For a moment it seemed that another Lady stood with Elminster and the bridal couple on the fire-scarred flagstones, a smiling lady with silver hair. Only Jhessail saw the wraith-like figure before it faded silently away again. “Sylune!” Jhessail whispered, and tears came into her eyes.
Robes of illusion enclothed Narm and Shandril as the flame died down. Rathan shouted, “It is done! Go forth in joy! A feast awaits you at the tower of Ashaba! Dance, all!”
Jhessail came forward amid the happy tumult then to where Elminster, Mourngrym, the clerics, and Storm stood guard about the happy couple, smiling.
“It is done,” she said softly, and kissed them both. “It is time for me to give you what was given to Merith and I upon our wedding day. Foes are gathering even now in the woods to take you, and there will be battle. Mind you fly high, and take no part.”
Elminster gravely began the casting of a spell of flight upon Shandril, and Jhessail did the same upon Narm. When they were done, Elminster said gruffly, “Remain aloft no more than ye must-this magic will not last forever. Go, now!” He guided them into another embrace, and patted Shandril’s back awkwardly. “Rise!” he bid them, “before the fighting reaches us!”
Shandril thanked them all, and then, in Narm’s embrace, rose slowly from the earth. Both were silent in awe as they rose up through a clearing sky together. The bright disc of Tymora silently rose with them and followed, leaving Rathan staring up into the sky. “I do hope Tymora sends me back her holy symbol,” be said, watching the faint radiance moving eastward over the forest.
“And I hope,” Storm said as gently, “that they have the sense to steer well clear of Myth Drannor.”
“I’ll see to that, sister,” came a soft voice from above, as a black falcon swooped out of the mists and then climbed away from them, heading east.
Elminster growled. “Now I suppose I’ll have to keep eyes alight for whatever she might do to get spellfire, too!” he said, and became an eagle, and was gone into the sky.
Those who still stood where Sylune’s Hut had been looked at each other, and then at the dalefolk hastening back toward the tower as swords flashed and sang amid the trees. Harpers and guards of the dale were battling men in a motley of leathers-mercenaries, by their look.
Jhessail sighed. “Well, back to the battle again,” she said.
“Aye,” Storm agreed. “As always.” They drew blades, a wand, and two maces, and charged into the fray. As always.
Talk Not
Aside
Open the door, little fools: we wait outside.
The green dragon Naurglaur
Sayings Of A Wyrm
Year of the Spitting Cat
“We should go down,” Shandril whispered into the wind. Narm’s arms tightened about her, and he and Shandril flew for a time in silence. The great green expanse of the elven woods lay below them.
“Aye,” he reluctantly agreed at last. “I shall not soon forget this.”
“Nor shall I,” she whispered. “As I should hope not!”
Narm chuckled at her mild indignation. Bending his will to turn northwest again over the seemingly endless trees of the Elven Court, they headed back to Shadowdale.
“I can’t help but feel,” he said, looking about them, “that we’re being watched.” It was an odd feeling to have while soaring naked high above the land.
“I’m sure we are, and we have been since we first rode with the knights,” his lady replied. “How else could they protect us?”
‘“Well, yes… but now?”
“I’m sure they’ve seen such things before” she said. “Elminster’s five hundred winters old, remember?”
“Aye.” Narm sighed, looking all about them. They were gliding low over the trees, the sky clear but for a line of clouds to the north. They could see no other creatures in the air or below. Narm shrugged. “ Would that none of this were necessary,” he said, “and we could walk unafraid together.”
Shandril fixed him with very serious eyes. “I agree with you,” she replied softly. “But without spellfire, you and I would be bones by now.” They passed over the bare top of Harpers’ Hill and left it behind them again. “Besides, it is the will of the gods. Rage as we might, it is so, and shall be.”
Narm nodded. “Aye… Your spellfire can be handy enough, I’ll admit. But does it harm you?”
Shandril shrugged. “I know not. I do not feel amiss or in pain, most times. But I couldn’t stop it or give it up, even if I wanted to. It is part of me, now.” She turned in his grasp to look back, and as she did so something circular and silver drifted out of the empty sky into her hands. Shandril caught it before thinking of danger. It was cold and solid, and the touch of its smooth weight sent her fingertips tingling.
“It is Rathan’s holy symbol!” Narm said, astonished. “How came it here?”
“By the will of Tymora,” Shandril said quietly. “To answer your doubts.” Narm nodded slowly and almost sternly. The fine hairs upon his arms stood out stiff with fear. But he held her as gently and firmly as before.
“Where now?” he asked, as they saw The Old Skull Inn below. “The Twisted lower?”
“No,” Shandril said, pointing at chain mail flashing upon the backs of men below. “In all the alarm, the archers might well have us both down before they knew us.”
“Or even,” Narm muttered, “because they knew us.”
Shandril slapped him lightly. “Think not such darkness!” she hissed. “Have any who are truly of the dale shown us anything but kindness and aid since we came here? We must be suspicious, aye, or perish-but ungrateful? But as I was about to say, I have little liking for the idea of greeting all the folk of the tower clad as we are.”
Narm chuckled. “Ah, the real reason,” he said, halting their flight over Elminster’s tower. “My apologies, for such black thoughts. Still, it is better to look over one’s shoulder than to die swiftly and surprised.”
“Aye, but let not the looking make you sour,” Shandril told him. “You would come down here?”
“Have we anyplace else?” Narm asked. “I doubt the art that protects Storm’s home will be kind to us now, if we come calling when she is not there.”
“True,” Shandril agreed and took one last look around from their height, looking north over the Old Skull’s stony bulk to the rolling wilderness beyond. The wind slid past them gently now. “Learn this spell yourself, as soon as you can,” she urged as she clung to him. “It is so beautiful.”
“Aye.” Narm’s voice was husky. “It is the least of the beauty I have known this day.”
Shandril’s arms tightened about him, and she and Narm sank gently to the earth in a fierce embrace in front of Elminster’s tower.
Overhead, a falcon waggled its wings to an eagle and veered away to the south. The eagle bobbed in slow salute and wheeled about, sighed audibly, and dove earthward.
“Must ye stand about, naked, kissing and cuddling, and generally inflaming an old man’s passions?” Elminster demanded loudly, inches behind Narm.
Narm and Shandril both jumped, startled, but barely had time to unclasp and turn about before the sage was pushing them roughly toward the door. “In! In, and try your hands at peeling potatoes. Lhaeo can’t feed two extra guts on naught but air, ye know!” Shandril’s fending hands encountered a deep and silky beard.
Elminster came to a dead halt and glared at her. “Pull my beard, will ye? Ridicule a man old enough to be thy great – great – great – great – great – great – and – probably -great-again-grandsire? Are ye mad? Or just tired of life? How would ye like to enjoy the rest of thy life from the mud, as a toad, or a slug, or creeping moss? Aye? Aye? AYE?”
He was pushing them both again, now, step by step to the door. Narm had begun to chuckle uncertainly. Shandril was still white and open-mouthed. The door opened behind them, and Elminster added in sudden calm, “Two guests again, Lhaeo. They’ll be needing clothes first.”