Elminster - The Making Of A Mage Part 7

Thelorn fell forward onto the end of the bed like a chopped sapling; Farl exploded from his concealment under heaped pillows to pull Shandathe's feet away before he crashed down atop them.

Farl and El grinned at each other, working swiftly. Rings that might carry spells they dared not take, and Shandathe was due her coins; they tossed them to her as she swiftly dressed, and were rewarded with an enthusiastic kiss each. She was as beautiful as El had thought she'd be; well, some other night, perhaps.

They quickly stripped Selemban's clothes away, dragged the senseless Jansibal out from under the heap of draperies, and arranged the two naked lordlings in an embrace on the bed for others to find. Supporting the Shadow between them as if she were faint, arms around her shoulders, they helped her out through the taproom, to the alley door by the jakes.

A hopeful slug-and-s.n.a.t.c.her glided out from a dark angle of walls, saw Farl's warning gaze and El's dagger gleaming ready, and drew back again. Without a word the trio turned north, toward old Hannibur's.

The grizzled old baker lived alone over his shop. His weathered face, wooden foot, acerbic tongue, and natural stinginess made him unattractive to the ladies of Hastarl. Most days, he tossed drying, unbought bread-ends, and sometimes even whole loaves, out his back door to the hopeful and hungry urchins who played there. Tonight his snores rumbled faintly out into the alley through the closed shutters of his bedchamber.

"Where are we going, m'lords?" Shandathe was still amused at the jest-and grateful for the extra gold-but her voice held a note of alarm. She'd heard some things about her two young escorts.

"We must hide you before those beasts awaken and send their bodyguards out to collect what you neglected to give them-and your hide along with it," Farl said in her ear, embracing her.

"Aye, but where?" the Shadow asked, putting her arms around him. Farl pointed up at the window from which the snoring was coming.

Shandathe stared at him. "Are you crazed?" she hissed in sudden anger. "If you think I'm g-"

Farl's hands glided to just the right places as he pressed his lips to hers. She struggled angrily for a moment, managing to utter some angry-sounding murmurs . . . and then went limp. Farl promptly pa.s.sed her to Elminster. "Here," he said brightly.

He turned away and hastily erected a pyramid of crates from the baker's litter of shipping-refuse. Elminster stared at him and then down at the girl in his arms. She was soft and beautiful-if heavy-and was stirring already; in a breath or two, she'd return to her senses . . . and if El knew anything about the Shadow, she'd be very angry. He looked around gingerly for a place to put her.

" 'Tis Hannibur's lucky night," Farl said with a smile, as he swarmed back down the swiftly erected pyramid. Above, the shutters now hung open, and the snores roared out unmuted down the alley. He pointed at Elminster and at Shandathe, and then up at the window again.

"To be sure," El murmured in reply, mounting the crates with the limp Shadow heavy on his back. Her delicate scent played at his nostrils, and he added under his breath, "Luckier than me, I'll warrant."

Then he was climbing carefully through the window, Farl steadying Shandathe's limbs to prevent a fall or noise. She stirred as they crossed the bare board floor to Hannibur's bed.

They drew back the patched woollen covers and laid her carefully beside the sleeping baker. Then they both turned away to stifle rising mirth: the old man wore a daringly cut, frilly wanton wench's robe. Hairy vein-mottled flesh and bony knees protruded from the sheer silk.

El bit his lip and staggered to the window, shoulders shaking silently. Farl mastered himself sooner, and delicately drew aside two sets of garments; their owners stirred. Softly he stroked two bodies, and raced on catlike feet for the window. El was already halfway down the crates, outside.

The two thieves giggled at each other as they hauled out the bottom crates. Everything above tumbled and fell, creating a din that ought to cut through even Hannibur's snores, and they raced away around a corner.

Pausing for breath in a courtyard half Hastarl away, Farl said, "Whew! A good even's work. Pity I hadn't time to empty my tankard before that hippopotamus-a.s.s pushed his way in on you."

Elminster grinned and handed him Shandathe's earring. Farl smiled down at it. "Well, at least we got some pay for all our thoughtful work."

El's own grin widened as he dropped three heavy links of gold chain into Farl's other hand. "Twisted it open and shortened the thing by a few links," he said innocently. "He was wearing his lion too low for the full effect, anyway."

