Shandril's Saga - Spellfire Part 1

Forgotten Realms.

Shandril's Saga.

Spellfire.

Ed Greenwood.

ZHENTIL KEEP.

At Ctae Sign op The Rising MoonNeglect not small things, for all ruling and war and magecraft are naught butsmall things, one built upon another. Begin then with the small, and lookclose,and you will see it all.Seroun of Calimport"fifes of Far Travels Year of the Rock It was a good inn, but sometimes Shandril hated it. She was crying at thepainin her scalded hands, the tears running down her chin and arms into the suds, as she washed a small mountain of dishes. ft was a hot Flamerule noon. Sweat stood out all over her like oil, makingher slim arms slippery and glistening. She wore only her old gray tunic, onceGorstag's. It stuck to her here and there, but only the cook, Korvan, would see her, and he would slap and pinch even if she were bundled up in furs like some northern princess. She blew, sharply, and the lank blonde hair falling fromher forehead parted reluctantly in front of her eyes. Tossing her head to flingher hair aside, Shandril narrowly surveyed the stack beside her and concluded with a sigh that there were at least three hours' worth of dishes left.Not enough time. Korvan was starting the roasts in the hearth already. He'dbe wanting herbs cut and water brought soon. He was a good cook, Shandrilallowed grudgingly, even if he was fat and he stank and his hands were always hot andsticky. Some folk came to The Rising Moon just because of Korvan's cooking.

Shandril had heard the story about how Korvan- younger and slimmer then-had once been a cook in the Royal Palace of Cormyr, in the fair city of Suzail. Therehad been some trouble (probably over a girl, Shandril thought darkly, perhaps even one of the princesses of Cormyr), and he'd had to leave Cormyr in some haste,banished therefrom upon pain of death.Shandril wondered, as she eyed a soapy platter critically, what would happenif she ever managed to get Korvan drunk senseless or knocked cold with a skilletand somehow could drag him through the Thunder Gap and over the border intoCormyr. Perhaps King Azoun himself would appear out of thin air and say tothe Cormyrean border guards, "Here he is!" and without hesitating they'd drawtheir swords and hack off Korvan's head. She smiled at the thought. Perhaps he'dpleadfor mercy or cry in fear.Shandril snorted. Great chance, indeed, of that ever happening! He was here,now, and too lazy to ever go anywhere-and too fat for most horses to carryhim,if it came to that. No, he was trapped here, and she was trapped with him.She scrubbed a fork fiercely until its two tines gleamed in the sunlight. Yes,trapped.It had been a long time before she'd realized it. She had no parents, nokin-and no one would even admit to knowing where she'd come from. She had always beenhere, it seemed, doing the dirty work in the old roadside inn among thetrees. It was a good inn, everyone said. Other places must be worse, Shandrilreasoned,but she had never seen them. She could not remember ever having been inside anyother building, ever. After sixteen summers, all she knew of her town ofHighmoon was what she could see from the inn-yard. She'd never more thanthoughtof running away or just slipping off to have a look. She was always too busy,too behind with her work, or too tired.There was always work to be done. Each spring she even washed the ceilings ofall the bedchambers while tied to a ladder so she wouldn't fall off. Sharp-eyedold Tezza did the windows, all those tiny panes of mica and a few panels...o...b..own gla.s.s from Selgaunt and Hillsfar, which were far too valuable forShandril to be trusted to wash.

Shandril didn't mind most of the work, really. She just hated getting extratired or hurt while the others did little or, like Korvan, bothered her.Besides, if she didn't work, or she fought with the others-all more necessaryto the running of The Rising Moon than Shandril Shessair-she'd upset Gorstag.And more than anything (except, maybe, to have a real adventure), Shandril wantedto please Gorstag.The owner of The Rising Moon was a broad-shouldered, strong man withgray-whitehair, gray eyes, and a craggy, weathered face. He'd broken his nose long ago,perhaps in the days when he had been an adventurer. Gorstag had been all overthe world, people said, swinging his axe in important wars. He had made quite a lot of gold before settling down in Deepingdale, in the heart of the forest,and rebuilding his father's old inn. Gorstag was kind and quiet and sometimesgruff,but it was he who insisted that Shandril have a good gown for feast-days andwhen important folk stopped at the inn, even though Korvan said she'd servethem better by staying in the kitchen.It was also Gorstag who had insisted that she have a last name, when, years ago,the chamber girls had called her "a nameless n.o.body," and "a cow too runty tokeep, so someone threw it away!" The innkeeper had come into the room andspokenin a voice that had frightened Shandril into silence in mid-sob, a voice thatmade her think of cold steel and executioners and priestly dooms. "Suchwords-and all others like them-will never be spoken in this house again."Gorstag never hit women or spanked girls, but he had taken off his belt then, as he did when he thrashed the stable boy for cruel pranks. The girls were bothwhite-faced, and one started to cry, but Gorstag never touched them. Heclosed the door of the room and set a chair against it. Then he walked over to thegirls, who were both whimpering and, saying nothing, he swung the belt highand brought it crashing down on the floorboards so hard that the dust curled upand the door rattled. Then he put on his belt, took the shocked Shandril gentlybythe shoulder, and led her from the room, closing the door again behind him.He had led her down to the taproom and said thickly, "I call you ShandrilShessair, for it is your truename. Do not forget, for your name is precious." Then Shandril had asked him, voicequavering, "Was I so named by my parents?"Gorstag shook his head slightly and gave her a sad smile. "In the Realms,little one, you can take any name you can carry. Mind you carry it well."Yes, Gorstag had been good to her, and The Rising Moon was like him: kind andgood, well-worn and bluntly honest, and lots of hard work. Day after day ofhard work. It was her cage, Shandril thought fiercely, reaching for another dishwhile the sweat ran down her back. With some surprise, she saw that there were no more dishes. In her anger shehad washed and scrubbed like a madcap, and now she was done, and it was earlyyet.Time enough to change to her plain gown and peek into the taproom beforecuttingthe herbs. Before Korvan could come in and give her extra work to do,Shandril vanished, her bare feet dancing lightly over the narrow loft stairs to hertrunk. She washed her face and hands in the basin of cool water she'd left for Lureene,another young woman who waited on the tables and shared the sleeping-loftwith Shandril, except on nights when she had a man and Shandril was banished tothe cellar for her own safety. She changed her clothing and crept quicklydownstairs again along the pa.s.sage to the deserted taproom. Gorstag would be seeing tothe food, she knew, and he would have started the evening fire already. A partyof adventurers had come in from Cormyr earlier, and Gorstag would be busy. Theflagstones were cool under her feet.The taproom was warm and smoky. Light blazed up from the crackling hearth and the several sputtering torches mounted on the walls and hooded with grimblack iron. Shadows leaped on the walls and the great beams that ran low overheadthe length of the taproom, bearing the sleeping chambers of the inn's upperstories upon their mighty backs. In the shifting play of light, the scenes on faded,flaking paintings seemed to live and move. The high deeds of heroes of thedales were remembered there, and the glories of battles long past. Ma.s.sive tablesof dark oak planks with squat, thick-carved legs crowded the room, and aboutthem were plain, smooth benches and stout chairs covered in worn leather. Over the bar hung a two-handed broadaxe, old but proud, well-oiled, and keptsharp. Gorstag had borne it in far-off lands in days long gone and adventureshe would not speak of. When there was trouble, Shandril remembered, he couldstill toss it from hand to hand like a dagger and whirl it about as though itweighednothing. Whenever Shandril asked him about his adventures, the old innkeeperonly laughed and shook his head. But often in the mornings, when Shandrilcreptdown the stairs to start the kitchen fires, she would stop and look at the axe and imagine it in Gorstag's hands on sun-drenched battlefields far away, oramid icy rock crags where trolls lurked, or in dark caverns where unseen horrorsdwelt. It had been places, that axe.The bar itself was surrounded by a small, gleaming forest of bottles of allsizes and hues, kept carefully dusted by Gorstag. Some came from lands veryfar away, and others from Highmoon, not half a mile off. Below these were thecasks,gray with age, which the men filled from smaller traveling kegs at the upperbungs, kept sealed with wax and emptied by means of bra.s.s taps. Gorstag was veryproud of those taps, since they had come all the way from fabled Water-deep.Above the bottles, just over the axe, there was a silver crescent moon,tilted to the left just as it was on the creaking signboard outside the front door:The Rising Moon itself. Long ago, a traveling wizard had cast a spell on thesilver crescent, and it never tarnished. The house was a good inn, plain but cozy,its host well respected, even generous, and Highmoon was a beautiful place.But to Shandril, it seemed more and more to be a prison. Every day she walkedthe same boards and did the same things. Only the people changed. Thetravelers,with their unusual clothing and differing skins and voices, brought with themthe idle chatter, faint smells, and excitement of far places and excitingdeeds. Even when they came in, dusty and weary from the road, snappish or sleepy,theyhad at least been somewhere and seen things, and Shandril envied them so muchthat sometimes she thought her heart would burst right out of her chest.

