Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [118]
"Tea," Maxer said slowly, and then one end of his mouth lifted in an impish grin. "And-zzar?"
"Of course," the unseen Witch of Shadowdale replied dryly. "It's in the cupboard behind you-if you can bring yourself to peel one inch of your flesh away from my sister for an instant or two."
The filled kettle drifted back toward the fire, and Sylune added briskly, "You can put away your steel and get me cups for six, Shaerl. There's nothing out and ready to carve up yet."
"Six?" the Lady of Shadowdale asked slowly, sliding her sword back into its sheath. "But-"
The end of the table she was facing glimmered suddenly, and Sylune said, "Ah, they're here-commendably swift of them!"
The glimmering became a flash that died away to reveal a smiling, barefoot couple whose robes and hair were somewhat in disarray. The Simbul and Elminster nodded and smiled at the dumbfounded Shaerl and strode across the room to embrace Storm and Maxer.
The kitchen was suddenly a happy chaos of sobbing, laughing, and hugging folk. Shaerl stepped back and shook her head with a smile. She'd never get used to instant magical comings and goings, not if she lived to see two hundred winters or more!
A sudden aura of light surrounded Maxer's head, and he stiffened in Elminster's embrace. Storm turned quickly in the Simbul's arms to see what had befallen-and saw an identical aura gathering in the air about her.
"What-?" she began, and then fell silent as Maxer gave her both a rueful smile and a nod of reassurance.
"Sorry, lad," Elminster said gruffly, releasing Storm's beloved, "but we had to be sure."
"Of course," Maxer replied-as Storm felt the first swift darting of her sister's probe in her mind. She stiffened just as Maxer had, and then took a deep breath, forced herself to relax, and let the Simbul do her work.
"Sorry, Sister," the Queen of Aglarond said quietly, a moment later, releasing her.
"Acceptable, am I?" Storm asked teasingly, suddenly very weary. "Does that mean I can have tea?"
The Simbul smiled a little sadly, hearing the edge in Storm's voice, and impulsively hugged her sister from behind. Storm stiffened again, in astonishment this time; the Simbul never did such things.
"Mystra save us all," said the Queen of Aglarond fondly, "of course you can. Sit down, and cut some pie, and I'll just float those scones out. El?"
“Momentarily, m’dear,” the Old Mage replied airily. “Ah…now.” The glimmering at the end of the table began again.
This time the flashing magic brought three obviously startled arrivals: Ergluth Rowanmantle, still holding a bandage roll that he'd been wrapping his arm with; the worried-looking war wizard Broglan; and in his arms, smiling shyly, the Lady Shayna Summerstar.
All three blinked at the cheerful old stone kitchen around them, and Elminster gravely introduced it with a wave of his hand: The farmhouse of Storm Silverhand, in Shadowdale."
Then the Old Mage staggered sideways, nearly bowled over in the Lady Shaerl's rush. "Ergluth!" she cried, leaping into the arms of her kinsman. "Oh, I've missed you! How's Cormyr these days, and the family? And when did you put on so much weight? However did you man-"
Ergluth Rowanmantle barked just two words over her head at Elminster: "Wine," and then, a few moments later, and a trifle more mournfully, "Help."
That was when Sylune, a spectral head floating above the table and trailing a long fall of hair, transported in the feast. Humming happily, she looked this way and that, and steaming platters began to appear by the dozens around her, on every horizontal surface save the floor, which was reserved for the arriving kegs.
Broglan and Shayna stared around in absolute amazement-and then stiffened in unison as auras of light came into being around them both. A third enveloped Ergluth as the boldshield wheeled around to stare at the sudden radiance.
"Right," the Simbul announced emphatically, "everything seems safe-let the revel begin!"