Shandril's Saga - Spellfire Part 6

"Now that's a trick I'd give much to learn," Tbrm said delightedly."Much it will cost ye," Elminster replied. "But enough of such tricks. Bethankful, all of ye, that The Simbul favors our desires in this matter. Ifshe did not, ad of my time would be spent thwarting her and my art would be lostto you. Who knows what foes we may yet face in this matter? *te may have need ofme." "We always need you, old mage," Moumgrym answered, a twinkle in his eye. "Isthere anyone else who would now speak on this? Narm and Shandril, you neednot make speeches if you do not desire to do so, nor are you expected to answer anyqueries put to you." There was a brief silence."I would speak, Lord of the Dale," said Storm Silverhand softly. She rose,silver hair swirling gently about the dark leather that clad her shoulders.She looked directly at Narm and Shandril. "We who harp are interested in you,"she said. "Think on whether you might want to walk our way."Eyebrows lifted in silence all around the table. Rathan looked all about,then asked noisily, "Is all the formal tongue-work done, then? Can we enjoyourselves now, and let all the others back in? Lord?"Mourngrym grinned. "I think you have cut to the heart of the boar, chosen ofTymora. Open the doors! Let us feast! Elminster, do not go, I pray you!"The old sage had already risen. "I am old for all the babbling and flirtingthat goes on at your feasts. I keep looking down at all the comely la.s.ses, and seeonly the faces of those I met at feasts long ago, in cities now dust-truly, Mourngrym, I enjoy itnot. Besides, I have work to do. My art stands not still, and more things unfoldunder the eyes of Selune than just this matter of spellfire, ye know. Fare yewell, all." He strode forward and crouched before the fire. SuddenlyElminster became a great, gray-feathered eagle, and was gone up the chimney, as TheSimbul had gone."Show-off," Jhessail said affectionately, watching him go.Shandril looked at Rathan, who held a bottle in either hand, as she leanedacross the board to speak to Jhessail. Her tutor bent her head obligingly,hair falling almost into a dish of cheese-filled mushroom caps."Lady," Shandril said in a low voice. "Wh-""Call me Jhess!" Jhessail responded fiercely. "This 'lady' business keeps methinking there's some n.o.ble matron behind me, disapproving of my every move!""Jhess, then; forgive me. Why does Rathan drink so much? He never seems togetdrunk, at least that I have seen, but. . .""But he drinks a goodly lot?" Jhessail agreed. "Yes . .. you should know. It was what our companion Doust Sulwood gave up his lordship of this dale for.'"Rathan's drinking?""No, no-I meant, they both faced the same problem. A good priest of Tymoramust continually take risks-reckless ones, in the eyes of most others. WorshippingTymora truly and trusting in the Lady's luck causes a problem if you are also sensitive to what your recklessness does to others, or are by nature cautious or considerate. The life of trusting to hick does not sit well with the life ofcontemplating the consequences of one's actions, or wishing for the securityand comfort of routine and prudence. You ee that?""Yes." Shandril nodded. "But how-?" "Ah. Well, Doust as lord of this dale had to make decisions that affected thelives of the dalefolk. Concern for their safety was his duty, if you will. Hecould not do well by them and serve the Lady of Luck well. In the end, hiscalling proved the stronger, and he gave up the dale rather than rule poorly.

wish that more who fought such a battle within themselves between office andbelief recognized their dilemma, and reached the right choice."Jhessail looked fondly across the room at Merith. "As my lord, too, hasdone-but that is another story." She looked at Rathan. "As for that buffoon, hisjestingis but an act. He is very sensitive and romantic, easily moved to tears. Hehides 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 luckmore and live in danger. Tb do so, he steels himself with drink. Because hedoes not want to become falling-down drunk, he eats like a starving wolf. Thismakes him fat, as you can plainly see, and in turn makes him able to take in moredrink without staggering about and slurring his jests. Do not think him adrunkard, 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 theseyears, is to look at all things, and folk, however strange they seem, fromall sides. "Neglect not to act as you must, but try to think as you act. You will seethings as others do, as well as the way you are used to thinking. If you walkwith the Harpers," she added, nodding across the noisy room toward Storm,"theywill 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 thestaff and guardsmen of the tower all crowded in to the large, high-ceilingedhall. There was much laughter and chatter. Narm joined Shandril in thetumult,kissing her."They seem to party with a right good will here, I'll say that," Shandrilgreeted him."Aye," Narm agreed. "I swear some of the guards had wine-headaches thismorning.""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* "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 MythDrannor to one side and in Daggerdale on the other. Now you are here, and they knowpowerful foes may attack at any time, seeking to slay or capture you. Someknow a duty to defend you; some merely fear they will be caught in the way whengreatmight is unleashed. They fear you, too, Shandril, no little bit. *faurspellfireupon the hilltop is a scene told often, and vividly, in the taproom of theOld 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 asfor any guest before their hearth, kin or stranger."Who can follow adventure, or even stand up strong in these Realms, withoutfinding foes on all sides, often more than it seems one can handle? You arewelcome, 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 oldmage 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 thelong-haired magic-user pulled them out into an open s.p.a.ce and let out abirdlike trilling call. At once Merith looked up, smilingly excused himself from twofat 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 ofblackwood inlaid with silver, and hung on the wall amon^the shattered andrusting shields of past, long-dead lords of Shadowdale.As Jhessail told the couple that the harp had been a gift from the elves ofMythDrannor, 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 tothe frolic that of old we danced on the banks of the Ashaba? Storm, you know thetune. . . ." It was late, or rather very early. Revelers saw stars glittering coldly inthe clear dark sky from each window as they went up the stairs together, footsoreand happily sleepy. "Elves must be stronger than I'd thought," Narm grunted as they mounted the last flight to the level where their bedchamber was. TheTwisted Tower was quiet around them. Far below, the revelry continuedunabated, but no sound carried this far. The guards stood silent at their posts.At the head of the stairs, Shandril stripped off her shoes and set her achingfeet upon the cold stone. The chill on her bare flesh roused her somewhatfrom drowsiness. She slipped out of Narm's grasp and, laughing, ran lightly ahead.Wearily, he grinned, shook his head, and made haste to follow. They were bothrunning when the blow fell.Shandril heard a dull thud behind her, as if something heavy and made ofleather had been dropped. It was followed by a thumping and scrabbling sound, as ifsomeone had fallen. "Narm?" she called, turning as she reached their door."Narm? Did-" She saw a grim-faced guard almost upon her and running hard, the mace thathad felled Narm raised before him in one mailed fist. Shandril saw the blood uponit and realized she had no time to dodge or fight. She let go the ring of thedoor and ran. She fled on bare feet down the long, dimly lit hall, and saw the guard Rold,stationed far ahead under a flickering torch, turn and look at her. A wild ragegrew in Shandril out of the shrieking fear for Narm's life. She looked backthrough her streaming hair and saw a mailed hand only inches away, reaching.Without thought, she dove sharply to the rugs of the hall and rolled.There were sharp, numbing blows on her back and flank as armored boots struckher. A startled curse rang outO*

