Elminster - The Making Of A Mage Part 4

As with all the gifts of Lady Luck, this one was double-edged. All he had to do was kill the five armsmen who'd fled from Lawless Castle-and all the others they'd met with down there. For a fleeting moment, he wished he were some great mage to send swift death screaming down upon the gathered camp below-or to ride a dragon down to rake, burn, and scatter.

Elminster s.h.i.+vered at that memory of Heldon and touched the Lion Sword where it rode on its thong inside his jerkin. "Prince Elminster is a warrior," he told the wind with grand dignity-and then chuckled. More soberly, he added, "He kills a man to warm up, helps cut up his horse and eat it, and then goes out into a battle and slaughters eight more. As if that's not enough, he's now about to sweep down alone on a score or more ready-armed armsmen. What else could he be but a warrior?"

"A fool, of course," a cold voice answered from very near. Elminster whirled around in his saddle. A dark-robed man was standing watching him-standing on empty air, booted feet well above the unbroken snow.

El's hand stabbed to his belt, found one of the salvaged daggers he'd thrust there, and hurled it. It spun end over end, flas.h.i.+ng as it caught the light of the newly kindled campfires below, and plunged straight through the man to bury itself deep in the snows beyond.

Only half the man's mouth smiled. "This is but a spell-image, fool," he said coldly. "You come riding hard, following the trail to our camp-who are you and why come you here?"

Elminster frowned, feigning ignorance as his thoughts raced. "Have I reached Athalantar yet?" He eyed the mage and added, "I seek a magelord, to pa.s.s on a message. Are ye such a one?"

"Unfortunately for you, I am," the man replied, "Prince Elminster. Oh, yes, I heard your proud little speech. You are Elthryn's son, then, the one we've been seeking."

Elminster sat very still, thinking. Could a wizard send a spell through his image? A cold inner voice answered: Why not?

Best keep moving, in case ... He urged the horse with his knees until it trotted ahead, then turned it, circling. "That is the name I have taken to bring doom down on a certain magelord," he said, pa.s.sing the image. It turned in the air and watched him in easy silence. Hmmm ...

"Other magelords," Elminster added darkly, "have plans of their own."

The watching wizard laughed. "Well, of course they do, boastful boy-always have had. See me s.h.i.+ver at your sinister words? Do you dance and play cards, too?"

Elminster felt himself flush with anger. To ride so hard only to be taunted by a wizard from afar while armsmen no doubt rode out to encircle him and bring him down at leisure ... He spurred away from the wizard, flinging only the calm reply, "Yes, of course I do," over his shoulder as he went.

He rode hard back the way he'd come but turned up the nearest easy slope to gain a height to look back. The wizard's image hadn't moved-but as he watched, it winked out and was gone, leaving behind only the circle of beaten snow where he'd ridden around it. Aye, there, below-two bands of mounted armsmen were setting out, riding hard in different directions to curve about and ring him in with swords and bows.

Full night was falling, but the stars were bright overhead, and Selune would rise all too soon. How far could that wizard see him?

Two plans sprang to mind: somehow ride wide around them all on his weary mount and sweep down on the camp, hoping to find the wizard and take him with quarrels before he could loose a spell. That's what a bard or teller-of-tales would expect him to do, to be sure. It sounded the work of a reckless fool even to his own ears.

The other plot was to get into the path of one band, dig into the snow with all his bows ready, and let his horse run free. If one band of armsmen followed it-he'd have time, perhaps, to take those coming toward him down with his bows, somehow get one of their mounts, and then attack the camp. Then, somehow victorious over a wizard who knew he was coming, he'd set forth on the trail of the other armsmen and take them down one by one with quarrels ... it sounded almost as wild.

He quoted a line of a ballad he'd once heard, "Princes rush in, shouldering fools aside, and find glory," and turned his horse to the right to intercept the band of armsmen he could see better. He thought he counted nine riders, no telling how many were in the other group.

His tired horse stumbled twice on the ride and nearly fell when they blundered into a pocket of deep, loose snow.

"Gently," El murmured to it, suddenly feeling his own aches and weariness in full. All he could do in his mind was numb the pain for a time, and-he touched his chin thoughtfully-stop bleeding. He was no invincible warrior.

So? This attack required a fool, not an invincible warrior ... but then, riding away would be a fool's act, too, without even the comfort of standing up for the memory of his mother and father and for a day when wizards would not rule Athalantar, and the knights would ride again....

"The knights will ride again," he told the wind; it whirled his words away unheard behind him as he came to a good place for the ambush he planned, a narrow gully on the lee slope of a snow-swept rise, and brought his horse to a halt.

Getting down stiffly-he'd not been on a horse much since Heldon burned, and his legs were reminding him of that all too sharply-El unslung his bows and took what he'd need. "Grant me luck," he told the wind, but as before, it made no reply. Taking a deep breath of the sharp air, he slapped the horse's rump and roared. The beast bolted, paused to look back, and then trotted off into the snow. Elminster was alone in the night.

Not for long, by the G.o.ds. Nine armsmen in full armor were riding this way, after his blood. Elminster knelt in the snow just below the crest of the rise and worked his windla.s.s like a frenzied-wits.

By the time he had all three bows loaded and ready, he was gasping for breath and could hear the creak of leather and jangle of metal on the wind. The armsmen were coming down upon him. Lying in the snow, breath streaming back over his shoulder, he arranged the bows, planted four daggers in the snow for ready s.n.a.t.c.hing, and waited.

His life hung on the hope that they'd not have bows ready themselves-and wouldn't see him in time. Elminster shook his head at his own recklessness and found his mouth suddenly dry. Well, whatever befell, it wouldn't be long now.

There was a sudden thunder of hooves, shouts, and the clash of arms. What could be-? And suddenly Elminster had no time for speculation as an armsman burst into view, galloping hard, crouched low over the neck of his horse. The prince of Athalantar raised his bow carefully, steadied it, and fired.

The horse plunged on, rearing and giving a high grunt of alarm as it saw the steep descending slope. With no time to veer or slow, it felt the man on its back fall sideways, hard, pulling on its reins. It reared, fighting the reins that were tugging its head around. Its hooves skidded in the snow, and it crashed atop its rider. Together they slid down the hill. The horse sprang up and pranced away, shaking its head as if to clear it. The man lay still in the trampled snow.

No more hors.e.m.e.n rode into view, and from over the brow of the snow-clad rise came the shouts and steely skirl of battle. Elminster frowned in puzzlement, and then took up his daggers, thrusting them back into his belt. Holding his second bow ready, he advanced cautiously until he could see over the crest.

Mounted men were circling and hacking at each other in the nightgloom atop the hill. One group was clad in motley garb, the odds and ends of half a hundred mismatched armors it seemed, and where by all the G.o.ds had they come from? The other group were armsmen, outnumbered more than two to one and fast losing. As Elminster watched, one soldier of Athalantar broke free of the fray, spurring his horse desperately, and set off across the hills at a gallop.

The prince of Athalantar set his feet in the snow, raised his bow, and fired. The quarrel pa.s.sed over the armsman's shoulder, and fleeing warrior galloped on. Elminster cursed and ran back for his third bow. Scooping it up, he sprinted along the edge of the hill. The distant armsman was smaller now, but coming into clear view as his horse climbed the unbroken snow of the next slope. Elminster aimed carefully, fired-and saw his quarrel speed true.

The armsman threw up his arms, tried to clutch at his back with both hands, and fell out of his saddle. The horse went on without him.

"I didn't think we had any bowmen with us, this night!"

Elminster turned in delighted recognition at that cheery voice. "Helm!"

The leather-jawed knight wore the same tattered leather armor, rusty gauntlets, dented helm, and stubbly beard El remembered-and probably, by the smell of him, hadn't taken them off or washed any part of him since that day on the meadow above Heldon. He rode a mean-looking black horse that was as scarred as its rider, and the long, curved sword in his fist was nicked and s.h.i.+ning darkly with fresh blood.

"How came you here?" Elminster asked, grinning with the sudden hope that he might not die this night after all.

The knight of Athalantar leaned forward in his saddle. "We've just come from Lawless Castle," he said with raised brows. "Quite a few good men lying dead back there, but Mauri couldn't find Eladar among them."

"When I ran out of armsmen to kill, I came here," Elminster replied gravely. "They'd found the castle, and I had to slay the rest before they had a chance to report it. They went to a camp- those fires, there-and there's another band of armsmen, probably larger than this one, over there somewhere." He pointed into the night. "They were circling to take me."

Helm bellowed, "Onthrar! To me!" over his shoulder, and then said, "Join us, then, an' we'll ride 'em down together. There're empty saddles in plenty to spare!"

Elminster shook his head. "My business lies yonder," he said, pointing with a nod of his head toward the unseen camp. "With wizards."

Helm's fierce grin faded. "Are ye ready yet?" he asked quietly. "Really, lad?"

Elminster spread his hands, crossbow in one. "There's one down there, at least, who knows who I am and what I look like."

Helm frowned and nodded, urged his mount forward, and clapped Elminster on the shoulder. "Then I hope to see ye alive again, Prince." As his horse circled, he asked, "Would a wild outlaw charge into camp be any help?"

El shook his head. "Nay, Helm-just ride down those arms-men. If ye get every last one of them, Lawless Castle may be safe for a winter or two yet-so long as all outlaws have the sense to abandon it this summer. When the snows are gone, the wizards'll be sure to scour these hills with all the spells and swords they can muster."

Helm nodded. "Wise talk. Let us meet again among the living." He raised his blade in salute-Elminster lifted his bow in response-and spurred away as the snow began to fall again.

Soft flakes drifted down endlessly. Elminster ate a handful of snow to get a drink, recovered his bows and readied them, and set out over the hills toward the camp. He walked in a wide curve to the right, hoping to come on it from the other side ... though with spells, couldn't wizards see in all directions?

Well, no doubt they run out of magic the same way armsmen run out of quarrels. He'd just have to count on their not scrying for a lone boy on foot in the snows. If he saw this night through, El reflected, he'd owe the G.o.ds much, indeed....

Tripods of halberds held the flickering storm-lanterns high. Snow whirled endlessly down into their bright radiance where, at the heart of the camp, the wizard Caladar Thearyn frowned down at a sphere of glowing light that hung in the air before him. Though the night was cold, sweat beaded his brow from the effort of keeping the sphere in existence-and in a breath or two, he'd have to hold it together while he cast another spell into it ... a spell of many leaping lightnings that, if he managed the casting, would burst forth from the distant sphere linked to this one, a sphere bobbing like a pale ghost over the snow-clad hills not far away, just in front of the hard-riding outlaw band.

The magelord muttered the incantation that would link the two spells and felt the power rising within him. He spread his hands in exultation and noted without looking the awed faces and hasty retreat of his bodyguards.

He almost grinned as he began calling up the lightnings. Two intricate gestures, a grand flourish, and the speaking of a single word. Now for the taking up of the pins, then a rub of the rod of crystal with the fur, and last, the crowning incantation. .. . His hand swept down.

The crossbow bolt intended for his heart struck him in the shoulder, numbing his arm and spinning him around. The sphere collapsed in a crackling burst of lightnings that drowned out the magelord's startled scream of pain. The wizard sank down, clutching at his shoulder as another quarrel hissed past him. An armsman flung himself headlong in the well-trodden snow to avoid it, and his fellows drew their blades and ran toward the source of the quarrels.

Coolly, Elminster watched them come, his last bow raised. There, as he suspected ... out of a tent came another robed man; not much older than he was but with a wand in his hand, looking around for the source of all the commotion. Carefully Elminster put his last ready quarrel in the man's throat. Then he dropped his bow, unbuckled the bulky belt-box of quarrels and let it fall, and drew his own steel.

Angry armsmen were rus.h.i.+ng to meet him. Elminster charged them, a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. The first man tried to beat his blade aside and run him through, but Elminster locked their blades together, pushed until they were face to face, steel shrieking in their ears, and drove his dagger into one of the man's eyes.

Shoving the convulsing corpse away, the prince ran on toward the next man, shouting, "For Athalantar!" This armsman stepped to the left, yelling to a companion to head to the right and close. El flung a dagger at the second man's face. Helm was right; some of these warriors weren't much good. This one threw up both gauntleted hands to s.h.i.+eld his face, and Elminster's low thrust left him groaning over the blade in his guts. As El tugged his steel free, the next armsman approached warily. Elminster bent, plucked a dagger from the belt of the feebly moving man he'd just felled, and ran to one side. The surviving foe was still circling when Elminster sped away, back toward the camp.

A man in gleaming armor met him just inside the circle of light, a halberd in his hands. Elminster ran for the blade, batted it aside with his own, and stabbed. The armor turned his point aside, but then he was past, charging right into a tripod of halberds. They toppled, and the lantern they held shattered and set a tent ablaze with a sudden roar.

Men shouted. In the intense, leaping light, El saw the mage-lord stagger away, the quarrel still in his shoulder, but men with gleaming swords were running toward him, between him and the wizard.