Every night folk came to the taproom to smoke long pipes and drink Col-stag'sgood ate and listen to the gossip of the Realms from other travelers.Shandril liked best those times when the grizzled old men of the dale who hadthemselves fought or gone adventuring in their younger days told of their feats, and ofthe legendary deeds of even older heroes. If only she were a man, strong enoughto wear coat-of-plate and swing a blade, to set foes staggering back with theforce of her blows! She was quick enough, she knew, and judged herself fairlystrong.But she was not strong like these great oxen of men who lumbered,ruddy-faced,into the inn to growl their wants at Gorstag. Even the long-retired veteransof Highmoon, some nodding and shrunken with age, others scarred or maimed inancient frays, seemed like old wolves-stiff, perhaps, slower and harder ofhearing, certainly, but wolves nonetheless. Shandril suspected that if evershe looked in the house of any of these old men of Highmoon, an old blade or macewould be hanging in a place of honor like Gorstag's axe. If ever she got to see any of the other houses in Highmoon, it would be a wondrous thing, shereflected sourly.She sighed, her scalded hands still smarting. She dared not smear goose-greaseon them before getting the herbs, or Korvan would fly into a rage. His aimwith kitchen utensils was too good for her health, Shandril knew. Smilingruefully,she took the basket and knife from behind the kitchen door and went out into the green stillness of the inn garden. She knew by now what to cut, and how muchto bring, and what was fit to use and what was not, although Korvan made a greatshow of disgust at her selections and always sent her back for one more sprigof this, and chided her for bringing far too much of that. But he used all shebrought, Shandril noticed, and never bothered to get more himself if she wasbusy elsewhere.Korvan was still absent when she returned to the kitchen. Shandril spread theherbs out neatly in fan patterns upon the board and exchanged basket andknife for the wooden yoke and its battered old buckets. I'm used to this, sherealized grimly. I could be forty winters old, and still I'd know nothing but luggingwater. Hearing Korvan coining down the pa.s.sage into the kitchen, grumbling loudly about the calm thievery of thebutcher, she slipped out the back door. She darted across the turf to thestream, holding the ropes of the pails with practiced ease to keep them frombanging against each other.She felt eyes upon her and looked up quickly. Gorstag had come around the corner of the inn. Trotting head down, she had nearly run into his broad chest. Hegrinned at her startled apologies and danced around her, making flourisheswith his hands as he did when dancing with the grander ladies of the dale. Shegrinned back after a moment, and then danced to match him. Gorstag roaredwith laughter, joined by Shandril. Suddenly, the kitchen door banged open andKorvan peered out angrily. Opening his mouth to scold Shandril, he closed it againwith an audible snap as the innkeeper leaned over to smile closely at him.Gorstag turned back to her and said, for Korvan's benefit, "Dishes done?""Yes, sir' Shandril replied, giving a slight bow."Herbs cut and ready?""Yes, sir." Shandril bowed again hastily to hide her growing smile."Going straight out for water. I like that ... I like that indeed. You'll make a good innkeeper yourself someday. Then you could have a cook to do all thosethings for you!" They both heard Korvan's sniff before the kitchen doorslammed. Shandril struggled to swallow her giggles."Good la.s.s," Gorstag said warmly, giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze.Shandril smiled back at him through the hair that had fallen over her faceagain. Well, at least someone appreciated her! She hurried off down thewell-worn, winding path of beaten earth and exposed tree-roots to theGlaemril,to draw staggeringly heavy buckets of water for the kitchen. Tonight would be a busy night. If Lureene did not bed with one of the travelers, she'd have muchto tell as Shandril hissed questions in the darkness of the loft: who came fromwhere, and where they were bound, and on what business. News, too, andgossip-all the color and excitement of the world outside, the world thatShandril had never seen.

Gratefully she waded out into the cool water, her bare feet avoiding the unseen stones with long practice as she filled the old wooden buckets. Then,gruntingwith the effort, she heaved them up onto the bank and stood for a moment,hands on hips, looking up and down the cool, green pa.s.sage of the stream throughDeepingdale's woods. She could not stay long, or swim or bathe and getherself wetter than she was, but she could look... and dream. Past her feet, theGlaemril-Deeping Stream, some called it-rushed laughingly over rocks to jointhe great river Ashaba that drained the northern dales and then turned east toslippast rolling lands, full of splendid people and wondrous things, lands thatshe would see, someday!"Soon," she said firmly, as she climbed from the stream and took up the wornwooden yoke. A heave, a momentary stagger under the great weight and shebeganthe long climb up through the trees back to the inn. Soon.Adventurers were staying at The Rising Moon this night; a proud, splendid groupof men by the name of the Company of the Bright Spear. Lean and dangerous intheir armor and ready weaponry, they laughed often and loudly, wore gold ringson their hands and at their ears, and drank much wine. Gorstag had been busywith them all afternoon, for as he told Shandril with a wink as he strodedown the cellar stairs in search of old and cobweb-covered bottles of wine, "It paysto keep adventurers happy, and it can be downright dangerous if you do not."They would be in the taproom by now, Lureene already flirting and flouncingsaucily as she brought them wine and strong cider and aromatic tobacco.Shandril promised herself she'd watch them from the pa.s.sage, while Korvan was busywith the pastry.Shandril kicked the rusted pot by the back door so that the cook would hearand let her into the kitchen. The chain rattled as Korvan threw up the half-barand snarled, "Get in!" The expected pinching and slap came as she staggered across the uneven floor with the water. "Don't spill any of that, mind! There aredishes waiting, sluggard! Move that shapely little behind of yours!" Korvanrumbled, ending with his horrible, barking laugh. Shandril set her teethgrimlyunder the yoke. Someday she'd be free of this!* *