above her as her a.s.sailant tripped, landing in a crash of metal as he fellheavily upon his arms. Shandril rolled free and up to her knees even as theguard, who was fast and well-trained, spun about with his legs kicking in theair and drew back his mace to hurl at her. Their eyes met across too little s.p.a.ce, and fire exploded from Shandril'sragingglare. The guard yelled in fear and drove his large and dark mace at her. Itsmashed aside her hastily raised fingers and struck her hard on one side ofthe face. Shandril slid into a yellow haze of confusion and down into darkness.Rold struck Culthar from behind without mercy, war-hammer crashing down uponhis helm even as he demanded, "Are you mad? You are sworn to protect her!"Culthar, slumping limply aside with blood running from nose and mouth, saidnothing. He crumpled against the wall and was forgotten as Rold scrambled over him to reach Shandril. He recalled that her touch was said to be death when she hurled spellfire, but his hands did not hesitate as he drew off a gauntletand gently felt her temple.He wiped away the blood there, then got up with a curse to fling his gauntletat the nearest alarm. Wrapping her shoulders in his half-cloak, he held herclose and drew a silver disc on a fine chain from his belt. "Lady Tymora," he prayed hoa.r.s.ely as the hollow singing of the gong died away,"if you favor those cursed to be different from most folk, aid this poor la.s.snow. She has done no wrong within these walls, and needs your blessing now most dearly. Hear me, Lady, I beseech you! Turn your bright face upon Shandril.Tymora, Bright Lady, please hear!" And the old soldier held Shandril in his arms and waited for the sound of running feet, and prayed on.In a turret that curved out from the inner wall of Zhentil Keep, there was asmall, circular room without a window, and in that room, Ilthond waited withscant patience. The time was come; Manshoon still did not come back to thecityof the Zhentilar. If Ilthond held spellfire in his hands and knew how towield it, such a return would not have to be* *

