Bury Elminster Deep: The Sage of Shadowdale, Book II by Ed Greenwood

Author:Ed Greenwood [Greenwood, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786959310
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2011-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

Manshoon was gone, leaving Talane excited.

She was, yes, delighted she’d been ordered to hunt down Amarune.

So, the lass was really Elminster? If she’d known that, she’d not have been quite so bold at her first meeting with the Whitewave wench—but no matter. If he’d ever been the towering spellhurler of all those wild tales, the Sage of Shadowdale must now be a weak husk of his former self for Manshoon to entrust this slaying to her. Castles shattered and blown into the clouds, dragons tamed or slaughtered in the skies, archwizards dueled and left as smoking heaps of ash …

Grand tales, to be sure. Yet, perhaps that’s all they’d ever been.

Talane looked down at her shapely self, crisscrossed by broad belts of leather festooned with no fewer than nine scabbarded daggers—all razor sharp and finely balanced for throwing, even the one she’d hurled into a cheating Sembian merchant’s eye not all that long ago—and pronounced herself ready.

Which was a good thing, considering Manshoon’s burning desire for urgency in this matter.

She checked her hollow right boot heel for keys to certain doors in her mansion and found them right where they should be. Then she shifted her sword belt one last time to make certain it caught on none of the crisscrossing baldrics.

Good. Time to be hunting.

Talane caught up a magnificent ankle-length shimmer-weave nightcloak—the sort of frippery worn to show everyone Truesilvers could casually outspend any dozen lesser noble Houses, every bright shopping morning—and pulled it around herself to conceal her leathers from any servants who might witness her departure. Taking a last look around her bedchamber to ensure things that should be hidden were, she stepped out onto her balcony.

Where the climbing cord she kept secured behind the stone griffon carving at the east end of the balcony was waiting. One kick off the wall and a swift plunge down onto the softest mosses of her gardens later, she would be on her way to her back garden door and the night-shrouded city beyond.

“Amarune Whitewave,” she whispered to the night, as the black cord hissed past her chin, “you are one dead mage.”

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