The evening grew cool, as it often did in the dale after a hot day, mistgathering in the trees. The Rising Moon's taproom filled up quickly. Thetownsfolk of Highmoon had done business with the Company of the Bright Spear,and the veterans had come to take their measure and perhaps swap some tales.Shandril managed one quick peek at the taproom and saw the company holdingcourt, all boisterous Jests and laughter, at the central tables. A scatteringof local veterans sat nearer the bar, and at the small tables along the wall were other visitors. Shandril noticed two lady adventurers close to the bar.Noticed,and stared. They were beautiful. Tall, slim-and free to do as they pleased. Shandrilgazedat them in wonder from the shadows. Both of the women wore leather and platehalf-armor without color or blazon. Long, plain scabbards at their hips heldswords and daggers that looked to have seen heavy use. Their cloaks were alsoplain, but of the finest cloth and make. Shandril was surprised at the softbeauty of the two and the quiet grace of their movements-no red-faced oxen,these. But what struck her most was their calm self-a.s.surance. They were whatshe longed to be. Shandril stared at them from the darkness of thepa.s.sage-untilKorvan came out of the kitchen with a roar. He plucked Shandril up by grabbing a fistful of tunic and hauling roughly and carried her down the pa.s.sage andinto the kitchen. "Do /stand and gawk? If I did, what would the guests eat then?' was allKorvan said, in a fierce whisper with his stub-bled face an inch from hers, andShandril feared for her life. If there was one thing Korvan cared about, it was his cooking. For a wild moment, as he thrust a bowl of potatoes at her, Shandril considered attacking her tormentor with a kitchen knife, but that wasn't thesort of 'adventure' she wanted. But as she washed and cleaned out three hares under Kor-van's hot glare,Shandril knew that she'd had more than enough of this treatment. She wasgoingto do somethingto get out of here. Tonight."A good place, I've heard," said the mage Marimmar in the last blue light of dusk, as their ponies carried them down through the treestoward the lanterns of Deepingdale. " Mind you say nothing of our business ordestination, boy. If asked, you know nothing. You are not even all thatinterested in Myth Drannor?'Narm Tamaraith nodded In weary silence, and his master turned on him sharplyin the gloom. "Do you hear, boy?Answerf "Aye, Lord, t-nodded, not thinking you would not see. beg full pardon. Iwill say nothing of Myth Drannorf' Nairn's master, Marimmar "the Magnificent"(Narmhad heard him called other things occasionally, but never to his face),snorted. " 'Not thinking*! That's the problem, boy, too much of the time. Well, think!Deep but sharp, boy, deep but sharp- dont let the world around escape yournotice, lest it sticks a blade in your ribs while your wits are off somewhereconsidering Xult's Seven SigUs! Got it?""Aye, Lord," Narm replied, sighing inwardly. It was to be one of thoseevenings.Even if this inn was nice, he'd scarcely have the chance to enjoy it, withMarimmar holding forth on all of Nairn's many shortcomings. Narm could see now why the Mage Most Magnificent had so readily agreed to take on an apprentice.Marimmar needed someone around to belabor, and no doubt few stayed long tolisten. His master's art was good, though; Narm knew enough of magic to becertain of that. But Marimmar certainly knew how to ruin the delight andenthusiasm of any adventure- or even daily ch.o.r.es, for that matter. Narmturned into the yard of The Rising Moon, p.r.o.nouncing silent curses upon his master.Maybe there would be pretty girls inside. . . .After the hares and four pheasants and too many carrots and potatoes tocount,Shandril stole away for another look at the inn's guests. The company ofadventurers might talk of their deeds, or even show off some treasure.Moreover,she might learn who the two ladies were. Flitting barefoot down the pa.s.sagein her greasy tunic and ap.r.o.n, Shandril peered out cautiously into the noise andbustle.

Across the smoky taproom sat an imperious man in fine gray robes, a thin pipebetween his fat fingers as he spoke to his companion, a much younger man.This one was handsome, even in nondescript gray robes that were too large for him.He was dark-haired and slim, with a very serious face. His eyes were intent onthe cup of wine he clasped on the table before him. Shandril was about to turn awaywhen suddenly his gaze met hers.

Oh, his eyes! Belying that stern face, they were dancing. They met hersmerrilyand did not ridicule her wild-tousled, long blonde hair and greasy garb, butwinked at her as an equal-one, moreover, lucky to be in the shadows and notfacing a steady barrage of questions.Shandril flushed and tossed her head-and yet could not go. Snared by his gaze,by being regarded as a-person and not a servant, Shandril stood watching,mute,hands clenching in the folds of her ap.r.o.n. Abruptly, the youth's gaze wasjerkedaway, as a hooked fish is pulled from the water regardless of its will tostay,by the impatient snapping of the older man's fingers.Shandril stood alone in the shadows, as always, trembling with excitement andhope. These folk who traveled about the world outside were no greater thanherself. Oh, they were rich enough, and had companions and business ofimport,and experience-but she could be one of them. Someday. If ever she dared.Shandril could look no longer. Bitterly she turned back to the kitchen,railinginwardly at the fear that always held her there, despite the endless pots andscalding water, despite Korvan."Get in!" Korvan rumbled, red-faced, as she came to the kitchen. "There'sonions to chop, and I can't do it ail, you know!" Shandril nodded absently as shewalked toward the chopping board at the back of the kitchen. Korvan'sbruising,pinching fingers as she pa.s.sed, and the roar of uneven laughter thatfollowed,were expected now; she hardly noticed. The knife rose and fell in her hands,twinkling. Korvan stared at her. Shandril had never before hummed happilywhile chopping onions.

It was hot and close in the low-beamed room. Narm blinked wearily. Marimmarshowed signs of neither weariness nor relaxation in the cozy warmth of thisplace. I suppose all inns are the same, more or less, Narm thought, but totake this-his gaze strayed again around the noisy camaraderie of the room-all forgranted!But before Marimmar snapped at him to mind his studies and not the antics ofdrunken locals, Narm noticed that the girl who had stared at him from thedark pa.s.sage across the room was gone. The darkness there didn't seem rightwithout her. She belonged in that spot, somehow. And yet-"Will you heed?" Marimmar snapped, really angry now. "What has hold of yoursenses, boy? One drink and this? You'll have a short life indeed, if you gadabout like this when you're in the wild! Some creatures would look upon you as a quick meal. And they'll not wait for you to notice them before they feed!"Obediently, Narm faced his master and dragged his attention back to queries on casting spells: casting in the dark, casting when the proper components werelacking, casting (Marimmar added acidly) when drunk. Again, Narm's head swamwith the picture, his forever now, of the girl gazing into his eyes from the shadows. He almost looked to see if she was there, but checked under hismaster's gaze.

