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gone. Elminster stood looking into the last of the flames, his old face expressionless. "\bu did that, did you not?" Tbrm asked, awed. "That wasn't... her/' "Aye, I did it, though not alone, and aye, it was her. So she was one summer before any of ye here but Merith was born. Her spirit lingered. I shaped an illusion, and she came into it to bid me all of you good-bye." The mage turned to Rathan. "Thy holy water, good brother?" Rathan nodded and stepped forward, unclasping a flask from his belt reverently. A scorched smell from The Sha-dowsil's fireball hung about his clothing and he moved with the careful stiffness of the newly healed. At the mage's gesture, the flames of the pyre sank and died, and Ratnan doused the charred bones from head to foot. Gray smoke rose and slowly drifted away. Then Elminster removed his cloak, and Florin and Lan- seril stepped forward to lay the bones upon it as soon as they were cool. Jhessail joined her voice with the old mage's in a prayer to Mystra. When it was done, Elminster caught his cloak up in a bundle and said, "All well, friends? Rathan? Torm? Ye took it the worst, if memory serves." "Well enough," the cleric replied, and Ibrm agreed with a terse, "Yes." Elminster nodded. "Well, get thy treasure and let us see to Shandril. I would be gone from here as soon as she can safely travel wyrms who are not as dead as they should be seem to have a distressing habit of showing up here to visit." With that, the old mage rose with his bundle and went over to Shandril, puffing on his pipe thoughtfully. "I wonder just who shall call upon us next?" he said aloud, Page 97 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html looked down at the bundle be bore, and shook his head suddenly. Outside, the afternoon sun was bright upon the towers and parapets of Zhentil Keep. Within the Tbwer High of Manshoon, lord of that city, all was dark save for a circle of glass-globed candles in a corner of the high-paneled feasting hall. No grand company had feasted there for twenty winters. Beneath the tinted, flickering light was a small circular table and about it the high lords of the Keep sat in council. Lord Kalthas, general of the armies of Zhentil Keep north of the Moonsea, spoke at ease, purring from beneath his sandy moustache, flagon of amber wine comfortably by his hand. "Defending the empty wastes of Thar is not the problem," he said smugly, "now that the lich Arkhigoul is no more. The Citadel is strong, and I see no need to weaken our forces by placing small garrisons here and there on various frozen rocks in the east. If something comes over the mountains from Vaasa, let it come. We can move in strength when any such foe has committed itself to a long journey and a particular target, and crush any invasion at our leisure. The riders of Melvaunt can slow down any major assault long enough for us to muster patrols in from all Daggerdale and the Teshen lands. Why defend a week's cold ride of barren rocks and snow? Any fool . . ." The deep boom of a bell echoed somewhere in the darkness above them. There was a sudden squeal of wood as the dark-robed figure of Manshoon, first Lord of the Keep, who had been sitting in languid boredom on one side of the table, rose suddenly. Table, papers, ink and quills, crystal decanters, and ornate metal flagons all crashed together to the floor. More than one noble lord, chair and all, went to the flagstones with them. "My Lord!" gasped Lord Kalthas in protest, wiping wine from his fur-trimmed doublet. His words fell into tense silence and died away as their speaker realized his peril. "What means this?" But Manshoon was not even looking at him. White-faced, he stared into the air, his voice quavered. "Symgharyl Maruel," he whispered, blinking away a tear. Lord Chess gasped aloud; more prudent nobles gaped in silence. None had ever before seen Manshoon cry or show any sign of weakness (or as one lord had once put it, "humanity"). Then the moment passed, and a coldly furious Manshoon snapped, "Zellathorass!" At his command, a globe of crystal swooped into view on the stairs, danced sideways in the air like a questing bat, and darted over to spin in the air before him. Manshoon seized it and peered into its depths, where a light kindled and grew. He was silent for a moment, and his handsome face grew as cold and hard as drawn steel as he saw something that the other lords could only guess at. Then he released the globe, which began to spin slowly, said "Alvathair" softly, and watched it vanish back the way it had come. His mouth tightened. He turned to face them all. "Sirs" he said curtly, "this meeting is at an end. For your safety, leave at once." He crooked a finger, and horribly grinning [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |