13
The bards soon forget a warrior falling without a great feat of arms. Would you be forgotten? Face each battle, each foe, as though it is your last. One day it will be.
The morning sun laid bright fingers upon the table where they sat in the audience chamber of the Twisted Tower. Shandril watched stray dust motes sparkle above the table as she and Narm waited for Elminster to come in from dawnfry in the great hall. Narm's hand found hers, and they sat together in contented silence, alone with the fading tapestries of Shadowdale's past and the empty throne. 'I was brought here by Illistyl before we met in Rauglothgor's lair,' Narm said quietly, 'and spoke with Mourngrym. It seems an age ago, now.'
Shandril nodded. 'It seems long ago that I left Deepingdale, yet it is a matter of tendays, not months.' She looked at the great painted map of the Dragonreach upon the wall. 'I wonder where we shall be in a year?' she asked.
Narm never replied, for upon her words the doors opened and Elminster came in. Shandril had thought Mourngrym would be with him, but the sage was alone. He came toward them, slowly, and for the first time, Shandril thought, he really looked old. He sat down in a chair beside them, not on the throne, and fixed them with bright eyes.
'So quiet?' he asked. 'Have ye both stopped thinking, then?'
'No,' Narm replied boldly. 'Why say you so?'
The old mage shrugged. 'The young are supposed to be always talking or laughing or fighting, they say. Ye two… surprised me.' He took out his pipe, looked at it for a long breath in silence, and then put it away again, unlit. 'I asked ye here to tell thee that I have watched, these past few days, and ye two are as well trained with art and spellfire as we here can presently make thee. It is up to thee, now, if ye would grow more powerful. More than that, it is time for the both of ye to decide what to do with thine lives.'
'Do?' Narm asked, but not as one surprised. Elminster nodded approvingly.
'It is not good for ye to drift along under the influence of the knights and myself. Ye would be swept up into our councils and our struggles. Ye'd slowly grow embittered and empty, as ye lost the will and way to walk thine own roads and think for thyselves.'
'But we have found friends here, and happy times,' Shandril protested, 'and-'
'And danger,' Elminster interrupted smoothly. 'I want to keep ye with me. One cannot have too many friends, and I grow weary of losing them all, one after another, with the years. But if I let ye stay, I would draw doom to ye, just as settling down together in the dale, or in a nice cottage somewhere by thyselves will.'
'What? Living together will bring danger upon us?' Narm asked, bewildered.
'Nay-staying in one place will. With thy talent,' Elminster said, pointing a long finger at Shandril, 'one mage after another will seek to slay thee. Mulmaster, Thay, and the Zhentarim all must needs destroy anything that threatens magery. So walk ye out into the wide Realms and disappear. I can alter thine outward selves with magic, although to each other ye will look the same. Pass from sight, and thy menace will be forgotten in the struggles these tyrants of art have with one another.
'My advice to thee,' Elminster continued, 'is to wander, and hide. Ye will need friends who will raise sword or art to aid thee if needed. So walk ye with Storm Silverhand and her fellow Harpers, then find thine own way and thine own adventures again. Mistake me not-I would not be rid of ye. I think ye will soon be slain or stunted in art and spirit if ye stay here. Come back and visit, though.' The old mage put his pipe in his mouth and puffed it furiously into life with fire that sprouted from his forefinger, and his eyes grew suspiciously misty.
Shandril and Narm looked at each other. 'I-we both think you are right,' Shandril said, reading Narm's eyes. 'We would speak with the knights first however.' Elminster looked to Narm, who nodded silently. 'We do not want to leave this place, and our friends,' Shandril added. 'If we must, we would know where in the Realms it is best to go.'
Elminster nodded. 'Well said. If ye like, I'll tell Mourngrym.'
Shandril nodded. 'Please.' She did not burst into tears until after he'd gone.
'He's right, you know,' Narm said gently, arms about her. Shandril sniffled as she nodded.
'Oh, I know. That's not what makes it so sad. It's leaving friends. First Gorstag and Lureene at the inn, then Delg, Burlane, Rymel, and the others, and now the knights. I'll even miss Elminster, the crusty old bastard.'
'Well, that's as polite and yet as honest a calling as I've had in a long time' the sage's unmistakable voice said dryly behind them.
Narm and Shandril broke apart, whirling. 'You must have been waiting outside the door!' Shandril said hotly to Mourngrym. The Lord of Shadowdale raised calming hands.
'Everyone must stand somewhere,' he said. 'I lost five gold pieces at dice with the guards, if it's any consolation to you. The others'll be here in a moment.'
He crossed to a tall cabinet. 'In the meantime, shall we have a glass of wineapple? I strained it myself. It's not fermented; you cannot get drunk on it, Narm.'
'Well, seeing as you have the cabinet open,' Rathan hailed him from the door. Mourngrym sighed. 'Is Torm with you? I thought as much… leave something drinkable in there that I can give to visiting gentles, will you?' He went and sat on his throne, flagon in hand.
'Well met, Jhess, Illistyl… where's Merith?' he called.
'Along in a minute, my lord,' Jhessail said. 'He was in the bath when Shaerl called.'
'Ah, that's why she isn't back yet!' Torm said innocently to the glass he was raising to his lips. Mourngrym's empty flagon bounced off his head an instant later.
'My lord, if I may borrow your boot for a moment?' another voice said from the door, sweet and low.
'Of course, lady,' Merith said politely, drawing it off and proffering it politely. Shaerl took it from him and threw it hard and accurately. Torm groaned and dropped Mourngrym's flagon with a clatter, amid general mirth.
'All here?' Mourngrym asked. At the door, Lanseril nodded as he set an ornate bar across the handles and snapped it down into place. 'Good, then… Narm and Shandril have something to ask of you.' Silence fell.
Shandril looked around at them all, suddenly shy, and nudged Narm. He looked at her uncomfortably, cleared his throat, and then lapsed into silence.
'Ye need no speech, lad,' Elminster's calm voice came from his left. 'Just say thy piece straight out, before someone else attacks the tower to seize thee.' There were chuckles of agreement at this. Narm swallowed and got to his feet.
'Well, then,' he said quickly. 'Shandril and I think we should leave you, to have our own lives and adventures. We do not want to insult or upset anyone. You have been good friends and protectors to us, and my lady and I will be ever grateful. But as long as we stay, it seems Shadowdale will be an armed camp, as one evil group after another comes seeking us. We must go-but where, how, we do not know.
'We would talk it over with you, if you will, and then decide alone together after. We alone must live with what we decide, and with each other.' He sat down suddenly, feeling foolish.
'Good speech,' Illistyl said. 'Well then, what would you know?'
Shandril spoke. 'What are the Harpers? Not who, but what? What do they work toward?'
Florin answered her. 'My wife is a Harper, lady, yet even to me, they remain mysterious. They are secretive about their membership and their precise aims, but they do work for causes that we deem 'good.' The air of mystery they deliberately foster seems to be their defense against foes who are stronger at arms or art.
'When you see the device of a silver moon and a silver harp, you face a Harper. Storm Silverhand is one, you know, as is the High Lady of Silverymoon. Storm can tell you others, where it is not my place to do so. Many bards, rangers, and half-elven mages are Harpers. The Harpers oppose the Zhentarim, and those who cut trade routes into wilderness to mine and fell timber with no thought for those who live there-the merchants of Amn, for