One of the adventurers bad chanced to spill a platter of food, so Shandril was there when it happened. The Company of the Bright Spear were six in number,led by an important, square-bearded, young giant of a man who was fast becomingtoo drunk to keep his seat. His name was Burlane. Gold gleamed and winked in thefirelight at his ears and his throat, upon his fingers, and at his belt. Hebelched and chuckled and reached vaguely for his tankard again.Tb his left sat a real dwarf, the worn and baggy leather of his breeches not a foot from Shandril's bent bead as she scrubbed and sc.r.a.ped beneath the table.The breeches smelled of woodsmoke. The dwarf was called Delg, "the Fearless," as one of his companions had added mockingly, to everyone's amus.e.m.e.nt. Delg wore a dagger strapped to hisleg just above his boot; its hilt shone enticingly inches from Shandril'sface. Something rose up within her and, trembling a little, yet with infinite care,she reached out. . . One of the veterans of the dale, Ghondarrath, a stern-eyed old warrior with agray-white beard edging his hard jaw, was telling of the treasures of theruined City of Beauty, Myth Drannor. Shandril had heard it before, but it was stillfascinating. She listened intently, scarcely daring to breathe, as she tookhold and pulled ever-so-gently. The dagger came free, cold and hard and heavy inher hand. "... So for many long years the elves kept all others away, and the woods grewover the ruins of Myth Drannor. The Fair Folk let it alone; not a harp orspellbook or gemstone did they take. There it all lies in the woods still, not a week's ride north of here. Waiting for the brave-and the foolish- to try forit,for it is guarded by devils... and worse."The old man paused, his audience intent upon his every word, and raised histankard. His free hand slid across his chest like a striking snake.One of the adventurers, a thin man with short blond hair and a ratlike face, was pa.s.sing behind him, and old Ghondarrath grunted and set down his tankard. Heraised his other hand, and all could see the adventurer's wrist claspedwithin. In that captured hand was Ghondarrath's purse."Well," Ghondarrath said dryly, "look what I've found." The room fell silent,save for the crackle of the fire. No one moved. Shandril clutched the daggerfiercely in excitement. She knew she should creep away quickly, lest thedwarf reach for his blade . . . and yet, she couldn't miss this!There was a flurry of movement; the thief whipped a slim dagger out of asheath at the back of his neck with his free hand, stabbing downward. Ghondarrathjerked him coolly sideways, and he crashed helplessly forward onto the table.Ghondarrath's free hand came down upon the back of the thiefs neck with asolid crash, like a tree falling. "Dead?" asked one of the other dalemen in ahoa.r.s.e whisper. For a second more there was silence, and then with a roar the Company of the Bright Spear was on their feet.

"Get him!"

"Sword the graybeard!"

"He's killed Lynxal!"

The dwarf nearly took Shandril's nose off as he kicked back his chair and sprang to his feet, but Shandril jerked back just in time. Chairs overturned and men shouted. Adventure, she thought ruefully as she scuttled on hands and knees beneath the table, was upon her at last.

"They'll kill you, Ghondar!" said one of the old warriors, face white. Beside him, Ghondarrath stood defiant, his chair raised before him in his hands. He had no other weapon.

"I was never one to back down," he said roughly. "I know no other way. Better to die by the blade, Tempus willing, than grow old shamed and craven."

"So be it, graybeard!" said one of the company's warriors viciously, striding forward, blade out.

"Stop!" the old man bellowed with sudden force, startling all there. "If it's to be a fight, then let us go outside. Gorstag's a good friend to us all-I'd not see his house laid waste!"

"*bu should have thought of that a breath or two earlier;' sneered another company member through the general laughter of his fellows. They surged forward.

Shandril reached her feet just as Gorstag and Korvan pounded past her, the cook swearing, a cleaver in his hand. She turned in time to see two blades flash in the firelight as, catlike, the two ladies Shandril had noticed earlier leaped in front of the old man. One of those blades glowed and shimmered with blue-white fire. A rumbling gasp of wonder shook the room at the sight.

"I apologize to this house and to its master for drawing steel," said its silver-haired owner in a clear, lilting voice. "But I will not see butchery done by young fools with quick tempers. Put up your blades, company"-her voice twisted that into a shaming quotation rather than rightful name- "or die, for we shall surely slay you all."

"Or," her companion added pleasantly over the point of her own ready blade, "this can be forgotten, and all keep peace. The thief was caught and drew steel.

The fault is his and his alone, and he has paid. That's an end to it."

With an oath, one of the adventurers plucked at his belt, meaning to s.n.a.t.c.h and throw a dagger. The man grunted and then cried out in fury and frustration, but his hand was held in a grip like unmoving iron. Gorstag said quietly, "Drop your blade.

All others, put away your weapons. I will not have this in my house."

At the sound of his voice, everyone relaxed, the dagger clattered to the floor, and blades slid back into scabbards. "Have I your peace white you stay at The Rising Moon?" the innkeeper asked.The company members nodded, said "Aye" in reluctant chorus, and returned to theirseats. Across the room, the silver-haired bard sheathed her glowing blade and turnedto Ghondarrath. "Forgive me, sir/' she said simply. "They were too many. I wouldnot shame you." The chair trembled in the old man's hands."I am not shamed" he said roughly. "My friends sat all around, and when it came to the death, I was alone, but for you two. I thank you. I am Ghondarrath,and my table is yours. Will you?" He gestured toward a chair.The two ladies clasped hands with him. "Aye, with thanks. I am StormSUverhand,a bard, of Shadowdale."Her companion smiled, too. "I am Sharantyr, a ranger, also of Shadowdale.Well met." Gorstag pa.s.sed them wordlessly, reached the bar, and turned. "The night ishot,"he said to the crowd, "so the house gives you all chilled wine from farAthkatla." There was a general roar of approval. "Drink up," he added, asLureene hastily started around with flagons, "and let this incident beforgotten!" He lifted the limp body of the thief, its head dangling loosely,and carried it away.Across the room, Marimmar removed a restraining hand from Nairn's arm. "Welldone, boy," he said. "Continue to hold your peace, and life will be fareasier for you.""Aye," agreed Narm dryly. His master had certainly given him much practice inholding peace. All around them laughter and the clink and clatter of eatingbuilt up again. Tempers had been restored, and it was too soon to talk of thenear-brawl. The company seemed in fairly good humor, as if the thief hadntbeen liked much anyway. Narm looked about for the girl he had locked eyes withearlier, but she was nowhere to be seen. There was something about her. . . .Ah, well...Narm turned his attention to the chilled wine the serving girl had just brought, before Marimmar could forbid him to drink more. Now,if the old man would just take up his tale of the treasures of lost Drannor, andthe city's ruin by devils again. . . .But Ghondarrath, it seemed, had no more tongue for tales this evening. He sattalking quietly with the two tall, lithe ladies whose ready blades had savedhis life. His eyes shone and his face was ruddy, and he seemed more alive thanfor many a long winter. Several of the locals called on him to resume his tale,but he paid them no heed. Finally, the calls became more general, floating acrossthe taproom to the travelers from afar.To Narm's quiet embarra.s.sment, Marimmar cleared his throat importantly,squaredhis shoulders, and turned about grandly in his chair. Oh, G.o.ds, thought Narmdespairingly, deliver us all. His eyes sought out the ceiling.Before the Mage Most Magnificent could draw breath, however, one of the companyof adventurers had turned to another and said, "Rymel! A tale! Give us all atale!" "Aye! A tale!" echoed other companions. "Well, J don't know," Rymelbegan, but he was drowned out in a roar of protests."Tell you what?" Rymel asked. "What would you hear?" "Wha-well, man, youknow! Anything. Delg," the man added, turning to the dwarf, "you choose. You know more of the old days, and-""Odd things, aye," the dwarf of the company said sourly. "Odd myself, am Inot?" He chuckled away their protests, hefted his drink consideringly, and said,"Well, Rymel, if you will, tell the tale of Yerevan's last race. It's beenawhile, and I would hear it again."Narm noticed that Marimmar, who had been hemming and puffing in his seat,forgothis vanity at hearing the dwarf's request and leaned forward in interest. Thetwo ladies who had defended Ghondarrath also fell silent and turned to listen. The bard Rymel looked about at all the attentive faces and said slowly, "Wellenough then. It's a little tale, mind, not a great saga of love and battleand treasure." "Tell on," the lady called Sharantyr bade him simply from acrossthe room. Rymel nodded, and spoke quietly. Silence fell but for the snap of the fire as those in the taproom leaned forward tohear the better. The bard was good, and his gentle words brought the tragic tale of the lastkingof Westgate to chilling life. All listened, in the cozy room where the old axe hung.The mood of the evening had changed, the danger past and forgotten, Gorstagaffably at ease again. Marimmar the mage never did tell his tale... .The Company of the Bright Spear drank much and went up to their room late.Rymel, his lute left upstairs with their travel gear, had led the locals in ascore of ballads with his fine voice atone. Delg the dwarf had lost hisfavorite dagger somewhere and was moody and suspicious. The burly fighter, Ferostil, was very drunk, and-as usual-trading coa.r.s.e jests in voices loud and slurred, andthe wizard Thail, grim and sober, was guiding him up the stairs with many asighand jaundiced look."Lend me a hand, Burlane," he pleaded, as Ferostil nearly fell back on top ofhim. "This lout is nearer your size.""Aye," their burly leader said good-naturedly. "We've lost enough tonight."He leaned back to grab Ferostil's shoulder. "Come then, Lion of Tempus," hesaid,hauling hard. "Now, where's that room?""This one," the wizard said, and threw the door wide.Within, all was as they had teft it-packs strewn about, cloaks thrown overracks. A single lantern had been lit."My spear!" Burlane roared suddenly. "Where is the Bright Spear?" They peeredall about, alert upon the instant, but there was no place in the room thatcould have concealed its flickering radiance. Their greatest treasure was gone.