Elminster snarled and turned sharply to the right, dodging between tents and away from the light. He blundered right into a man coming out of one tent and stabbed frantically; the surprised armsman toppled onto the canvas without a sound. Wearily, Elminster headed out into the night. If he could circle back to his bows, and . . . but armsmen were close behind him and running hard. Well, at least there were no bowmen in camp, or he'd be dead already.

Elminster hurried over a hill and dropped down out of sight of the raging flames that now marked the camp. Looking back, he could see two men following. He slowed to a walk, and began his wide circle. Let them draw nearer, and save him the breath. Panting, he topped another ridge and saw men gathered below, and horses; Helm's band. Some of them looked up and started toward him with swords drawn, but Helm saw him and waved. "Eladar! Done?"

"One wizard dead, but the other just wounded," El managed to gasp. "Half... the camp ... is after me, too."

Helm grinned. "We were resting our horses-and looting armsmen. Some o' them were wearing armor much too good for 'em. Change yer mind about that charge?"

El nodded wearily. "Seems ... a better idea ... now," he said, breathing heavily.

Helm grinned, turned and gave quick orders, and then pointed out a horse. "Take ye that one, Eladar, and follow me."

Leaving four outlaws behind with the loot and extra horses, the ragged knights of Athalantar rode along the way Elminster had come. One had scrounged a short horse bow; as they crested the hill, he drew and loosed, shoulders rolling smoothly, and one of the armsmen who'd been following Elminster clutched at his throat and fell over in the snow, kicking.

The others turned and fled. With a whoop one of the knights broke into a gallop, waving his sword as he urged his horse on, riding an armsman down and chopping another with his blade. The man fell and did not rise.

"Ye seem to bring us luck," Helm shouted as they rode. "Care to lead us to break down the walls of Hastarl?"

Elminster shook his head. "I grow tired of death, Helm," he shouted back, "and I fear the better ye do, the more the wizards'll hurl this way come spring. A few dead outlander merchants are one thing; entire patrols of armsmen slaughtered is another. They dare not let it go unpunished, or folk all o'er the realm will know, and remember, and get ideas."

Helm nodded. "All the same, it feels good to hit out an' really do some damage to these wolves. Ah, ye did quite a job!" He delightedly pointed ahead at the blazing tents. "Hope ye left the food tents alone!"

Elminster could only chuckle as they galloped in among the running, shouting defenders. The knights hacked armsmen as their horses reared, trampled the wounded and the fleeing-and the camp soon grew quiet.

Helm shouted for order. "Let us have watchguards there an' there an' there, in pairs an' in the saddle, well out beyond the light. The rest of ye: six to a tent, an' report back what ye find. No destroying stuff, mind. If ye find a live wizard or someone else to fight, call it out!"

The knights bent willingly to work. There were glad shouts when the kitchen tent was found to have several full metal sledges of meat, potatoes, and keg beer. Grim-faced knights also brought Helm some spellbooks and scrolls, but of the wounded wizard there was no sign, and there was no man who served magelords left alive in the camp.

"Right... we stay here this night," Helm said. "Picket all the horses ye can find, and let's make a feast and eat. In the morn we'll take all we can, scuttle back to the castle, and rig these tents in the ravine by Wind Cavern, as shelter for the horses. Then, all pray to Auril and Talos for fresh snows to cover our tracks!"

There was a general roar of approval, and Helm leaned close to Elminster and said, "Ye wanted to leave the hills, lad-an' I can't help but think ye've read the wizards aright. I need these books an' other mage-stuff hidden, an' I was thinking of that cavern in the meadow above Heldon. There's loose stones enough to wall 'em in, there-ye know where ... an' ye can hunt deer and the like until summer, when I'll come looking for ye again. If armsmen sniff about, go into the High Forest an' hide there; they never dare go very far in."

He scratched his chin. "Ye'll never carry the brawn to be a horse-warrior, lad, an' I'd say ye've done better than most at learning to shoot quarrels an' swing swords an' s.h.i.+ver in caves as an outlaw.... P'raps the alleys and crowds of Hastarl'll do ye better as a place to hide, now-an' be closer to magelords who aren't alert for yer blood, to learn what ye can of 'em before ye decide ye must strike out." The knight turned keen eyes on the young prince. "What say?"

Elminster nodded slowly. "Aye ... good plan," he murmured.

