The Temptation of Elminster - Ed Greenwood [107]
Baerdagh leaned close across the table to breathe beer conspiratorially all over Elminster and whisper roughly, "They say she walks there still, you know…a skeleton in the tatters of a fine gown, still able to slay with her spells."
El nodded. "Well, I'll try not to disturb her. What was she like in life, d'ye know?"
Baerdagh jerked his head in Caladaster's direction. The older man was blowing on his soup to cool it, he looked up, stroked his chin, and said, "Well, I was nob-but a lad then, do you see, and…"
One by one, overcome with curiosity, the folk of Ripplestones were drifting out of the Maid or down the street to listen…and, no doubt, to enthusiastically add their own warnings. Elminster grinned, sipped at his tankard, and waved at the two old men to continue. They were plowing through the food at an impressive rate, Baerdagh had already let out his belt once, and it lacked several hours to highsun, yet.
In the end, the two old men were content to let their good friend Elminster go alone up to Scorchstone Hall, though Caladaster gravely asked the hawk-nosed mage to stop by their neighboring cottages on his way out, if'n he needed a bed for the night, or just to let them know he'd fared safely. El as gravely promised he would, guessing he'd find deafening snores behind barred doors if he returned before the next morning. He helped the old men carry home the food their groaning-full bellies wouldn't let them eat and bought them each another keg of beer to wash it down with. They looked at him from time to time as if he was a god come calling in disguise but clasped his hand heartily enough in almost tearful thanks and wheezed their way indoors.
El smiled and went on his way, waving cheerfully to the scattering of Ripplestones children who came trailing after him…and the mothers who rushed to drag them back. He turned and walked straight into the thick-standing trees that hid Scorchstone Hall from view. The last watchers from afar, who'd wandered down from the Maid with their tankards in their hands, spat into the road thoughtfully, agreed that Ripple-stones had seen the last of another madman, and turned away to drift back to the tavern or about their business.
The shimmering was as Caladaster had described it…but sighed into nothingness at the first passage spell El attempted. He became a shadow once more, in case more formidable traps awaited, and drifted quietly into the overgrown gardens of what had once been a fine mansion.
It had burned, but only a little. What must have been a tower at the eastern front corner was now only a blackened ring of stones among brambles, attached to the house beyond by a rock pile of its fallen walls…but the gabled house beyond seemed intact.
El found a place where a shutter sagged, and drifted into the gloom through a window that had never, it seemed, known glass. The dark mansion beyond had its share of leaks, mold, and rodent leavings, but it looked for all the world as if someone cleaned it regularly. The shadowy Chosen found no traps and soon reverted to solid form to poke and peer and open. He found sculptures, paintings smudged where someone had recently scrubbed mold away, and bookshelves full of travel journals, scholarly histories of kingdoms and prominent families, and even romantic novels. Nowhere in the house that he could see,