"By all the G.o.ds!" Burlane bellowed. "I'll have this inn apart stone by stoneif need be! That thieving b.a.s.t.a.r.d of an innkeeper! Delg-quick, run to demand itof him! Thail, look to our horses! Is anything else missing?""Aye," said the wizard thickly. His hands trembled above his opened pack."All my spells." His face was ashen; he sat down on the bed suddenly and stared atnothing, dazed.

"Thail!" Burlane roared, shaking him. "Come, we must-""My axe also," the dwarf's sour voice cut through Burlane's rage. "I see nosignof our charter from the king, nor Ferostil's shield. RymeP"The bard was standing sadly by his pack. His shrug and empty hands told themhis lute was gone as well. The men of the company stared at each other mutely.Everything dearest and of most value was gone.Into the shocked silence came a knock upon the door.Delg was nearest. Dourly he flung the door wide, expecting trouble. Over hiss.h.a.ggy head they all saw the pale, solemn face of a young girl with large,dark eyes. In one hand, she held their charter from the King of Cormyr. In theother,she gripped a spear that flickered with a pale blue light. She stepped calmlyinto the room past the astonished dwarf, cleared her throat in the tensesilence, and said softly, "I understand you need a thief."in tbe Mist If discomfort and danger be always at hand, why then adventure? There issomething in mankind that leads some always on to such foolishness, and therest of us benefit by the riches and knowledge and dreams they bring us. Why elsetolerate such dangerous idiots?Helsuntiir of Athkatla MusingsIfear of the Winged WarmThe Company of the Bright Spear were six in number. The tall warrior Burlanebore the magical Bright Spear and led the company. A younger bladesman rodewith him, the merry Ferostil. Delg, the dwarf, was also a warrior. His constantcompanion was the bard Rymel, probably the brightest of them all. The wizardThail deferred to his younger, louder companions. Last and least of the companywas the thief, one Shandril, a bright-eyed, soft-spoken waif in ill-fittingold breeches and a much-patched tunic.They had nearly slain her when she had appeared with their missing gear,which she had slipped away and stolen while the ladies Storm and Sharantyr werefacingdown the company in the taproom. After their rage had subsided (under Rymel'slaughter), only Delg had protested against her joining, but the fighter-withthe same avid look in his eyes that Korvan got-was enthusiastic. So far, however,Ferostil had not bothered her. Shandril had slipped out of the inn that same night to wait for the companyin the trees on the edge of Deepingdale, leaving only a hastily scribbled note for Gorstag. She had spent anxious hours in the dark with small forest creatures rustling and scuttling unseen aroundher, afraid that the company would change their minds and ride off withouther. Shandril's heart had leaped when they had come into view through the dawnmists,leading Lynxal's empty horse for her. She had trembled so with excitementthat she could hardly speak, but she had gotten into the saddle somehow, thoughshe had never before ridden a horse. She was relieved to discover the dead thiefs weapons and gear strapped securely to the saddle, though she had no idea howto use them either. She would just have to learn... andfast! She'd taken nothing from the inn but the clothes she wore, and the singlenice gown that had been made for her. Robbing Gorstag seemed a poor way to repayhim for his kindness, and Shandril was not a thief at heart.She wondered that night if she'd be any good at thievery, with the company'seyes on her in judgment. Her arms shrieked stiffly from gripping at reins andsaddlehorn. Her legs ached even worse. Places on her thighs had been rubbed raw,and when it rained and cold, lashing winds blew at the same time, Shandrilwondered why she'd ever left the safe, warm household of The Rising Moon.The next morning, her heart light and free, she knew why she'd left. Allaround her lay the green gloom of deep woods, where men said only elves had walkedscant summers ago. Everywhere she looked she saw new, wondrous things. WhenBurlane had changed their course after a discussion in which Rymel and Thailspoke most, Shandril had been thrilled at the simple freedom of choice.There was another reason she'd left to start a new life. For the first time in her life, she had friends around her. Oh, Gorstag and Lureene had been herfriends, but they were always busy, always rushing off to do something thatdid not involve her. But now she had friends who rode with her and would fightwith her and were there all the time. Hunger for freedom and friendship had pushedher to take that extra step, to steal up to the long room and knock on thedoor to face the Company of the Bright Spear. Even in the taproom, when it might have meant gruff old Ghondar-rath's death and they hadbeen loud and mocking, even then it had thrilled her: the belonging, thetrust. One of their number had been endangered. As one, they sprang to aid him,daringall, heedless of rules or cost. Above all in the world they were companions,and each one raised his blade to defend the others, no matter how weak. That'swhat she was, the weakest of the company, the one with the least experience andwith no magical weapons or magery to boast of. She was not even truly a thief. Theweakest of the company, indeed.But she was of the company, a full and proper member who darned her sockswith the rest of them by the fire the next night in wild country and washed herself,fully clad, in an icy stream, as they did in the gray, misty morn thatfollowed. Shandril had given up on her snarled, greasy hair, pulling it back into asimpletail with a broken strap of Delg's. Even if she was the only female and jestswere often hurled her way as she scrambled, red-faced, out of the deep brushafter relieving herself, she belonged. They were her companions, her family,and she would die for them. The company had left Deepingdale and promptly turned north into the woods,heading for Lake Sember. From old records in Suzail, the wizard Thail hadlearned that the elves had lived on the sh.o.r.es of the Sember in great numbersfor two thousand years or more. Even if nothing of value had been leftbehind,Lake Sember lay along their path to Myth Drannor, and scouting it would servethem as practice for when they reached the ruined city. The company had comeupon good trails in the woods, and for days they had ridden steadily north.Game was plentiful. The forest was never quiet around them, but neither did they see men or other large, dangerous creatures. At last the trees thinned ahead, andthey looked out over Lake Sember.The waters of Lake Sember were deep blue and very still. Clouds scuddingoverhead were mirrored in the lake at their feet; by the sh.o.r.e, the waterseemed as clear as crystal. Beneath it they could see the bottom of the lake falling away, a drowned tree's limbs long, dark, and silent, and the scuttling of atinycrayfish bound for deeper waters.The company fell silent as they looked upon Lake Sember. They all knew nowwhyit had been so special to the elves. Far away down the long lake, a great grayheron rose from the near sh.o.r.e and winged silently across the lake. Theywatched in silence. The heron vanished into the trees. The air had grown cooler, and Shandril shivered. Tall Burlane looked upabruptlyand said, "We must move east. I hope to make camp where the Semberflow leavesthe lake tonight. Let us go."The company turned east along the sh.o.r.e, weaving in and out around the trees,but keeping the water always in view. It would not do to get tost and straysouth again