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calling proved the stronger, and he gave up the dale rather than rule poorly.
I
wish that more who fought such a battle within themselves between office and
belief recognized their
dilemma, and reached the right choice."
Jhessail looked fondly across the room at Merith. "As my lord, too, has
done but
that is another story." She looked at Rathan. "As for that buffoon, his
jesting
is but an act. He is very sensitive and romantic, easily moved to tears. He
hides it, and overcomes the barbs of his closest friend, Torm, with his
'drunken
sot' act.
"He drinks because he is sensitive and prudent and must, he knows, favor luck
more and live in danger. Tb do so, he steels himself with drink. Because he
does
not want to become falling-down drunk, he eats like a starving wolf. This
makes
him fat, as you can plainly see, and in turn makes him able to take in more
drink without staggering about and slurring his jests. Do not think him a
drunkard, Shandril; he is not. Nor is he a lecher or a fraud, but a true
servant
of Tymora. I am proud to ride with him."
"\bu have given me different eyes to see him by, lady," Shandril said slowly,
looking at Rathan, who was roaring with laughter at a jest of Storm's.
"Jhess, remember?" Jhessail said softly. "If you will listen to some advice,
know that the most valuable thing I have learned from Elminster, in all these
years, is to look at all things, and folk, however strange they seem, from
all
sides.
"Neglect not to act as you must, but try to think as you act. You will see
things as others do, as well as the way you are used to thinking. If you walk
with the Harpers," she added, nodding across the noisy room toward Storm,
"they
will tell you the same thing, dressed up in much grander words."
The room was filling up around them, as the good folk of Shadowdale and the
staff and guardsmen of the tower all crowded in to the large, high-ceilinged
hall. There was much laughter and chatter. Narm joined Shandril in the
tumult,
kissing her.
"They seem to party with a right good will here, I'll say that," Shandril
greeted him.
"Aye," Narm agreed. "I swear some of the guards had wine-headaches this
morning."
"No doubt," Jhessail said to them. "They drink, and love, and laugh, and eat,
as
if they may be dead tomorrow, for death hangs over them."
- -T*
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"What?" asked Narm, taken aback.
"Zhentil Keep threatens us daily their armies could sweep down upon us any
morn.
HUlsfar has a new ruler, his intentions unknown, and devils walk in Myth
Drannor
to one side and in Daggerdale on the other. Now you are here, and they know
powerful foes may attack at any time, seeking to slay or capture you. Some
know
a duty to defend you; some merely fear they will be caught in the way when
great
might is unleashed. They fear you, too, Shandril, no little bit. \faur
spellfire
upon the hilltop is a scene told often, and vividly, in the taproom of the
Old
Skull."
The two stared at her, stricken. "We should leave" Shandril whispered.
Jhessail
caught at her sleeve and smiled.
"No! Stay here. The folk of the dale accept you, and will fight for you as
for
any guest before their hearth, kin or stranger.
"Who can follow adventure, or even stand up strong in these Realms, without
finding foes on all sides, often more than it seems one can handle? You are
welcome, truly. Besides, you will upset Elminster terribly if you run off
now.
He's not finished with you. But I flap my tongue and jaws worse than the old
mage himself! Come, let us dance, you two and Merith and E"
"But I "
"We've never learned "
"No matter Merith shall teach us all a dance of the Elven Court. We shall all
be
new to it. Try it and you can do courtesy to any elf you meet! Come!" And the
long-haired magic-user pulled them out into an open space and let out a
birdlike
trilling call. At once Merith looked up, smilingly excused himself from two
fat
farmwives, and joined them.
"Storm!" he called out. "Will you harp for us?"
The bard nodded and smiled, and took up the harp of the hall. It was made of
blackwood inlaid with silver, and hung on the wall amon^the shattered and
rusting shields of past, long-dead lords of Shadowdale.
As Jhessail told the couple that the harp had been a gift from the elves of
Myth
Drannor, Merith reached them.
"You will be wanting to dance, my love?" he asked fondly.
"Of course ... one of the gentler tunes, my lord, one that
human feet can follow. Nairn and Shandril, and you and I ... may we?"
Merith bowed. "Of course," he said, as Storm joined them. "What say you to
the
frolic that of old we danced on the banks of the Ashaba? Storm, you know the
tune. . . ."
It was late, or rather very early. Revelers saw stars glittering coldly in
the
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