Helm grinned, clapped him on the shoulder, and then caught him, as Elminster sagged over sideways into the snow, the world spinning in a sudden green and yellow haze again.... The darkness of utter exhaustion rushed up to claim him, and El felt himself swept away....

"d.a.m.ned soft ride, these armsmen have," Helm commented briskly the next morning as they sat eating smoked beef and hard bread spread with garlic b.u.t.ter. Groans and satisfied belches from all around them told them that most of the long-hungry knights had gorged themselves. Snores from among empty casks betrayed how certain others had spent the dark hours.

Elminster nodded.

Helm looked at him sharply. "What's on yer mind, lad?"

"If I never have to kill a man again, 'twill be too soon," Elminster said quietly, looking around at bloodstains in the trampled snow.

The knight nodded. "I could see it in yer eyes last night." He grinned suddenly and added, "Yet ye took care of more trained and ready warriors yestereve than many men manage to slay in a long career of soldiering."

Elminster waved a hand. "I'm trying to forget it."

"Sorry, lad. Feeling up to the trip afoot, or would ye rather ride? The one's easier-as long as ye can find hay enough for the horse, an' they eat like proper pigs, mind. But they'll draw eyes yer way in a hurry, especially when ye cross the Run in Upshyn. Try to do that with a few wagons an' look like ye're part of the group, howe'er ye go. If anyone sees the spellbooks and scrolls ye're carrying, 'twill mean yer death." The knight scratched at his beard and went on. "The other way, though, is slow and hard, even if ye can keep warm-an' mind; to get feet wet is death in this weather...."

"I'll walk," Elminster said. "I'll take a bow and as much food as I can stagger along with, as well... no armor, so long as I can get good gloves and a better scabbard."

Helm grinned. "A legion of dead armsmen will graciously provide."

Elminster could not manage to return the grin. He'd killed more than a few of them, men who should be riding proudly for Athalantar right now-free from the orders of wizards. It all came back to the magelords.

"They are the ones who have to die," he whispered to himself, "for Athalantar to live."

Helm nodded. "Nice phrase, that: 'They must die, for Athalantar to live!' A good battle-cry; think I'll use it."

Elminster smiled. "Just be sure the folk hearing it know who the 'they' is."

Helm gave back a twisted smile. "That's a problem many have had, down the years."

The fox that had followed him for the last few miles took a final look at Elminster, its dark eyes glistening, and then scampered away through frozen ferns. El listened to its retreat, wondering if the fox were a magelord spy, but somehow knowing it was not. When the creature was long gone, he moved on as quietly as he could through the trees, around the back of the inn paddock.

Seek the feed hatch by the haystack, Helm had said, and there was the hay, against the back wall of the stables. The structure kept out most of the snow by means of a long sagging roof on pillars that had only a nodding acquaintance with the word "straight." Just as Helm had described it: the back way into Woodsedge Inn.

Elminster moved closer, hoping there were no dogs awake to sound an alarm. None yet. Elminster silently thanked the G.o.ds as he crept over the low gate on the inn side of the paddock, slipped around the haystack, and found the hatch. Only its own weight held it shut; he didn't even have to put down his sword to open it and climb in.

When he'd drawn the hatch closed behind him, the stable was very still, and warmer than the night outside. A horse s.h.i.+fted and kicked idly against the side of its stall. Elminster studied the stable and noted one stall filled with shovels, rakes, buckets, and hanging coils of lead-rein, another with straw. Sheathing his blade and taking down a long-tined fork, El probed carefully into it, but there was nothing solid beneath to wake or snarl, so he lifted the wooden pin and went in.

It was the work of but a few breaths to burrow into the straw. He settled himself so he was hidden from view and s.h.i.+elded against the cold by a thick blanket of hay. Relaxing, Elminster called on his will to take himself down to the floating place of whispers ... to sink down amid white radiance, and sleep....

Straw rustled and scratched his hands as he lurched up out of it. Elminster's eyes flew open. He was rising up through the straw-flying! His head struck a beam overhead, hard.

"My apologies, Prince," came a cold, familiar voice. "I fear I've wakened you." Elminster felt himself being turned in the air to hang in emptiness facing the wizard, who stood in the corridor between the stalls, smiling darkly. The blue glow of magic pulsed brightly around the man's hands and encircled a pendant at his throat.

Anger rose in Elminster as he tried to grab the Lion Sword but found his arms wouldn't move. He was at the mercy of this magelord! He tried to speak and found he could. "Who are ye?" he asked slowly.