5
Sharantyr had expected trouble on the other side of the gate. A temple or gloomy spell chamber, perhaps, crowded with evil-looking men and weird, gibbering creatures who slunk, slithered, or prowled the lengths of their chains-or worse, prowled unleashed.
She'd expected trouble, and Elminster had not failed her. They'd found it.
Instead of a castle or cavern, they stood under the open sky between two mountain ranges. By the stars, they were south and a little west of Shadowdale, and she was facing south. Here it was a fair, clear night with a cool breeze blowing gently from the east. The grass under her feet descended to trees, the source of their trouble: an alarm gong and someone who had fired two ready crossbows dangerously well. Or more than one someone.
That thought kept Shar crouched low as she ran forward across the little dell, dodging but heading to the left, trying to get as far as possible from the amber radiance of the gate behind her. The gong sounded again, a faster, repeated ringing as if the sentinel were scared. Wise of him.
Sharantyr's rapid progress brought her to the lip of the dell. A track-grassy and rutted, wide enough for carts-descended toward barnlike buildings, lamplight, and, in the distance amid a torchlit cluster of buildings at the bottom of the valley, the unmistakable walls of a small, stout old castle.
A faint crackling of branches warned her of the guard's descent and probable attack. Sharantyr turned to face the sound and shrank farther to the left into the concealing shadow of bushes. What was Elminster doing?
More crackling. The guard was descending a wooden ladder, snapping branches aside in his haste. Sharantyr tried to look like part of the night, her blade held low and ready in her own shadow, her head bowed to keep her eyes small and screened by her hair. Soon… soon… Now!
The guard was hurrying the last few steps. His haste would carry him right past her. His gaze could not help but fall on her, and he could stick her with anything long and sharp he might have before she could even land a blow. Gods spit on us all!
A familiar, testy voice came out of the night from the other side of the ladder, behind the descending guard. 'I'm over here, by the gods! Who taught ye to shoot a crossbow, anyway, Manshoon himself?'
Sharantyr didn't blame the guard. She could not have heard that taunt and failed to turn and look. The shadowy man pivoted as he landed, blade sweeping around to confront the unseen speaker. Sharantyr rose out of the night from behind him like a hungry shadow. Her hand jerked his head back sharply, covering his mouth and robbing him of breath at the same time. Her blade flashed as she drew it sideways with cold precision, and she ducked low to keep most of the blood out of her hair.
'Done this before, have ye?' Elminster asked out of the darkness. Sharantyr sighed loudly and shook her head as the man died in her arms.
'Old Mage,' she hissed in anger. 'Must you?'
Elminster spread innocent hands. 'I'm not sure what ye're on about, this time, but we have only breaths before whatever comrades this fellow has-er, had-respond to his gong. Flip him over and drag him by the feet, facedown, to the gate. I want a trail of blood even a blind Calishite couldn't miss. Where'd he drop his crossbow? Ah, I have it. Come!'
Sharantyr did as she was bid. In the flickering light of the gate, Elminster's face was intent as he crouched low. 'Down, lass. Against the light ye make a most fetching target, I must say, but 'tis not the time. Got thy dagger handy? Good. Make ye the Harper marks for 'Trap Ahead' and 'Keep Low' on his breast.'
'On flesh or his leathers?'
'Leathers, lass, leathers. Harpers have to read 'em, mind, and they're apt to be as blind as the next cow, in the dark.'
Sharantyr swiftly cut the two diagonally crossed inverted T shapes that warned of a trap, and then the circle bisected by a horizontal line, with a parallel line atop it, that warned observing Harpers to keep their bodies low.
Elminster nodded critically, laid the crossbow across the man's legs, and asked, 'Head or feet?'
Sharantyr swiftly said, 'Feet for me. Your turn for the blood.'
Elminster wrinkled his nose. Together they lifted the body, swung it twice, and tossed it faceup into the oval of light. It passed through soundlessly and was gone. Sharantyr had to grin when Elminster bent to peek under the oval to make sure that the body wasn't just lying on the ground behind it. The grass was bare.
The wizard rose in a smooth pivot that brought him around facing the guard tree again. 'Quick, lass. Show me the ladder,' he growled, trotting across the grass again.
'The name's Shar, old man,' Sharantyr told him, amused. He merely grunted. She raced past him with smooth strides in the darkness and laid her hand on the ladder. 'Here.'
'Right. Now find me the first tree in that direction ye can climb,' he ordered, pointing west along the edge of the dell. Sharantyr gave him a look that he saw most of as she passed, but he merely grinned and followed her, taking out the wand that spat lightnings and muttering something over it.
The lady ranger turned, hand on hip, only her face visible in the darkness. 'Here. Is that someone coming?'
'Undoubtedly. Take this'-he handed her the wand, butt-first-'and this.' Into the same hand he put a strangling-wire taken from inside his boot.
Sharantyr frowned. 'Where'd you-no, strike that. I don't want to know.'
'Wise of ye. Take the wand up the tree and affix it there, somewhere sturdy where its aim won't slip with wind or working loose. I want it pointing squarely at the gate, and ye back down here, in a breath or less.'
'Oh, yes, Lord,' she said in mocking, breathless tones. Elminster grinned and patted some unseen part of her as she climbed past, stepping swiftly back to avoid a kick that did not come.
He bent his head to listen and heard again the hurrying thud of boots and creaking of leather and metal armor that meant death was swiftly coming up the track for them.
He got his other wand into his hand, just to be wise and ready. There was a thump beside him, and Sharantyr was coming back to her feet after her leap, breathing heavily. He took her hand.
'Done? Good, come!'
Together, hand in hand, they ran east. Sharantyr was astonished to find the Old Mage's long, scrawny legs twinkling ahead of hers, as swift as any stag, tugging her along faster across the dell. Abruptly Elminster's hand jerked her to the left along the line of trees, to where the rocks of the mountain began to rise.
'Here! Quick and quiet, now,' Elminster panted. 'Let's get as far as we can without making any noise.' Together, like two heavily breathing shadows, they slipped away along the line of tumbled rocks, creeping and crawling where they had to, cushioning each other to avoid noisy falls, and more than once ending up face-to-face, gasping the same air in the darkness. Behind them they could see the torches and flashing blades, and hear occasional shouted orders of the large group of men-at-arms who were searching the dell and the trees around it.
'What now?' Sharantyr whispered into Elminster's ear as the rocky tongue of a mountain hid the last glimmers of torchlight from their view.
'We go on, east, the length of the dale,' the Old Mage whispered back and turned to continue. 'If the castle was down that track, we started from about halfway along the dale.'
Sharantyr squeezed his shoulder, bringing him to a halt. 'It's not that I don't mind losing an entire night's sleep fighting and running about,' she whispered, 'but I would like some answers, please.'
Elminster nodded. 'Ye shall have them, after we put another twenty breaths or so of travel behind us. I want no blades following us.'
Sharantyr whispered back simply, 'Lead on,' and he did.
They crossed a small stream and another, babbling rivulets snaking amid the stones and winking back starlight beneath their feet. Elminster stopped finally, in a shadowed spot where they could sit on rocks and look