Farl burst into delighted laughter, and they clung together, chuckling, until Farl caught sight of a nearby signboard. "Let's go hoist a tankard," he puffed.

"What?" Elminster's blue-gray eyes danced dangerously. "Again?"

Three times Selune had risen over the high towers of Athalgard since that night, and talk of the two young and very friendly sons of magelords was all over the city. The bodyguards of both were prowling through every tavern and beanpot dining room in the poorer parts of Hastarl, obviously looking for a certain hawk-nosed, black-haired youth and his clever-tongued friend ... so Eladar and Farl had judged it prudent to take a brief vacation until the searchers grew careless enough for accidents to happen to them-or until some street thief too desperate to be wise tried to rob one of them, and their search was diverted to new targets.

Lying exposed to the gaze and bows of bored guards on the battlements of Athalgard made both the friends uneasy, so they had taken to chatting, relaxing, and plotting in the seclusion of the old walled burial-ground at the other end of the city: an overgrown, disused place where the cracked and leaning stone vaults of wealthy families crumbled into rubble amid stunted trees that burst up through them, and spread concealing branches in all directions.

Proud names and thieves successful enough to buy wealth and station all came here in the end... all their boasts and plots and gold coins bought them no more than crumbling gravestones, inscribed with lies about their greatness and good character. Scant comfort, El thought, to the moldering bones beneath.

In the tranquil shade of the tomb-trees, the two friends lay atop the sloping roof of Ansildabar's Last Rest, knowing but not caring that the bones of the once-famous explorer lay gnawed and exposed in the pillaged tomb beneath, and pa.s.sed a wineskin back and forth as they watched the shadows cast by the lowering sun creep across leaning tombs and collapsed mausoleums, heralding dusk.

"I've been thinking," Farl said suddenly, holding out his hand for the skin.

"Usually a bad sign," Elminster agreed affably, handing it over.

"Hah-ha," Farl replied, "between wild orgies, I mean."

"Ah, I'd been wondering what those momentary pauses were," Elminster said, extending his hand for the skin. Farl, who hadn't yet drunk, gave him a hurt look and a 'stay' gesture, and then drank deeply. Sighing with satisfaction, he wiped his mouth and held it out.

"D'you recall how much Budaera was asking me for pleasure together?"

Elminster grinned. "Aye. A low price-just for thee."

Farl nodded. "Exactly. Gold pieces hand over fist, these maids make ... 'twould be easy, I'm thinking, to find out where some of 'em hide their loot-and help ourselves while they were sleeping, or out 'busy' at the taverns and rich merchants' clubs."

"Nay," El said firmly, "count me out of such plots. Fleece such sheep an' ye'll do it alone."

Farl looked at him. "Right, consider the plot abandoned. Now tell me why."

Elminster set his jaw. "I'll not steal from those who barely have enough coins for food, let alone taxes or saving."

"Principles?" Farl rescued the nearly empty wineskin.

"I've always had 'em. Ye know that." El waved away the skin, and Farl happily drained it.

"I thought ye wanted to slay all the wizards in Athalantar."

Elminster nodded. "All the magelords. Aye, I've sworn that oath-and slow, iron-careful, I've set about fulfilling it," he replied, staring out over the river, where a pole barge had just come into view in the distance, heading downstream toward the docks. "Yet sometimes I wonder what else I should do-what more life should be."

"Roast boar feasts every night," Farl said. "So much coin to buy them that I'll never have to feel the bite of a knife or hide in rotting dung while armsmen poke into it with their halberds."

"Nothing more?" El asked. "Nothing-higher?"

"What's the point?" Farl asked with a touch of scorn. "There're priests enough all over Faerun to worry about things like that- and my empty stomach never tires of telling me what I should be tending to." Satisfied that the very last drop of wine had fallen into his open mouth, he lowered the skin, rolled it, and thrust it through his belt. Then he looked across at his friend.

Eladar the Dark was frowning at him. "What G.o.ds should I worship?"

Farl shrugged, taken aback, and spread his hands. "A man must find that out for himself-or should. Only fools obey the nearest priest."

Amus.e.m.e.nt came into the blue-gray eyes locked on his. "What do priests do, then?"