now. Mist began to gather in white curls along the water's edge as the air grew colder. Wisps drifted in under the trees, and the sky fell tosilver-gray. Burlane hurried them on. Shandril found a cloak in thesaddlebagsand thankfully drew it on over her chilled arms and shoulders.Somewhere ahead, a bird called amid the trees. The call did not echo, butfaded away. Glancing around in the gathering darkness, Shandril noticed thatFerostil had quietly drawn his sword. The trees grew dense and the footing uneven, sothey continued on foot."Sharp watch," Burlane commanded quietly. Blades were drawn all around Mm.Shandril drew her own slim long-sword and clutched it firmly. Made for herpredecessor, Lynxal, it was just a trifle too heavy. She felt no safer. Themist closed in around them. Suddenly there came a high, weird, unearthly call, as if from a greatdistance. The horses snuffled and shifted uneasily. Looking at her companions, Shandrilcould see that they were puzzled by the sound as well. She was not the onlyfrightened one, either.By unspoken agreement, the Company of the Bright Spear waited in tensesilence,but the call was not repeated. Shandril breathed a silent prayer for thekindness of Tymora, G.o.ddess of Good Fortune. Finally Burlane ordered theadvance again with a silent jerk of his head. Glad to be moving, they all shifteddampgrips on weapons and reins and ted the horses on through the thick white wall of mist."We should tarry until this mist pa.s.ses," Rymel said, his bard's voice and grayeyes serious for the first time in Shan-dril's memory. Tiny droplets of misthung in the curls of his short beard."Aye," Ferostil replied, his voice low and wary. "And yet-that cry we heard.If we wait, who knows what might hunt us? Surround and entrap us, and we notable to even see them until too late?" His words left a deafening silence. Shandril met Burlane's eyes, trying tolook calm. A trace of a smile crossed his lips as they traded glances, but hiscalmness was an act too. Shandril felt grateful, and suddenly she was lessafraid. Delg the dwarf spoke. "I second that. I cannot abide waiting a whole nightthrough in this damp, doing nothing. I say push on, and we'll be the soonerout of it!" The light was growing dim. One of the horses snorted and shiftedagain,and Delg went to it and spoke soothingly."What say you, Thail?" Burlane asked quietly."It would be more prudent to stop and wait for morning and the lifting ofthis mist," the wizard replied calmly. "But I, too, would hate such waiting.""Shandril?" Burlane asked in the same voice, and Shandril looked up insurprise,thrilled to be considered an equal."I'd rather risk stumbling into danger than waiting the night," she answered as calmly and steadily as she could. She heard several vigorous murmurs of.a.greement.Burlane said simply, "We go on. Better to be all awake and expecting theworst than to be all asleep but two."Suddenly, they heard a soft slithering sound, then a loud "plop," a.s.somethingentered the lake nearby. Shandril's skin crawled. But the company could seenothing. Cautious minutes later they moved on, and soon they came to a placewhere the long gra.s.s was flattened in a wide swath as if by the pa.s.sage of some great bulk, and flecked with trails of green-white slime. The horses shiedfrom the area and had to be pulled across, snorting and rolling their eyes andlifting their feet as though surrounded by coiling snakes. The company hastened on as quickly and quietly as possible. Later they heard something scuttle awayfrom their path, but again met no creature. They went on as night drewdown. At length, the sounds of wide waters moving before them could be heard, andThail, probing with his staff, barred their way. "Open water/' he said in alow voice. "Either we have turned about and headed into the lake," said Rymel, "or thesh.o.r.e has doubled back before us, or- and this seems most likely-we havereached the Sem-berflow, where you intended to camp," he said to Burlane. In thetwilit gloom they heard their leader reply, "Aye, it is likely. will look." Pale light flared as he unwrapped the Bright Spear and bore it past them. Thebard went with him, pa.s.sing the reins of his horse wordlessly into ShandriTshands. She clung to two sets of reins in anxious silence, pleased to be soentrusted, and yet apprehensive. If something startled the horses, she knewshe lacked the strength to hold them.The two were a long time looking, and even Thail had begun to step aboutanxiously before the Bright Spear's radiance could be seen again in the thickviolet and gray mist that enshrouded them. Burlane stepped back among them,looking pleased."It is the Semberflow," he announced. "We camp here. We cannot see to cross.""A fire? Lanterns?" asked Delg. Burlane shook his head. "We dare not. Doublewatch the night through-Shandril and Delg, then Perostil and Rymel, and I'll see the dawn. Make no needless noise. Don't let the horses lie down-it's too damp,and they'll take the chill."The band quickly unburdened and fed the horses, shared cold bread and cheese,and rolled themselves in cloaks and blankets. Shandril found Delg in thedarkness. "How can I keep watch if I can't see?" she whispered. Delg grunted."We sit down in the middle of everything, ladymaid. Back to back, d'you see?We give each other a pinch or an elbow now and then to keep awake. Three such, or more, quickly, means: beware, there's danger. You look, yes, but mostly youkeepstill and listen. Mist does funny things to sounds-you can never trust justwhere and how far away something you hear is-but listen hard to us and the horses first, mind you, and get to know the sounds, and then listenfor sounds that aren't us." Shandril stared at his red, gnarled face for a moment. "All right," she said,drawing her blade. "Here?"The dwarf, already sitting on his cloak with legs outstretched, the axe inhis lap warded from the dew with a fold of his cloak, rumbled affirmatively.Shandril sat down against his rounded, hard hack, feeling the cold touch ofhis mail, and laid her own blade across her knees. She said no more, and aroundthem the camp settled down into steady breathing, m.u.f.fled snores, and theoccasional faint, heavy thud of a shifting hoof. Shandril peered into the night,blinkingdry eyes,A long while pa.s.sed in silence. Shandril felt a yawn coming. She tried tostifle it, and failing, tried to yawn in utter silence, but she felt the firm pressureof Delg*s axe-b.u.t.t driving against her flank immediately. Grinning in thedarkness, she elbowed him back and was rewarded with a gentle squeeze of herelbow. Shandril could visualize his stubby, iron-strong fingers pressing on thepointof her elbow, and was rea.s.sured by the veteran's presence. His eyesight wasfar better than hers in the near-darkness, she knew, and she trusted his years ofcalm experience. What seemed like hours later, he squeezed her elbow gentlyagain; she extended it in firm reply, grinned again, and so they pa.s.sed thenight.Suddenly Delg shifted. "Sleep now," he said into her ear. "I'll wake Rymeland Ferostil." Shandril nodded automatically. The gruff warrior clasped hershoulder and was gone. Sleep now? she thought. Just like that? What if I can't?Shandril rolled over, pulling her cloak up, and stared into the dankdarkness. Where were they? How would she know which way to walk if she awoke and hercompanions were all gone? Suddenly she felt lonely and very homesick.Shandril felt the sting of tears, but she bit her lip fiercely. No! This was herdecision, for the first time-and it was right! She settled her head on herpackand thought of riches and fame ... and if not, an inn of her own, perhaps?