feared overmuch. The young magic-user paced before his crystal. The eagle that had to beElminster was even now coining to earth by the door of the little towerwherein the old mage dwelt. In another instant, the eagle became Elminster, pipe,battered old hat, and all, and went into the old, slightly leaning tower ofcrumbling stone. Ilthond waited an instant more, and then drew forth a scrollfrom a tube fashioned from the hollow wing-bone of a great dragon. A teleportspell, set down by the mage Haklisstyr of Selgaunt. Since his bony back hadmet with a dagger, thoughtfully poisoned by the ambitious Ihhond, he wouldn't beneeding it anymore.The mage rolled out the scroll on the table beside the crystal and set coins, a dagger, a candlestick, and a skull at the corners to hold it open. He fixedin his mind a clear picture of a certain blanket room on the third floor of thetower of Ashaba in Shadowdale, and began to cast the spell.From below him, from another room of the turret, came the faint piping of aglaurist blowing the mournful melody of an old ballad:Good fortune comes, fleeting, and then it is gone But the heart heavy withweeping must carry on 0 hick comes and stays like winter's cold snow Always youmust weather more than one blow... Ilthond spread his hands in a grandflourish to finish the spellcasting and vanished. The floating, disembodied eyeball of a wizard eye spell that had been watching him from beneath the table winked outand was also gone."Of course she'll live, if ye get out of my way for a breath or two!" Rathanroared, "Lanseril, stay here to work healing magid Rold, ye saved her; yestayby her, too. Florin, bring Narm over here ... be he awake yet? All others,getye hence! Betow stairs, the lot of ye! Mourngrym, ye and Shaeri may stay, ofcourse. The rest-clear out! Get ye gone!""Narm stirs," Jhessail reported tersely. "We shall take this guardsman, ifRold has not quite slain him, and learn the whys of this." She gestured with herhead to the gathered guards to move Culthar's body, and then added, "All others-back to your posts, please. Our thanks for your haste in coming." Theguards saluted her and left.A group of gawking servants and pages drifted back a pace or two at Rathan'swords, but remained to watch. Florin laid Narm down gently upon a hastily found sleeping-fur, letting his bruised head down with care, and looked up at theonlookers. After a few moments of his silent, steady gaze, the gawkers beganto shuffle away."How is she?" he asked, looking at Shandril's still face."Well enough," Rathan replied, "considering the blow to the wits she got. Ionlyhope that it has not somehow harmed her ability to wield spellfire, now thathalf of Faerun seems to be attacking her to gain it." He and Florin exchanged a sober glance."Why would just one guard attack her?" Mourngrym muttered, frowning."One seemed to do well enough," Shaeri replied, gesturing at the two stillforms at their feet. "No, love; I meant I would expect to find other attackers near at hand."The Lord of Shadowdale turned. "Rold, I want this tower searched, forthwith,this floor first. Jhessail, will you rouse Olistyl and stand guard over ourtwo guests, here? I shall remain also." He drew his slim, jeweled sword, set itpoint down before him, and leaned upon it. Shaeri nodded and knelt by Narm,who had begun to moan faintly.Florin knelt on one knee beside him, and was ready with gravely strong armswhen the young conjurer suddenly surged up, arms flailing. "Where's-? Shandril!Danger! Beware! Danger!""Aye... aye," Florin agreed gently, holding him. "Danger it was, indeed. Staystill now, and we can see to your lady.""Shandril? How-" "Quiet and still, please. If you will heed, you will learn. She lies behindyou;Rathan and Lanseril tend her." "I-yes, I shall." Narm sank back, wincing as his head came to rest again uponthe furs. "What happened?""Narm lay quiet and still as he was bid, that's what happened," the LadyShaeri said severely.Narm grimaced, and then he heard Shandril say softly, "I thank you. Narm was hurt; have you seen to him?" His heart knew peace and he was asleep within a breath, not even hearing Hainan's reply.It was dark in the blanket room and close, smelling of pomander and moth-mix.Ilthond stifled a sneeze, nodded in satisfaction at his accurate teleporting,and listened. He could hear nothing. Well enough. Tb work, then.The mage worked invisibility upon himself, then cautiously eased the door open a crack. The corridor beyond seemed empty. He stole forth and looked about.Belter and better, he thought. Ilthond muttered a spell of flight and rosehighto drift unseen along the corridor and search. No guards . . . why? Wa.s.shadowdale truly so lax and careless a place as all that? No, there must be some strife or alarm. ... Around the corner came a dozen guards with drawn swords and forbidding,intent glares. Ilthond moved over and past them in careful silence. Where might theyoung maid be? The tower's mortar was mixed with substances to prevent scrying,but he was sure he'd find her anyway.Perhaps she was up in the plainer but more secure rooms of the levels above, or down below, as befitted a guest of importance. The greater risk probably laydownward- but so, too, did almost all chances of learning who was where, anddoing what. Ah well, a short, risky road leads fastest to the top, they say... ,Ilthond reached the stairs and headed down, keeping near the sloping stoneceiling. Carefully and quietly he went, like a silent shadow. He searched,nosing through rooms and along halls, flitting back and forth with patient care not to be brushed against or seen by those who might be able to detect him.He had come down a long hall where the torches burned every twenty paces, andthere at one end humans in rich garb stood or knelt near two who lay side byside on the ground. Ilthond came closer slowly, silently, straining to hearfrom afar. "How d'ye feel?" Rathan growled. "Better, I trust?"Shandril nodded, slowly. "My head still aches. But my thanks, indeed, goodRathan. Again I am in your debt for healing me when I lay stricken.""Not in my debt," Rathan corrected. "The Lady it is whom ye owe." He traced acircle about the disc upon his breast with the middle finger of his righthand. "Tfes, I shall not forget the Lady's favor," Shandril replied. "How is Narm?"Rathan looked over at Narm. "He sleeps. Best to let him sleep on. But youmust try your spellfire," he said gently.Shandril had come up to her elbows. She now drew her legs under her andextended her hand. From her spread fingers spellfire spat, crackling down the hall in a long tongue of flame. She ended it almost immediately, and it died away,curlinginto air. "As before," she said briefly. "I can still-"A pain-wracked groan came out of empty air down the hall. Florin andMourngrymdrew blades instantly and stepped in front of Shandril to shield her. Shaerldrew her dagger and reached out with its pommel to pound a gong close at hand.Its echoes had barely died away before the form of a robed man with hawkishfeatures and glossy black hair came into view in midair. His face was twistedwith pain, his robe still smoldered, his shoulder and breast were burnedbare. He hissed the word that unleashed the power of the wand in his hand.Lightning sprang into being and a forked bolt struck both Florin andMourngrym.The Lord of Shadowdale staggered aside and fell heavily, blade clattering.Shaerl cried out and ran to him. Florin, too, fell, driven to his knees bythe energy hurled against him, but he was struggling up into a weak charge, faceblack with pain and effort. Shandril stood up and lashed out in heartsick angerwith spellfire."Wherever I go!" she said bitterly, on the verge of tears. "Always, beset!Always friends and companions hurt! You come seeking spellfire? Well,then-have it!" Spellfire roared out of her in a tumbling inferno that lasted for but abreath but raged down the hallway in a blistering wall that swept over theflying mage like a wave crashing over rocks in a storm.

Narm had awoken, looking dazed. He struggled to his knees to work art, toprotect his lady from this new menace. His hands halted in midair as he gazedat the blackened, crippled thing that the spellfire left behind on the scorchedrugs of the hall.Shandril raised a hand again as the man moved weakly and twisted cooked lipsin hissing words of art, but she did not unleash her flames. The head sank downbetween smoking shoulders that shook with pain. The mage vanished, gone asthough he had never been. Only the smoldering of rugs showed where he hadlain. "Wherever we go," Shandril said wearily, turning to Rathan, "your healingservices are needed. I hope you will not grow tired of it all before this comes to an end." "Lady" Rathan said as he hastened to where Mourngrym lay. "This never ends, Ifear. Worry not about my patience-it is what I walk these Realms for." Heknelt by the Lord of Shadowdale, and looked back at her over one shoulder. "You do a most impressive job, I must say," he added with the barest trace of a grin.Jhessail arrived then, robes held high as she sprinted along in the forefrontof a large group of guards. "Shandril?" she cried. "Florin? Mourngrym?" Merith was at her side, blade out."Healing, we need," Rathan said. "The time for blasting and all that ispast."He looked up. "Send ye four guardsmen for Eressea at the temple ... I have nomore power to heal now, and Mourngrym yet needs it." Jhessail spun about torelay his orders and then back to face them all."What happened?" she asked."Another mage. Flying about, this one was, and invisible. Shandril touchedhim with spellfire purely by chance when I asked her to test her powers. Hestruck Florin and Mourngrym with lightning from a wand. Shandril burned him but didnot slay him. He teleported away," Rathan explained. Jhessail looked at Shandriland then sighed."You stew him not?" she asked. Shandril nodded, eyes on hers. "I could not," she said. "It was . ..horrible. Who knows? He may have meant me no harm at all."Jhessail nodded. "I cannot fault you," she said slowly. "Yet I bid youremember this: when you fight, art to art, seek to slay-and mind you finish the job.An enemy who escapes will return for revenge.""Aye," said Shaerl, eyes hot. "A man who dared to strike down my lord livesyet!I blame you not, Shandril. It must be terrible to hold such death within you,always knowing you can slay. Yet, if that man were within my grasp right now, would not hesitate to strike and slay. One who would harm my Mourngrym doesnot deserve to live." As she spoke, they heard the sounds of running feet. A guardsman reached thehead of the stairs, yelling, "Lord Mourngrym! Lady Shaerl!"

Shaerl turned. "Say on.""My lady, the prisoner is gone! We had him in the cell, and his hands werebound-yet he vanished before our eyes!""The man Culthar?" Shaerl asked. "How could this happen?" She turned toJhessail, and then back to the guard at Jhessail's calm-faced nod. "My thanks.I hold you blameless. Return to your post, with our thanks."The guard nodded, bowed, and hurried off.JhessaU shrugged. "A teleport ring, perhaps, or even a rogue stone. There maybe other ways of art Elminster and I dont yet know. All would require outsideaid. The Zhen-tarim, perhaps, or the priests of Bane. He was the eyes for someone,here in the towen" She spread her hands with a ghost of a smile. "All the ravens are gathering."Shaerl sighed. "Yes, I'm growing tired of it."Rathan looked up. "Ye're growing tired of it! What of we who heal?""Ah, but you have divine aid," said Mourngrym weakly from below him. "Mind yousee to Florin, too," the Lord of Shadowdale added. "I need him healthy andalert." The man who had declined the lordship of Shadowdale, and led the knights fromtheir early days, was leaning against a wall in pain-wracked silence."Florin?" Jhessail hailed him tentatively, as she drew near. "Are you badly hurt?""As usual." Florin's voice was rueful, and he lowered it so that only shecould hear his next words, so faintly that she almost missed them. "I fear I am growing too old for this constant battle,Jhess. It's not the thrill it used to be." "Oh, no, you don't," Jhessail said briskly, putting a slim arm about hisgreatshoulders. "Not now. We need you." Awkwardly she drew him down until he wa.s.sitting against the wall. "You'll feel much better once you've been healed."Merith joined them. Florin nodded gratefully to them both, and then quietlyfainted. Jhessail let his head rest heavily on her shoulder and said to her husband,"Mylord, please run to the strongbox for one of our potions. He's hurt worse thanI thought."Shandril, watching this, turned her face to the wall and leaned her foreheadupon her arm. "I-I-we must leave you. You are always hurt for our sake, oneattack upon another. You are my friends! I must not do this to you, day afterday, mages attacking and all. . ." She burst into tears."Must we have all this weeping?" Rathan complained. "It's as bad as all thefighting! Nay, worse-ye can stop the fighting by slaying your foe!"Narm rose to defend his lady, but Rathan pushed him down again with twostrongfingers. "Don't start! Ye're not fully healed yet, not nearly. I'm not having yerushing around getting hurt and dispensing worldly sage-speech and crying allabout the place, yet. D'ye hear? Just lie back down and wait. We'll see ifthere's time for me to spare to listen to such foolishness later."Merith went to Shandril then, and tickled her gently under the ribs on oneside,until in irritation the young lady turned from the wall. Then he swept her upin his arms and kissed away her tears. "Nay, nay, little one, you need not be ashamed or upset on our account. It is a hard road you walk, an adventurer's road. Would you not walk it together, with us? It is not so lonely or hard, with friends."

"Ohh, Merith," Shandril said, and sobbed upon his shoulder. Merith carried her over to where Florin and Jhessail sat, and sat her down upon his own lap before them. Jhessail and Florin both looked at her with smiles.

"You must not cry so," Jhessail chided her. "Does the hawk weep because it has wings? Does the wolf howl because it has teeth? We do what we can with our art or our skill-at-

arms. Is your spellfire so different? Use it as you see fit, and don't hold yourself responsible for the attacks others make on you, or this place. We do not blame you for them."

She reached over and patted Florin's knee. "Let's all go down to the great hall as soon as Eressea has done her healing," she said, "and see if there's aught to eat or drink. Violence always makes me hungry."

