI’ve he and Orlgaun both, even in passing. That cursed elf, and the ranger with his flying shield! He could feel their blades yet… they'd not live long, when he had that girl in his hands, even if they'd had nothing to do with Symgharyl Maruel's death.
The thought of The Shadowsil's passing made him feel dark and weak inside, and he rose out of that momentary sadness feeling savage. He clutched a wand fiercely and wanted badly to strike down something. Then he frowned.
The girl. Yes. Spellfire, it had been. He yet smarted where it had briefly touched him, despite all the healing potions he'd drunk since, emptying the belt he wore across his stomach. Gods, but it hurt yet! It had been fortunate she was so untutored and so unused to battle, or Manshoon the Mighty might well have fallen this day. Her power must be his own, and soon, before Elminster mastered it! Not such an old fool, that one. Not aggressI’ve, but even stronger in art than he'd thought. No doubt he'd take a measure of killing-something best prepared in haste when back at- Gods! They were flying among the trees!
Orlgaun had sunk lower and lower as Manshoon had pondered, the great wings moving more and more