Ed Greenwood Elminster The Making of a Mage

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* * * * *
"How do I look?" Tassabra asked, lifting her arms and twirling. Small brass bells chimed here and there on
the web of leather straps that displayed, rather than clothed, her body. Strips of ruby-hued silk proclaimed her
trade to any eye; even her thigh-high boots were trimmed with red.
Elminster licked his lips. "I should never have gone away," he said sadly, and she laughed delightedly.
El rolled his eyes and settled her ruby-red cloak around her shoulders. As he'd suspected, it was pierced
by many daring cutouts, and trimmed with lace. Tass strutted, bare knees peek-ing through the cloak as she
approached him.
"Ye're supposed to look as if ye can't make enough coins in Hastarl, and have to go to the traders' camp,"
El protested, "not bring the whole city to a tongue-dangling halt!"
Tass pouted. "This was supposed to be fun, remember?"
El sighed and took her in his arms. Her eyes widened, and then she reached up her head eagerly and
kissed him. Their lips were about to touch when he whispered the word that whirled them away from the dim
room to behind a pile of barrels in the garbage-strewn alley along the walls.
Tass clung to him, wrinkled her nose, and then teased, "I've never been kissed like that before!"
"Let it be a first, Lady," El said with a bow, as his form faded from view. "My likeness of Helm
'tis still
clear in your mind?"
Tass nodded. "Vivid ... a wonderful spell, that."
"Nay, lass; it takes years to learn magic enough to cast it
and the teleport, too. Tyche smile upon ye ... try
not to get yourself killed or half-crushed under the rush of amorous men before ye find Helm and his knights."
Tass made a very rude gesture in his direction, and then strutted off through the gathering dusk.
Elminster watched her go and then shook his head. He hoped he'd not be looking at her again sometime
soon
and see-ing a contorted corpse.
He sighed and turned away. There was much else to do tonight.
*****
Tass absently slapped aside another groping hand and snapped, "Coins first, great lord."
A rueful chuckle answered her. "Three silver, sister?"
"Your sister is all you'll get for three silver," Tass agreed pleasantly, moving on. This way and that she
peered in the gathering shadows, seeking the face Elminster had left hanging in her mind. He wasn't a
noble-looking man, this Helm Stoneblade.
"Swords from Sarthryn, Lady?" a voice whined at her.
She looked scathingly in that direction. "What would I want with a sword, man?"
"To go with your tongue, lass?" another voice rumbled in quiet amusement. Tass turned to glare across a
campfire at its owner
and stopped dead. This was the man. She looked quickly around at the ill-garbed men oiling
and sharpening blades. Of course ... what better way to account for many weap-ons, without warriors boldly bearing
them?
"It's you I've come for," she said calmly, striding toward Helm. The battered old warrior looked her up and
down
and the blade in his lap swept up like a striking snake to touch her breast. Tass came to a sudden halt,
swallowing. She'd never seen a sword wielded so fast and the steel was very cold and firm against her flesh.
"Stand back," its owner ordered, "and tell me who you are, an' who sent you."
Tass stepped smoothly back and parted her cloak to put her hands on her hips. One of the men craned
his head for a good look at what she was displaying, but Helm's eyes were fixed on her hands, and his blade
was raised and ready.
"I speak for Elminster ... or for Farl," Tass told him calmly.
The blade flashed in the firelight as it dipped smoothly away. "Well," Helm rumbled, taking up a tankard
and offering it to her, "why don't you decide which one, an' we'll talk?"
*****
"The mage royal is elsewhere," Farl whispered, face glisten-ing with sweat. "Or I'd never have kept my
life." He was trem-bling.
"Easy," Elminster said. "Ye did, that's the important thing."
"For now," Farl hissed back. "Who knows if that mage left spells that capture my looks, for him to view
later
and come after me?"
The elf beside them shook his head in silence. Elminster in-dicated the silent elven mage with a nod. "I'd
trust him to sense anything this Undarl could cast."
Farl shrugged, but seemed more at ease as he thrust a var-ied assortment of gems, vials, and pouches
into Elminster's hands. "Here. He's got something built into his bed, too, but I couldn't find the way to it, and
forgot to bring my axe with me."
"Next time," El replied soothingly, and after a breath or two, Farl grinned at him.
"There were so many thieving apprentices trying to get past Undarl's ward to steal spell scrolls that I kept
falling over them! I still don't know how they missed seeing me ... this shadow of mine must be good." He
frowned. "How doing?"
how're my Hands
Elminster scratched his nose. "The headstrong lass
Jan-nath, d'ye call her? ran into a servant and slew him
before she gave herself time to think . . . but her elven shadow flew the body out and gave it to the river. Otherwise, all
is quiet, unfold-ing as we foresaw."
"Who's left to do?"
"We leave the tower of Ithboltar alone," Myrjala's voice came quietly out of the night beside them. "So that
leaves only Malanthor for you."
Farl nodded. "Right... where's Tass?"
Elminster grinned. "I made her change out of her ruby-red costume
"
"I'll bet you did," Farl and Myrjala said in unison, and then looked at each other and laughed.
"
so she was a trifle late getting started," Elminster contin-ued smoothly, as if the interruption hadn't occurred.
"She's in Alarashan's turret now; her shadow hasn't reported anything amiss."
Farl sighed in relief, and sprang to his feet. "Lead me to this Malanthor, then."
Myrjala raised her eyebrows, and gestured at Elminster to cast the first spell. Obediently El stepped
forward, pointing across the dark rooftops of the city. "See ye that turret, there? We're going to fly you across
to the window ... the smaller one; it's his jakes, whereas the other is sure to have alarm spells and probably
traps."
"Fly me?" Farl said, and rolled his eyes. "I'm still not quite used to you being a mighty mage, El
or a
prince, for that mat-ter."
"That's all right," Myrjala said soothingly. "El's not really used to being either of those things himself, yet."
"You surprise me," Farl said dryly, striding to the edge of the roof. Behind him, the two mages exchanged
an amused glance.
*****
Farl reached for the ring. This was almost too easy. "The wine's all gone," a pettish female voice
complained, from the bath on the other side of the curtain.
"Well, get some more," the magelord replied from the other end of the bath. "You know where it is."
Water splashed. Farl's fingers closed on the ring
and a wet, long-fingered hand reached through the curtain,
closing on ...
Farl's knuckle! Farl snatched his hand away and spun. The time for stealth was past. The woman
screamed piercingly. Yes, long past.
Farl heard the magelord's startled curse as he sprinted for the jakes. "Get me out of here!" he snarled,
vaulting a low chair. "Now!"
There was a chorus of splashing sounds from behind him, and a man's voice, chanting quickly.
Farl cursed despairingly. "Elminster!" he cried, dodging around a table. Then he felt a tingling in his limbs. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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