In a turret that curved out from the inner face of the walls of Zhentil Keep, in a small, circular chamber, Ilthond lay on a familiar floor. He lay upon the painted circle that he had practiced teleporting to over and over again, and groaned in pain. None were there to see or hear; he was alone behind three locked and hidden doors. The pain wracked him in waves of red agony, like a man struggling through the breakers upon a beach. Ilthond crawled forward between waves, seeking the cabinet where he kept his potions. He wondered dully if he'd make it in time.

"That's quite enough of this foolishness," Elminster said peevishly. "I leave ye and within half a dozen breaths ye're fighting yet another mage trying to steal spellfire for himself! Well, then, I'll not leave ye again... yell stay in my tower, ye two, with my scribe Lhaeo and myself.

"To draw off all who are snooping about hoping to seize spellfire for themselves, Illistyl and Tbrm will impersonate ye, and will stay in a tent with Rathan upon Harpers' Hill. Merith, ye and Lanseril will keep a watch upon them.

Now pa.s.s that wine ye're curled so lovingly about, Rathan, and let's have no argument or endless clacking of tongues; the matter's settled."

"I'm glad of that," Florin said dryly. "Have you no task for Jhessail or myself?"

"Eh? G.o.ds' watch, man! Someone has to watch over the dale, and fight the armies of Zhentil Keep if they come calling! You two ought to be able to manage that!"

There were dry chuckles, and then a yawn. Shandril's eyes were nearly closed.

"Love," Narm said gently, shaking *

her. "Are you sleepy?"

"Of course I am," she replied faintly. "We were going to bed when this uproar

started, remember?""Tb bed, then!" Elminster said gruffly. "All of us will go over to my towertogether-and then mind the lot of ye all return here, except ye two. I don'twant to be falling over a lot of snoring knights in the morning!""At this rate," Lanseril replied, "you're safe on that score. You'll befallingover a lot of snoring knights at highsun, instead." Amid chuckles they wentout into the night."Keeping you awake, Rold?" one of his fellows grunted jovially at dawnfrythat morning. The guardroom was strewn with gloves, helms, and scabbarded blades, as their owners lingered over the last of fried bread, tomatoes, and bacon. Theold veteran yawned again."Glad I am, indeed," he said, "that the young lord and lady are out of thetower. No offense to them, mind you. It's just that I'll be more likely tosleepwhen I'm off duty.""Less of sinister mages and a.s.sa.s.sins skulking in every hall and chamber andpeeking in at all the windows, you mean," another, sharp-voiced guard agreed,buckling on his sword."Aye, Kelan. Less art we cannot hope to fight... and less treachery fromwithin." A little silence fell at the veteran's words. Then Kelan spokesoftlyto them all. "Who d'you think got to Culthar? What did they offer him to chance such areckless grab at one who could cook him to the bones in an instant?""Who can know another man's price?" Rold replied, as quietly. Several of theguards nodded. The veteran added, "I doubt that he needed much persuading. Ithink he was already loyal to someone or some group outside of the dale, andthey merely told him to do this thing for them.""What group?" came the blunt question, as swords were readied in sheaths, andbelts settled about hips. Rold shrugged."That, I know not-or I'd be at Lord Mourngrym to let me go after them. Nay,do not laugh. It is always easier on one's temper, if not one's hide, to bemovingand attacking, instead of growing weary and cold at a guardpost, never knowing where andwhen strikes a blade-or worse, art you cannot avoid or counter.""Where did they go, then?" one of the younger guards asked; a late riser,still heavy about the eyes, dawnfry on a plate in his hand. Rold chuckled."Mind you aren't late for your own funeral, some morn, Raeth; he said. "Theyoung lord and lady will be camping out by Harpers' Hill with RathanThentraver. Practicing hurling this spellfire where Lord Mourngrym's Fine rugs wont bescorched. Most of the knights will be going off about the dale and elsewhereabout the Dalelands at Elmin-ster's bidding.""Ah, things'll get a mite quieter for a few days, then" Raeth said with somesatisfaction. Many of the older guards chuckled."Think you so?" Kelan asked him. "It's a long run through the forest, in fullarmor, to Harpers' Hill!" Rold was still chuckling as the bell rang and theyhastened out to their posts. Raeth, mouth full of bacon, wasn't. * * * *

* "This is a fool's plan," Rathan grunted. "One only Elminster could have come upwith." The chosen of Tymora surveyed the tents sourly. "Lady, aid me," heprayed. "I am surely going to need all thy help.""Cheerful, aren't you?" Tbrm answered him. "I'm enjoying this.""Ife have weird enthusiasms," Rathan grunted. "Ye cant even enjoy thy ladywhen she must wear the form of Shan-dril every instant."Tbrm grinned. "Oh? That's going to hamper me? How so?" He raised darkeyebrows."Besides, I look like Narm for the the present.""Shameless philanderer," Rathan growled. He looked at the trees all aboutthem. "I wonder when the first attack will come?" "While you're standing there," Tbrm replied, "if you keep yapping sourlyabout Elminster's wisdom and the danger you have so foolishly plunged headlonginto. Go in, then,*