Farl shrugged. "A lot of chanting and angry shouting and sticking swords into people who worship other G.o.ds."

In the same quiet, serious voice, El asked, "What use are faiths, then?"

Farl shrugged wildly, adopting a crazed, 'Who can know?' expression, but El's serious eyes stayed on him, and after a silence Farl said slowly, "Folk always have to believe there's something better, somewhere, than what they have right now-and that they just might get it. And they like to belong, to be part of a group, and feel superior to outlanders. It's why folk join clubs, and companies, and fellowships."

Eladar looked at him. "And go out and stick swords in each other in dark alleys-and then feel superior about it?"

Farl grinned. "Exactly." He watched the pole barge sc.r.a.pe to a stop against a distant dock, and said casually, "If we're going to be facing death together many nights longer, it'd probably be a good thing if I knew this code of yours. I know you prefer shop-guarding, dockwork, and errand- and package-running to thieving, but who wouldn't?"

"Crazed-wits out looking for thrills," El said dryly.

Farl laughed. "Leave me out of it for a breath or two, and tell."

Elminster thought for a moment. "I won't slay innocent folk . . . and I don't like stealing from anyone except rich merchants who are grasping, unpleasant, or openly dishonest. Oh, and wizards of course."

"You really hate them, don't you?"

Elminster shrugged. "I-I've contempt for those who hide behind magic and lord it over the rest of us because someone taught them to read, or the G.o.ds gave them the power to wield magic, or something. They should be using the Art to help us all, not keep folk down and lord it over them."

"If you were Belaur right now," Farl said softly, "what in the name of the G.o.ds could you do but obey the wizards?"

El shrugged. "The king may be trapped, and he may not be. He never shows himself for us unwashed to get to know him-ye know, the subjects he's supposed to be serving-so how can I tell?"

"You said once your parents were killed by a dragon-riding wizard," Farl said.

Elminster looked at him sharply. "Did I?"

"You were drunk. I-not long after we met-I had to know if I could trust you, so I got you drunk. That night at the Ring of Blades, you wouldn't say anything else except 'outlaw' and 'kill magelords.' You kept repeating that."

Elminster stared steadily at the shattered crown of a nearby vault. "Every man needs an obsession," he said. He turned his head. "What's thine?"

Farl shrugged his shoulders. "Excitement. If I'm not in danger or doing high, hidden, and important deeds, I'm not alive."

Elminster nodded, remembering.

It had been a cold, bl.u.s.tery day, muddy slush ankle-deep in the streets of Hastarl. Newly arrived and wandering wide-eyed, El turned down a blind alley only to find, when he spun about, that he was facing a line of hard-eyed, grinning men blocking his way. A balding, burly giant in worn leathers stood at their head, a padded stick in one hand and a canvas sack big enough to enclose Elminster's head-for that was its purpose-in the other. They stalked down the alley toward him.

El backed away, fingering the Lion Sword and wondering if he could fight so many hardened men in such a confined s.p.a.ce and hope to win.

He took a stand in a corner, blade out, but they didn't slow their steady, menacing advance. The bald man raised his stick, obviously planning to strike aside the lad's sword while the others wrestled him down, but before he could, a calm voice broke in from overhead.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Shildo. He's Hawklyn's meat already, marked and in use; see how bedazed he is?-and you know what Hawklyn does to blades who meddle."

The bald man looked up, face ugly. "And who's going to say we did it?"

The slim youth crouching on the windowsill, hand crossbow sliding gently back and forth to menace one bravo after another, smiled and said, "That's already been done, bald-pate. Two breaths ago Antaerl flew off to report. He left me to dissuade you because he recalls an old debt he owes you-and what happened the last time a s.n.a.t.c.h band took the wrong man. Wasn't pleasant, was it, Shildo? Recall what Undarl said he'd do to you if you made another unfortunate mistake? I remember."

Snarling, the bald man spun around and stalked off, breaking the line of bravos and waving at them to accompany him.

When the alley was empty, Elminster looked up and said, "Thankee for a rescue. My life is thine, Sir-?"

"Farl's the name, an' no 'sir' am I. I'm proud of that, mind." Farl explained that 'meat' was the name given to b.u.mpkins, slaves, and other unfortunates used by magelords for experiments that slew, twisted, transformed, or left them mind-slaves. The wandering, obviously bewildered Elminster had looked like a prime s.n.a.t.c.h candidate, or a mind-slave already in thrall. "That's what I persuaded him you were," he said warningly.

"Thankee, I think," El replied wryly. "Why did that make a difference?"

"I intimated you were the property of the most powerful magelord. Shildo serves a rival whose power isn't great enough for open challenges yet. Shildo's under very strict orders not to provoke anything just now." He shifted on the snowy ledge and added, "Want to put away that blade? We could go somewhere warmer I know of, where they'll overcharge us for some hot turtle soup and burned toast... if you'll pay."

"Gladly," Elminster said, "if ye'll tell me where I can find a bed in this city, an' tell me what not to do."

"I'll do that," the laughing youth replied, jumping lightly down. "You need to learn, and I like to talk. Better; you look like you need a friend, and I find myself in short supply of them right now, too... hey?"

"Lead on," Elminster said.

He'd learned much that day, and in the days since then-but not where Farl had come from. The merry thief seemed part of Hastarl, as if he'd always been there and the city echoed his moods and manner. The two had taken a liking to each other and stolen more than their own weights in gold and gems through a slow spring and much of a long, hot summer.

Musing about this damp city of the magelords around him, Elminster found himself back on the sloping stone of the tomb roof, in the ebbing heat of a long, lazy summer day. He turned to look into his friend's face. "More than once, ye've said ye knew I came from Heldon."

Farl nodded. "The way you speak: up-country, for sure, and east. More-the winter when Undarl joined the magelords, talk went around the city that he'd impressed the others into accepting him in by riding a dragon he could command. At Lord Hawklyn's bidding he went to the village of Heldon to slay a man and wife there-and to show them what he could do, he had it tear the place stone from stone, an' burn all, even dogs running away across the fields."

"Undarl," Elminster repeated softly.

Farl saw that his friend's hands were clenched, white, and trembling. He nodded. "If it makes you feel better, El, I understand how you feel."

The eyes that Elminster turned on him blazed like a fire of blue steel, but his voice came with terrible softness as he asked, "Oh? How?"

"The magelords killed my mother," Farl said calmly.

Elminster looked at him, the fire dying. "What befell thy father then?"

Farl shrugged. "Oh, he's very well indeed."

Elminster looked a silent question, and Farl smiled a little sadly. "In fact, he's probably up in that tower there right now- and if Tyche frowns on us, he'll have magic up that enables him to hear us when I use his name."

Elminster looked up at the tower and said, "Could he strike us with a spell from there?"

Farl shrugged. "Who knows what wizards have learned to do? But I doubt it, or certain men'd be falling on their faces all over Hastarl. Besides, the magelords I know could never resist taunting their foes before smiting them down, face-to-face."

"Then use his name," Elminster said deliberately, "and mayhap he'll come down where I can reach him."

"After I do," Farl replied softly. "After I'm done tearing his tongue out by the roots and breaking all his fingers to stop his spells-then I'll let you have some fun. He shouldn't die in any great haste."

"So who is he?"

Farl lifted one side of his mouth in a mirthless smile. "Lord Hawklyn, master magelord. Mage Royal of Athalantar, to you." He turned his head to watch a fleetwing whirl from one broken pillar to another. "I was illegitimate. Hawklyn had my mother- a lady of the court, loved by many, they say-killed when he learned of my birth."

"Why d'ye still live-outside yon tower?"

Farl stared into the past, not seeing the tombs ahead of him. "His men slaughtered a baby-but the wrong one; some other poor brat. I was stolen by a woman my mother had befriended ... a lady of the evening."

Elminster raised his brows. "Yet ye proposed stealing from those same night maids?"

Farl shrugged. "One of them strangled my foster-mother for a few coins; I've never found out who, but almost certainly one of the girls in the Wench on"-his voice mockingly a.s.sumed the pedantic tones of a sage relating a tale of awesome importance- "the night when two magelords' sons revealed their love to all Hastarl."

"Oh, G.o.ds," Elminster said quietly, "and I've felt sorry for meself a time or two. Farl, ye-"