The wizard shook his head and waved a hand at her before reaching up to unknot his beard. 'Much power was suddenly drawn out of me. It was-upsetting.'
He brightened, then frowned. 'Perhaps Lady Mystra is with us again and had need of it. Or-perhaps another being has found a way to steal what I carry, and the Realms are doomed.' He shrugged, and brushed aside a few branches to stretch out more comfortably.
'Ah, well,' he said. 'Stretch out here beside me, las-Shar, sorry. No doubt we'll find out which has befallen tomorrow.'
10
The sun rose and awakened them.
Sharantyr felt it warm her face. She came awake, alert in an instant. The ranger lay still, feeling the hard ground beneath her, the reassuring hardness of her sword hilt under her fingers, and a familiar warmth-and sound- beside her: the unconcernedly snoring form of Elminster of Shadowdale.
She smiled, shook her head, and eased away from him to stretch her stiff legs and aching back. The sounds promptly ceased, and a familiar, irascible voice said, 'Ready to save the High Dale, then? I was wondering when you'd bother to stir your shanks.'
Sharantyr paused. 'You snore loudly when you're wondering about things,' she told him, amused.
Elminster regarded her with dignity. 'Simply giving the insides of my skull some fresh air,' he replied. 'As ye seem to do often, yawning the way ye do whenever we talk about anything.'
Sharantyr waved a dismissive hand. 'Simply straining not to miss a single inference or nuance of your fair speech,' she told him serenely and walked away.
The lady ranger turned after a few steps. 'I shall return in a breath or two,' she announced. 'While I'm gone, see what you can do about dawnfry. I'm starving, and my belly seems ever hungrier than that.'
Elminster sighed. 'I can certainly take thy mind off it, lass,' he said gruffly, 'and have thee running about in such a whirlwind of seeking spells and eager blades and shouting Black Helms that thy stomach'll soon have the heaves. But if it's real food ye want to feel sliding down thy gullet and warming thy insides, we'll have to buy that in the High Dale, as any wayfarers would. So the sooner we set off, the sooner we both eat.'
'Fair fortune to that,' Sharantyr agreed from behind a tree. 'Can we leave off conquering the dale until after I eat?'
'Ready to save the dale, then?' Belkram asked cheerfully.
Itharr just looked at him. 'Is there anything to eat?' A rolling growl from his stomach echoed the query.
'No,' Belkram said just as cheerfully. 'I saw a few berries yestereve, two ridges back, but there weren't more than a handful.'
'Ummm.' Itharr looked glum. 'All this running about, hacking mages and Zhentilar strongnecks, seems a lot more enticing on a full stomach.'
'One stride before the next,' Belkram said reassuringly. 'If we knock over enough mages, we're sure to find one with some food. If we have to take the lord's throne of this place to do it, we can throw a victory feast, and you can stuff yourself for free.'
'Ummm,' Itharr said again, stretching-and wincing at the stiff tenderness of his wound. 'After we defeat all the evil ones? I'm not even certain this is the High Dale. What if we're somewhere east of Impiltur or in the fabled Far Isles?'
'Then we'll have a long walk back,' Belkram said, not unkindly. 'Let's look for an inn, or at least a tavern. There must be one. We've seen a castle and a lot of homes outside its walls. We'll ask folk there if anyone's seen Elminster of Shadowdale wandering about.'
'Aye,' Itharr grunted, reaching out of long habit for his blade. 'And then we'll leap to our feet and try to carve a way out of the place, through seven handcounts or so of black-armored hireswords all howling for our blood.'
Belkram shrugged. 'Right, so we'll buy some dawnfry first and ask questions later.'
Itharr nodded. 'If I'm to be fighting for my life,' he said, hefting his blade experimentally, 'I'd prefer to do it knowing that I've at least had one last good meal.'
Belkram looked at him and scratched the stubble on his chin. 'A real brightheart, aren't you?'
Itharr grinned. 'Let's put on our best Harper smiles as we rush to certain death, hewing and slaying with the best of them!' he chirped brightly and mockingly, and skipped down out of the rocky hollow where they'd slept, whistling a merry tune.
Belkram sighed. 'Why is it always my lot to share trail with the lunatics?' he asked the gods above as he followed. As usual, the gods did not bother to answer.
Heladar Longspear stood on the castle walls and looked around at his dale. He strode slowly, gazing for a long time east down the tunnel-like valley and looking almost as long into the west. The sentinels on the walls saluted him in respectful silence and kept out of his way. Heladar was silently grateful for that.
He'd grown to love this harsh, stone-locked, backward place-a dale of history and importance balanced on a sword's edge between proud Cormyr and rich Sembia, a place that had bowed to him, however unwillingly, for over a moon now. A place he'd felt was strong and secure in his grip despite the ongoing schemes of the mages, and the rest of the council for that matter. Secure for long enough to relax and enjoy the place.
His High Dale. His until the night before last, at least. Now some unknown foe was lurking out there, perhaps even under his gaze right now, looking back at him from hiding, waiting to bring about his fall.
He wheeled, cloak swirling, to stride toward the stairs leading down. He'd ordered his best armor freshly oiled and laid ready this morn, and he'd feel better once he was in it.
He'd learned a thing or two in enough years of battle and guardianship, waiting and scouting, standing guard and snatching sleep whenever possible. He'd learned the ways of war, to trust his hunches, to smell danger, and to feel when something was wrong or when violence was coming.
Today, for instance. Strife would come here, to the heart of the High Dale, this day. Heladar could feel it, and an old soldier's bones never lied.
Who, he wondered for the twentieth time since dawn, was at large, swords out, in his dale? Who sought the downfall of Lord Longspear?
He was just swinging his boot forward to descend the first step when up out of the darkness came two dark eyes he knew and disliked. The eyes looked back at him, cold and knowing, not bothering to hide their own feelings.
Angruin. The mage who called himself Stormcloak and thought himself the true ruler of the High Dale.
Longspear came to a silent halt on the top step, hand on hip where it could rest by his weapons, and waited.
This whole affair could just be a clash of private plots and feuds among these mages. There need be no outside, lurking enemy, merely the creatures and servants of this ambitious, strutting Zhentarim or any of the lesser wizards beneath him.
Longspear did not allow himself to sigh. He kept his eyes bleak as Stormcloak swept up the last steps.
'Fair morn, Lord,' the mage greeted him coldly and smoothly. 'Are you well? Is there something dark on your mind?'
Longspear eyed him back just as coldly. 'The safety of my dale,' he said shortly. 'As usual. Will you be ready, mage, to see to the safety of the High Dale, should we be attacked?'
'Attacked?' Stormcloak crooked one long, arched eyebrow. 'Do you expect something as swiftly as all that?'
'Sooner,' Longspear growled. 'Sooner.' He looked out again at the peaceful trees and fields of the dale below, then up to the frowning gray walls of the mountains beyond on both sides.