and pray to the Lady for healing art. No doubt we'll need it soon enough.""Aye, there ye speak truth, I doubt not," Rathan replied darkly. "Is there nowine about?" He peered into the tents. IlHstyl grinned back out of the depthsof one, looking as if she were Shandril. She moved with the smooth innocence ofShandril, abandoning her own defiant strut."No," Ibrm answered the cleric brightly. "We seem to have left it behind atthe tower. A tragedy, I agree.""Indeed . . . well, one of the guards will just have to go back for it,"Rathan concluded. "I can feel my thirst growing already," he added, squinting at the sun. "Here, then." Ibrm pa.s.sed him a flask. Rathan unstop-pered it and sniffedsuspiciously."What is it? I smell nothing.""Water of the G.o.ds," Tbrm replied. "Pale ale. Tymora's Tipple.""Eh?" the cleric frowned at him suspiciously. "Ye blaspheme?""No," said Tbrm. "I offer you a drink, sot. Your thirst, remember?""Aye," Rathan agreed, mollified, and took a swig. "Aaagh!" he said, spittingmost of it out. "It is water!" "*fes, as I told you," Tbrm replied smoothly, and then leaped nimbly out ofreach as the cleric reached for him. The chosen of Tymora pursued his sly tormentor across the rocky hilltop,while Illistyl looked out of the tent and shook her head."Playing already, I see," she remarked, just loudly enough for Tbrm to hear.He turned and waved at her, grinning- and promptly fell over a stone, withRathan on top of him. Illistyl burst into laughter before she realized that shecouldn't recall what Shandril's laugh sounded like.The little stone tower rose, leaning slightly, out of a gra.s.sy meadow beside a small pond. It was made of old, ma.s.sive stones, and had no gate or fence oroutbuildings. Flagstones led right up to a plain wooden door. It looked smalland drab in comparison with the Twisted Tower, which rose large against the sky across the meadow. But it seemed somehow a place of power, too-and more welcoming.Inside, it was very dark. Dust lay thick upon books and papers that werestacked untidily everywhere. The smell of aging parchment was strong in the air. Outof the forest of paper pillars rose a rickety curving stair, on up to unseenheights. A bag of onions hung over the doorway. Beyond an arch, faintfootstepscould be heard. "Lhaeo," Elminster called. "Guests!"An expressionless face appeared in the doorway. "You need not do yoursimperingact," the old mage added. At that the face smiled and nodded. It was that of a pleasant, green-eyed man with pale brown hair and delicate features. He wasabout as tall as the elf Merith, very slim, and wore an old, patched leatherap.r.o.n over plain tunic and hose."Welcome," Lhaeo said then, in a soft, clear voice. "If you're hungry,there's stew warm over the fire now. Highsunfeast will be herbed hare cooked in redwine . . . that Sembian red Mourngrym gave us. I deem it good for little else. Ifear I have no dawnfry ready."Elminster chuckled. "Ye would have been wasted on a throne, Lhaeo. IVe eaten no better fare since Myth Drannor fell than what ye cook. But I forget my manners,such as they are . . . Lhaeo, these be Narm Tamaraith, a conjurer whoflourishes these past days under the tutelage of Jhes-sail and Illistyl; and hisbetrothed,Shandril Shessair, who can wield the spellfire." Lhaeo's eyes opened wide atthat. "After all these years?" he asked. "You were right to bring them here. Manywill rise against such a one.""Many already have," the sage replied dryly. "Narm, Shandril-I make known tothee Lhaeo, my scribe and cartographer. Outside these walls he is counted alisping man-lover from Baldur's Gate. He is not, but that is his tale totell. Come up, now, and I'll show ye thy bed-I hope ye don't mind, there is onlyone-and some old clothes to keep you warm in this place. We two don't feelthe cold, but I know others find it chill.""Keep him to one speech," Lhaeo added as they started up the stairs, whichcreaked alarmingly, "and I'll have tea ready when you come down again."

They went up through a thick stone floor into a circular, open room. Shandrilcast an eye over the maps and scrolls littering a large table in the centerof the chamber. She looked away quickly as the runes began to crawl upon theparchment. Over the table, a globe hung in midair, a pale ball of radiancethat shone like a small, soft moon. By its light, they could see a narrow staircurving up into the darkness overhead. Books and scrolls littered the tops ofchests and were piled high upon a tall black wardrobe.The old, dark wooden bed, with a curved rail at head and foot, looked verysolid and cozy. Shandril suddenly felt very tired after the battles and conferences and their long talk in the night outside. She swayed on her feet.Narm and Elminster both put out a hand to her at once. Shandril waved them awaywith a sigh. "Thank you both. really have been a burden since I leftDeepingdale.""Second thoughts?" the sage asked quietly, no censure in his tone. Shandrilshook her head. "No. No, not when I can think clearly. I just could not have lived through italone." Then she noticed something,.and turned to the sage. "There is only one bed. Where will you sleep?""In the kitchen. Lhaeo and I are rarely asleep at the same time; someone hasto watch the stew." Narm laughed. "The greatest archmage in all Faerun," he said, "or so I woulddeem you, and you spend nights watching a pot of stew!""Is there a higher calling, really?" Elminster replied. "Oh, speaking ofpots,the chamber pot's by the foot of the bed. Aye, I know it looks odd-it is anupturned wyvern skull, sealed with a paste. I stole it from a Tharchioness'sbedchamber in Thay long ago, in my wilder days."Come, have thy tea, and then ye can sleep. Ye will be safe here, if anywherein the Realms. Do as ye always do together, so long as it does not involve a lotof screaming and yelling. A little noise will not bother us. If ye pry about, bewarned that the art here can kill in an instant if ye put an eye or tongue wrong... on your heads be the consequences.""Elminster," Narm said as the old mage started down the stairs again, "our thanks for this. You've gone to much trouble over us.""If I did not, what sort of greatest archmage in all Faerun would I be then?"was the gruff reply they got over the old mage's shoulder. "I'm stepping outfor a pipe. Mind ye come in haste-Gond alone can guess what Lhaeo'll put in thytea if you're not there to stop him. He thinks every cup should be a newexperience." Below, they heard the door bang."By the G.o.ds, I'm tired," Narm said."Aye, too tired," Shandril agreed. "I hope we can sleep." Her hands, as sheheld them out to clasp his, were shaking. They went down to tea wearily.When Elminster finished his pipe, he knocked the ashes from it out on thedoorstep and came back in. "All well?" he asked.Lhaeo came to the door with Narm leaning limply on his shoulder. The scribe'sarms were clasped about the conjurer with casual strength."All well. They'll both sleep till tomorrow morning, with no ill effects, bythe dose they had. I mixed it carefully, and they drank it all down.""Good. I'll take his feet. A sound sleep will do them both great good, andI'll be able to have a look at the lad's spellcasting when he's rested and notworried sick about his lady love.""How about her?" "No training needed. She's already learned much precision. When we foughtManshoon, she was still at the stage of hurling it as a child does as...o...b..ll. Now, she can do more with it-uumph, mind this bit; the lad's heavy!--than many mages ever do with fire magics."

