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have me. How strong are your wards?" Storm's smile was broader than his. "I am a Chosen of Mystra," she reminded him gently. "Take off your boots, soak your feet in yonder oil, and let me have a good look at the next scourge of womanhood in the Heartlands." Alaphondar winced. "Lady . . ." he started to protest then fell silent. "I have my own reputation," Storm replied, "remember? Which reminds me: How is Fee?" Alaphondar winced again. "Harpers see all, indeed. My royal lady was well and happy when we parted some hours ago. I hope oh, gods, I hope that I shall see her so again, soon." "You," Storm said, sliding an arm around his shoulders, "need a drink. Sit you down, and I'll get a scrying-crystal and you can watch over Filfaeril whenever you desire. Now, off with those boots, and haul forth young Azoun before he suffocates under that dirty old cloak of yours!" * * * * * Narnra shook her head at the dusty stacks of parchment and books crowding all around her and seemed eager to escape to the spartan, less-cluttered kitchen, where a pass of Elminster's hand made the hearthfire rise under a kettle. The Old Mage pointed at a shelf. "Teas. Choose." Narnra dubiously examined the jars thereon. "Dragonskull?" "Just a little," Elminster replied. "Powdered fine, of course." Narnra gave him an incredulous look. "So what," she asked chal-lengingly, "dare I assume is in tea labelled 'Finest Thayan She-Slave Skin' as this jar is?" "One of Lhaeo's little jests. I'm sure it's far from the 'finest' skin." Narnra sighed, shook her head and defiantly held out the Thayan jar to Elminster. He took it without a word. Silence stretched between them enlivened by the climbing cry of the kettle until Narnra became restless. "So impart," she said, peering around the little kitchen, "some of that dusty old advice you spoke of." "We all have to die and can take nothing of mortal riches or power with us," Elminster replied promptly. "I've died several times already and on at least two occasions started over with nothing, not even my name. So unless the cold decay of undeath beckons ye, remember, it ends for us all. What matters is what we do with the brief time we have." "Your time hasn't been so brief," Narnra flared. Elminster bowed his head. "That is my curse." Narnra stared at him then folded her arms and asked, "Why did you leave my mother?" Elminster stepped forward to take hold of her shoulders. They stared into each other's eyes, noses only inches apart. "Lass," he said gently, "just being near me gets folk killed. I speak now not of foes I smite or fools who make reckless attempts to exploit my power or presence to further their own dangerous causes, but folk who simply get in the way or come to the notice of those who love me not. I know of and knew well over two hundred 'hes' and 'shes' of all the lands and races ye could think of who died in torment because some more powerful foe thought I might have given something or told something of importance to them ... or just to lure me within reach or cause me distress when I learned of the torture later. And so " "And so you wrap this sorrowful 'I must do thus and so for the protection of others' explanation around yourself like a cloak and prance through life wenching and using everyone who comes within reach as if they were your personal chambermaids, hmm?" "Fair enough," Elminster said calmly, stepping back to pour two large tankards of tea, "I suppose I do. Armed with this knowledge, ye'lldo what?" Narnra stared at him, chin balanced on her knuckles, and said, "Ask you again: Why did you leave Maerjanthra Shalace, after wooing and bedding her?" "To answer ye properly," the Old Mage replied gravely, "I must know the answer to a question of my own. Have ye ever seen this before?" He dipped a finger into his steaming tea, drew a complicated symbol on the table between them with its wetness, let her gaze at it for a moment, and swiftly wiped it away. Narnra sat back, strangely excited. "No-no," she said, frowning, "I don't think so. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |