Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [83]
"Sharantyr!" Shandril said when she did, and found herself in a warm embrace. At the same time, Narm was introduced to Mourngrym's wife, Lady Shaerl, by Illistyl-and then a sudden silence fell.
Atop a table that had been bare a moment before stood Elminster. Thurbal was coming in the door with sword half-drawn before he saw who it was and halted, shaking his head. But the sage had eyes only for Narm and Shandril.
"Elminster!" Jhessail greeted him. "Well met!"
"Aye… aye," Elminster told her, "I've seen ye all before. It is with Narm and Shandril I would speak tonight." He turned to them where they stood, astonished, and said, "I fear I lack courtly graces and the patience for glib flattery and suchlike. So I'll just ask ye, Narm and Shandril. Will ye agree to a testing of thy powers this next night?"
Shandril nodded, her throat suddenly dry. Narm asked quietly. "Will it be dangerous?"
Elminster looked at him. "Breathing is dangerous, lad. Walking is dangerous. Sleeping can even be dangerous. Will it be more dangerous than these? A little. More dangerous than entering Myth Drannor alone? Nay, not by a long road."
Narm flushed and shook his head. "It would be a terrible thing, old mage, to fight you, both armed only with our tongues," he said dryly, and a muted roar of delighted laughter rose around him.
Elminster chuckled. "So, do ye agree?"
Narm nodded. "Yes. Where and when?"
"Ye shall know that only at the last," Elminster told him. "It's safer." Around them, talk began again.
Elminster leaned close to them both. "Do ye enjoy the company of these folk?" he asked softly. Both nodded. "Good, then," he said. "Most will be at the testing." He patted Narm's shoulder absently in farewell and turned back toward the table. "Oh," he said, halting and turning in mid-step. "I do grow forgetful. Shandril, what know ye of thy parents?"
Shandril almost reeled in surprise and sudden sadness. "I… I-nothing," she said, and burst into tears. Narm and Elminster looked at each other in bewilderment for a breath, and then the sage clapped Narm on the shoulder awkwardly. "My forgI’veness, if ye will. I had no idea she'd be so upset. Comfort her, will ye? Ye can do it best of all living in Faerun."
And with this cryptic remark the sage turned, muttered, "That explains much," to himself, stepped onto the table by way of the chair beside it, and was gone.
A guard touched Torm on his shoulder. "Lord," he said, voice carefully neutral, "it is the hour."
Torm looked up from the wench he'd been kissing and sighed. "My thanks, Rold." A sudden thought made him grin impishly. "Take my place, will you?"
He rolled off the bed and to his feet, rearranging his clothing and adroitly bending to avoid the girl's angry slap. Rold held out his sword and belt for him solemnly.
"Me, Lord? It would be more than my life is worth."
"Aye," Torm said as they hurried out together. "I think you have the right of it." He halted in mid-stride, tore one of the chains off over his head, and handed it to the mustachioed veteran. "GI’ve her this, will you, as a gift from me? My apologies, also, and I'll try to see her as soon as I can. My duty to Shadowdale must come first, and all that."
"Of course, Lord," Rold said, and turned back to calm Term's angry companion. He found her sitting amid the disarray of the bed morosely, anger past, and dropped the chain into her hand.
"It's no fault of yours," he said, "that the Lord Torm is so young and ill-reared that he cannot gI’ve you a night when he is not called to guard duty. He gI’ves you this by way of clumsy apology, and sends me to pour soothing words in your ear. I doubt he even knows we are kin."
"I could tell that," Naera said, taking her gown as he extended it to her wordlessly. "Are you angry with him, uncle?"
Rold shook his head. "Nay, lass, not