A gentle hand on her shoulder shook her slowly but insistently awake.Shandril blinked btearily up at Rymel. The bard smiled a wordless greeting and was gone.Shandril sat up in the dripping gra.s.s and looked around. The world was stillthick, white, and impenetrable. She could see her companions as gray, movingshadows, and a larger bulk that must be one of the horses, but little else.Byall the G.o.ds, was there no end to this mist?The patient, gray-white cloak of vapor stayed with them as the Company of theBright Spear followed the Sem-berflow's banks away from the unseen lake untilThail recognized a certain moss-covered stump and directed them to cross. Thewizard stepped down into the dark river confidently, the water swirlingaround his ankles and then rising to near his bootstops. Rymel followed, just asmatter-of-factly, leading his horse. But Shandril noticed that he kept hisblade ready in his other hand and looked at the waters steadily and narrowly.Ferostil followed, and then Burlane waved Shandril to go next.The water was icy. Shandril's boots leaked at one heel, and once she steppedinto a deep place hidden under the water and nearly fell. Her firm grip onthe reins saved her; her horse snorted his displeasure as all her weight pulledat his head for an instant, and then she recovered herself and went on.

The far bank seemed no different from the one they had left-tall, drenchedgra.s.s, mist as thick as ever. The company gathered wordlessly to rub the legsof their mounts dry and peer about. The mist brightened still more as the unseensun rose higher, but it did not break or thin. Burlane strode ahead a few pacesand listened intently.Then, quite suddenly, three warriors in chain mail advanced out of the fogwith weapons ready. They bore no badge or colors, and behind them a fourth man led a mule. The mule was heavily laden with small chests securely strapped to aharness. Something metallic within the chests clinked and shifted at thebeast's every step.There was an instant of surprise, and then the three strangers rushed forwardwith an oath, springing to attack the company without so much as a greeting.The fourth turned from the mule to flee back into the mist. Abruptly, Burlane's glowing spear hurtled through the air to pierce the runner at the back of the neck and bear him down. "At them!" the burly leaderhissed. "Look sharp!"Ferostil pushed roughly past Shandril to take a stranger's blade on his own,shove hard to rock the man back on his heels, and then, by a rapid successionof ringing, teeth-jarring blows, batter his way past the man's blade. The two men seemed evenly matched in strength. Shandril was shocked at the savagery oftheir hacking blows.Even as she watched, Delg trotted past her and calmly launched himself intothe air with a grunt. At the height of his leap, he cut hard at the side of theman's helm with his axe. There was a dull crump sound as the blade bit home,and the warrior reeled, then tumbled to the ground. Delg had already reached thenext warrior, a burly man who raised his voice to roar a warning into themist as he fell back before the blades of Rymel and Ferostil.Shandril heard Burlane grunt in pain as the third warrior's blade bit intohis shoulder. The man also swung a war-hammer, but the wizard Thail caught it onhis staff before their attacker could drive it through Burlane's guard.Shandril let go the reins of her mount and ran toward the Bright Spear, whichflickered and glowed in a tangle of gra.s.s near the man Burlane had hit. Sheheard a strangled cry behind her but dared not look as she rushed over theuneven ground. Metal skirled and clashed again behind her. As Shandrilreached the spear, she saw menacing shapes looming out of the mist. More warriors!She had no time to look down at its victim or behind her, for one of the newcomers was snarling at her, eyes glittering, a longsword reaching for her as hecharged.She saw the angry face of a second attacker before she could jerk the spear free and run, ducking low and turning, trailing the spear point down in the gra.s.s.The closest warrior's swing clove the air, and she was away, stumbling in herhaste. Delg grinned at her as he rushed past to meet the newcomers. Beyondhim,Shandril could see the company advancing. All of their opponents had fallen.She looked to Burlane, raising the spear, but he shook his head, clutching his shoulder. "I cannot use it. Wield it well! More come!"TUrning again, Shandril saw Ferostil and Delg closing with five warriors.Beyond, more newcomers loomed out of the mist, weapons gleaming.The company was overmatched. Shandril hurried to Burlane's side, to guard hisinjured flank with the spear. It felt awkward in her hands, and he'd be closeenough to shout directions for its use to her, if nothing else.From Thail's hands burst three bolts of light, streaking through the air tostrike at three foes. One stiffened and fell; another staggered but camegrimlyon. The third gasped and then roared a warning back into the mist, in aharsh,hissing tongue Shandril did not understand.Then a warrior was rushing at her again. He had burst past or cut his waythrough the company's warriors and was closing quickly, a great swordclutched two-handed above his head. Shandril saw with sick fascination that its edge was dark with blood. It came toward her so smoothly, so quickly, swinging down,down-and then Burlane shoved her roughly from behind.Shandril fell helplessly forward, dropping the spear as she crashed into theman's legs. He toppled and came down hard on her shoulder.Red pain exploded in Shandril's arm as she fought for breath. She sobbed andthen rolled desperately away. Her shoulder burned. The arm below felt numb.Shandril came dizzily to one knee in the gra.s.s and saw Delg calmly hewanother foe down into the gra.s.s a little distance away. She turned wildly and sawBuriane regarding her gravely across the body of the warrior she had faced.He had tripped over her or gotten tangled with her and the spear long enough forBurlane to cut his throat. The Bright Spear blazed in Burlane's grasp. He held it out to her. "Neverfreeze in a fight," was all he said. As he raised his head to look past her,Shandril noticed the white line of an old scar on his neck that she had not seen before. The mist had lifted enough to reveal, trampled in the gra.s.s, the still bodiesof fallen enemy warriors. Before them stood the company's warriors, leaning ontheir weapons and panting. Thail looked worried as he turned to Burlane.