They laid Narm on the bed and went back for Shandril. "Hmmm ... we have much that will fit the lad, but what of this little lady?" Lhaeo asked, as they went carefully up the stairs again.

Elminster looked wise. "I've already thought on that," he said. "Some of the gowns that Shoulree of the Elven Court wore, in the days of Myth Drannor.

They're in the chest closest to the stairs. She, too, could wield spellfire, if the talk in the city then was correct. She won't mind."

"Walks she yet?" Lhaeo asked, as they laid Shandril gently on the bed beside Narm, and drew off her boots.

Ehninster looked thoughtful. "I doubt she does... but perhaps some of the Elven Court who joined the long sleep years ago stir now. That would explain why the devils in Myth Drannor have not troubled us here more." He nodded. "Something to look into, indeed." Then his face split into a wide grin. "In my copious free time," he added.

"I know it is wisest and safest," Shandril said, "but I grow so bored, Lhaeo.

Is there nothing I can do? I know I shouldn't pry about in the spellbooks; I'll only get hurt or changed into some ugly creature or other. I cannot tidy for the same reason!"

Lhaeo looked at her with his usual expressionless face. "Do you cook?" he asked.

Shandril turned.

"Of course! Why, at The Rising Moon-" She stopped, eyes alight, and smiled.

"May I cook with you?" she asked, delighted. Lhaeo bowed.

"Please," he said. "It is seldom I get to talk to others who spend much time in a kitchen. Few want to talk to someone who speaks thus," and his last words were

spoken in a mincing lisp.

Shandril looked at him. "Why do you pretend to be- Elminster's companion?"

she asked. Lhaeo looked at her soberly.

"My lady," he said, "I am in hiding. I will tell you who I am only if you never tell anyone-except Narm," he replied.

"I promise," Shandril said solemnly. "By whatever oaths you wish." Lhaeo shook his head.

"tour promise is enough," he said. "Come into the kitchen." The room, warmed by a small fire in the hearth, smelled deliciously of herbs and simmering stew and onion soup.

"Are you a lost prince?" Shandril prompted him as he waved her to a stool and went to inspect the huge pot of stew upon the fire.

"I suppose," Lhaeo said slowly, stirring the stew with a long-handled ladle, "you could say that. I am the last of the royal house of Tethyr. In happier times, I was so far from the

throne that I never thought of myself as a prince or even as one of the

court.

But there have been so many deaths that I am, so far as Elminster and I can tell, the last left alive of royal blood.

"Why do you hide? You have no army to take back your kingdom. Why would anyone want to kill you?"

Lhaeo shrugged. "Because all who have seized power expect others to do as they would. Anyone of royal blood must want to wear the crown, they think. I live because they dont know that I still live. I fear that's all there is to tell.

Not so impressive, is it? But it is a secret that must be kept, for my life hangs upon it."

"I shall not tell it," Shandril said. "What can I help you with, here?"

Lhaeo looked at her. "Cook what you like, and teach me as you go," he said.

"Please?" They smiled at each other across a bag of onions. "And my thanks,"

he added.

"For keeping your secret?"

"Aye. It may not seem much, but each secret you carry has a weight all its own.

They add up, secrets, to a burden you must carry all your days."

Shandril looked up from selecting onions, knife in hand. "You carry many?"

"Aye. But my load is nothing to Elminster's."

Shandril nodded, then looked down. "Whose gown is it that I wear?" she asked quietly. Lhaeo smiled.

"That is one of the secrets," he said. "I would tell you, but it is his to tell, not mine."

"Well enough. Do you have an old ap.r.o.n I might wear to cover it?"

"Aye, behind you, on the peg. Tell me of The Rising Moon."

She did. They serve others most who ask the right question, and then listen.

The day pa.s.sed, and they marked not the time.

The day pa.s.sed, and Narm grew weary. He had grown used to the clear and careful teaching of Jhessail, and the practical tutelage of Illistyl. Elminster's methods were a rude shock, indeed.

The old mage badgered and derided and made testily impatient comments. The simplest query of him on this or that small detail of casting brought a scholarly flood of information in reply-a voluminous barrage that never seemed to include a direct answer. Elminster had worked on Narm's new spell, the flaming sphere, until Narm could have screamed.

Weary hours of study to impress the difficult runes upon Narm's mind, and then a sharp lecture on precisely how to cast the spell in view of the obvious shortcomings he had displayed last time were the grinding irritants. They were followed by a few moments of spellcasting, a ball of scorching flame rushing away-a thrill the first few times, but now Narm saw each one as a failure even before Elminster spoke-and then Elminster's scathing critique. The clumsiness or slowness of the casting, the lazy and inattentive formation of the sphere, and worst of all, the lack of precision in its direction, once formed, were all regular topics.

