Elminster Must Die (Sage of Shadowdale Book 1) by Ed Greenwood

Author:Ed Greenwood [Greenwood, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2010-10-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

EXPECTING MUCH BLOOD

Storm slowed a little, to try to catch her breath. It wouldn’t do to try to talk pleasantly to hostile guards if she was panting so hard she couldn’t even gasp out words.

Inevitably, Elminster ran into her from behind, head-butting her rump and propelling her helplessly around the last corner.

Where she was promptly greeted by far too many cold, vigilant stares.

She found herself smiling wryly, despite the looming danger. It seemed that the Room of the Watchful Sentinel was very well named.

Architecturally small and unimportant, a mere antechamber off the far larger and grander Starander’s Hall, it was guarded day and night to prevent covert departures—and unwelcome incursions—by way of the small, flickering doorway that stood in its northeast corner, bereft of surrounding walls or even a physical door or frame.

The Dalestride Portal’s usual guardians were fourteen. Two highknights, eight battle-tested Purple Dragons, and four wizards of war.

Right then, there were more guards than that just in the passage outside—and they had unfriendly faces and ready weapons. The passage ahead of Storm looked like a crowded forest, with every tree a waiting sentinel expecting battle, and with eyes fixed on her.

Still breathing hard from her brisk run through the palace and from the brief tussle that had punctuated that journey, Storm turned her walk into a stroll as she approached the row of waiting spear points.

Beyond those leveled spears, several wands were aimed her way, and she could see some dart-firing bowguns held in highknight fists, too.

“El,” she murmured, “this is going to be messy. There’s no way I can force passage through this many—”

“Keep moving. Duck aside against the wall, if they let fly at ye from inside the room once ye try to enter,” Elminster muttered from behind her, where he was lurching along bent over, an arm held up to shield his face.

Storm lacked both breath and will to point out to him that he was fooling no one; any Purple Dragon or war wizard who’d been warned to watch out for Elminster of Shadowdale or any other old, bearded, male stranger walking the palace would know at a glance exactly what was scuttling along in Storm’s wake.

“I don’t want to kill or maim scores of good and loyal folk of Cormyr,” Storm hissed over her shoulder. “These are our allies, remember; those who stand for justice and—”

“I’ve not forgotten that. Don’t believe what ye’re about to see, overhead,” Elminster warned her. “I still have a little magic to spend.”

Storm nodded, eyeing bowguns being aimed carefully at her throat—as the ceiling of the passage came down with a roar.

The passage shook, a hanging lamp starting to swing wildly. Dust billowed, swallowing many of the arrayed guardians—who shouted in fear and started sprinting wildly along the passage.

Right at Storm.

“El,” she snapped, reaching for her sword, “I—”

Darts came streaking at her, and there was a sudden snarl of crimson flame as a wand spat in her direction.

The flames rushed at her, expanding with the usual terrifying speed—only

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