"Perhaps I can use the art to drive some of them to slumber," he said, "b.u.t.too many remain-far too many."Shandril knew he was right. The strangers had drawn back from the company'sblades to gather their strength and attack as one. Shandril counted nearlytwenty men, clad in leathers or chain mail. None bore any sigil or blazon;all were armed. They seemed to be led by a stout warrior who wore a dark helm. Athis gesture, his men had spread out in a long crescent, curving around thecompany, advancing slowly to either side.Shandril turned to Burlane to warn him to pull back, to run now, but as her eyessaw his face-calm and bleak and a little sad-the cry died on her lips. Where was there to run to? She turned back to look at their foes. So many, so intent onher death. Beyond their grim, slowly advancing line, more men held the reinsof a score of mules, all laden as the first one had been. There was no escape.Shandril, her shoulder throbbing, gripped the Bright Spear firmly, determinedto please the war G.o.d Tempus even if Tymora, the Lady of Luck, had turned herface from them. She should never have left Gorstag and The Rising Moon. . . . Butshe had, and she was going to see this through. She hoped she would not run."Clanggedin!" Delg roared hoa.r.s.ely, as if to the ground at his feet. He flungdown his axe. "Battle-Father, let this be a good fight!" He drew thewarhammer at his belt and brought it down hard on the axe with a ringing sound-a soundthat thrummed and echoed around them before rolling away. Tb Shandril'samazement, Delg began to sing. The axe at his feet glowed and shimmered andthen lifted slowly into the air before him.The whole company and their foes alike stood amazed. Delg, his weathered facewet with tears and his voice cracking as he sang on, extended one stubby handand the axe rose into it, winking with a light that had not been therebefore. Delg seemed to grow and straighten. His beard jutted defiantly, and thewarhammer he held began to glow faintly. Its radiance pulsed and grew as hesang, until it matched the sheen of the axe in his other hand.The dwarf stepped forward, then, singing old ballads in his rough voice. Pride and awe and grat.i.tude rang in his songs as Ferostiland Rymel stepped forward to join him.Shandril looked to Burlane and whispered, "Does he do this every time? Imean-" She stopped, embarra.s.sed at the twinkle in his eye. Suddenly, Burlane roaredhis laughter aloud and clasped her to him, and she felt foolishly happy. Ah, butif one is to die, she heard the voice of an old wandering priest of Tempus whosometimes stopped at the inn, it is best to die in a good cause, fightingshoulder to shoulder with good friends.That thought brought a sudden chill, and Shandril raised the Bright Spear'sglowing point before her and tensed. Across the trampled gra.s.s, the enemywarriors exchanged a few barked commands and replies and began to trotforward,blades raised to slay. Delg sang on.The gleam of the dwarfs weapons grew dazzling and then died away suddenly asthe mist parted.In the sudden morning light there was movement. Between the two warring bandswalked two newcomers. One was tall and handsome, clad in forest green. Agreatsword was scabbarded at his hip, and a gray hawk rode on his shoulder. Hestrode easily, obviously slowing his stride to match that of his companion.The companion was an old and long-bearded man whose eyes shone with keenintelligence and good humor. He wore plain brown robes with a tattered grayhalf-cloak, and the stains of spilled food and wine were dry but copious down his front. He spoke to his companion in a voice of aged, crotchetydistinction,and, as the two stepped nearer, Shandril could make out the words."... Silverspear distinctly told me, Florin, that if there were elves left tomeet us anywhere in the Elven Court, they would meet us here, and I've neverknown elves . . ." His companion had noticed the two groups of combatants in the mist. Dartingswift glances about, he made to draw his sword. But the old man beside himwalked on. "... to be untrustworthy, or forgetful, mark ye. Never. ! doubt overmuch thatthey've been either this time, say oi tiers what they may. Five hundredwinters have I known them, and . . ."

The tall warrior plucked gently at his companion's shoulder. "Ah,Elminster..." he ventured, hand on his hilt, eyeing the score of charging warriors on theirleft and the waiting six on their right. "Elminster!""... though that be but a short time to an elf, it is long enough for these eyesand ears to take the measure of-eh? Aye then, what?" Irritated, the old manpeered about, following the warrior's swift pointing finger to right and left.He peered at the Bright Spear in Shandril's hands and then seemed to pauseand nod as he saw Delg. He stopped and nodded to his right. The warrior the old man had called Florin obediently turned toward the company, half-drawing hisblade. It glowed with its own blue-white light. He did no more, but stoodwatchfully,wary eyes raking them all. Shandril thought that here was a man other menwould follow to the death and obey with loving loyalty. The company stood unmoving.The mage called Elminster was chanting as he drew two items too small to be seen from his robes and brought them together, his hands moving with a curious,gentle grace. AbrupJJy, he drew his hands apart violently. Light pulsedbetween them, and the items were gone. Elminster faced the charging warriors, flunghis hands wide, and spoke a last quiet word.The warriors came to a halt just short of the old mage, blades flashing; thenthey wavered and backed away. Trotting awkwardly as they turned and roaredtheir bafflement, they gathered speed. In wonder, Shandril watched mules, warriors,and all charge away as fast as they could, crying out in rage and frustrationand brandishing their weapons. The mist swallowed them long before theircries died away.The old mage walked on unconcernedly. The kingly warrior paused a moment,looking after the warriors Elminster had repelled, and then strode suddenly on to catch up with his friend, casting a last long look at the company.Shandril noticed that the green eyes of the hawk on his shoulder had never left them.Elminster looked again at the Bright Spear, made a "move away" gesture withthe backs of his fingers at the company, and strode on into the mist.

"Now, as I was saying, she said I was to expect them on the banks of the Sember, and I've never known Silverspear to speak falsely. There's many a time . .."

As the mists swallowed them both, the tall warrior cast his calm gaze at them once more, and Shandril could have sworn that he winked.

The company stood a moment in shocked silence, and then Burlane dragged Shandril with him to where the others stood. "Come on!" he hissed, "Delg! Enough!

Clanggedin has heard! Let us go, before they return!"

"Who was that?"

"Go? Where?"

"Aye, while we can!"

"Did you see that? A wondrous thing!"

"Later!" Burlane said sharply, and the company fell silent. "Thank you, Delg.

Let us not waste the good fortune Clanggedin has given us! Delg, check the bodies! Thai! and Rymer, collect the horses! Be back here before I count six.

Then we flee!"

"What? Af-"

"Later," Burlane said, and they went. No coins were to be found on the bodies, however, and the weapons did not measure up to their own. A few extra daggers and one good pair of not overlarge boots was their booty.

Burlane had sheathed the Bright Spear's glowing blade while the others searched.

He and Shandril bound Ferostil's shoulder with strips of cloth. Rymel and Thail arrived back in haste with the horses, which had not strayed far.

Burlane pointed ahead and to the right. "We go this way," he said. "Quick and-at all costs-quiet. They'll expect us to flee. Men so strong in numbers and so quick to slay will not expect us to pursue them." He strode forward.

"What?" Ferostil hissed angrily. "Slink away with nothing to show for it?

There was coin on that mule, maybe on all of them! Wha-"

"Later," said Burlane again, almost mildly, but Ferostil flinched as if a sword had struck him. "I've no wish to let slip treasure, nor let pa.s.s those who draw our blood without so much as a greeting. Our skulker can trail them. We'll follow and strike when death is not such a close and certain

answer" He smiled down at Shandril as they pressed on