"Have ye not seen your lady hurl spellfire?" Elminster demanded, in acid tones.

"Have ye not noticed how she can shape the flames-a broad fan or a thin,dextrous tongue-bend it around corners, pulse short spurts of flame to avoidsetting her surroundings ablaze? I suppose ye couldn't tell me now the hue ofher eyes, either!"" Ahh, they're ..." Narm hastened to reply, and found to his horror that animage of Shandril wouldn't come to his mind at the moment. Confused andbadgered, he hurled fire angrily before Elminster hid him, tossing the ballof flames twenty feet before it landed and rolled."Temper, boy," Elminster admonished, watching it. "Tbo easily it can be thydeath. Mages cannot afford it-not if it affects the precision of theircasting.Here ye are, furious with me, and'we've spent merely a morning together. Notgood! Oh, that's all good enough for the lesser talents who swagger aboutthrowing a few fireb.a.l.l.s and bullying honest farm folk. I had hoped you wouldlook for something more, in the service of Mystra."Ye can be a great mage, Narm, if ye develop just two things: precision incontrol of spell effects and imagination in applying your art. The latter yewill need more later on, when ye reach past most mages with whom ye would wish to a.s.sociate in bothexperience and knowledge. The precision ye must master now, else thine everyspell will have some waste about it. Thy art will lack that edge of shrewdphrasing and maximum effect that may mean the difference between defeat andvictory, some day."As ye advance, ye will become a target for those who gain spells by preyingupon other mages. If ye lack precision in a duel of art, ye will be utterlydestroyed-then it will be too late for my lessons.""But I cannot hope to win a duel now. How will spending all day throwingb.a.l.l.s of flame about make any difference to that? If I win a duel, one day, surelyit will be because I have stronger spells and more of them.""Perhaps. Yet, know ye, a mage can do more with a few simple spells he knowsback-to-front, and can use shrewdly, than with an a.r.s.enal hastily memorizedand poorly understood from any spellbook he may look at. Do ye follow me?"Narm nodded, slowly. "Good, then" the sage said. "I shall leave ye tothyself,if ye promise me to study and cast your flaming sphere at least four times more,here in this field, before ye rest for the day. Think on moving the spherejustwhere ye want it, and making it form in just the place ye choose. Think too on how ye can use such a weapon against, say, a running group of goblins whowill scamper in all directions when they see it coming, but always try to get past.i.t toward ye."Don't forget that only foolish and arrogant mages stand still after theyhave cast to admire the view. Move, or a simple arrow will soon make ye a dead mage,no matter how impressive ye were in life. Oh, and worry not about thestubble;ye're doing the farmer who owns this a favor by burning it off. Try not totake the fencing with it. It is harder to term that 'friendly help.' Do I have thypromise?"

Narm nodded. "Yes, and my thanks.""Thanks? It is impatient ye are again, Narm! The task's not done yet. Savethythanks until ye be master of this spell, at the least. Then thank yourselffirst. I can talk all day and only waste breath if ye do not heed, and work,and master the art."

Narm grinned. "You do," he replied. Ehninster grinned back, only for aninstant. The twinkle in his eye remained, though, as he became a falcon and flew away.Narm stood in the field and watched him go, sighed, and reached for hisspellbook. The sun was bright on the Old Skull. He sighed again and bent hishead to the book. When he stood up, much later, to cast his first flaming sphere, Narm drew adeepbreath of satisfaction. At least he was alone and could work art without wiselywatching eyes and a lot of sharp comments. He turned to look around at thestubble, enjoying the choosing of what he could burn at whim. It was thenthat he noticed a small boy had appeared from somewhere and was hanging upon thefence-rails watching him."Go away!" Narm said crossly. "This your field?" the boy replied laconically."You could get hurt!" Narm said. "I'll be casting spells here!""Aye. I've been watching. But I won't be hurt unless you cast spells at me.You won't do that; there are no evil magic-workers in Shadowdale. Ma saysElminster wont permit it." "I see," said Narm, and set his jaw. "Excuse me." He turnedaway to hurl fire again.The boy watched fire roll away once and stayed glued to the fence. All daylonghe stayed, as Narm hurled fire, sat down to study, got up and threw firecarefully again, and then went back to his books.Narm was weary when he finally went to the gate at evening, and very thirsty.The boy climbed down from the fence then, and fell into step beside Narm. "Iwish I could be a great mage, like you," he said, almost shyly.Narm looked at him and laughed. "I wish I could be a great mage," he saidruefully. "I know so little. I feel so useless."The boy stared. "You?" He shook his head. "I saw you cast big b.a.l.l.s of fire.You point them where to go, and they move at your bidding! You must be powerful!"Narm shook his head, as they went on down the road. "Being a mage is a lot more than just hurling b.a.l.l.s of fireabout." The boy nodded at him, slowly, and then waved a suddengood-bye, ducked through a gap in a hedge off to one side of the road, and was gone. Narm shrugged and walked on. Ahead he could see a patrol of guardsmen on horseback, trotting toward him with lances raised. It must be nice to call aplace like this home.Elminster was sitting out on a boulder near his front step, smoking, whenNarm came up the path. He put aside his pipe and regarded Narm thoughtfully."Well?" he asked. "Can ye put a sphere where ye want to?" Narm nodded. "So are ye amage, then?"Narm shrugged. "I have a long road to go," he said, "before I am strong in art. But I can stand in most company, now, and know my art will serve me." Headded proudly, "There will always be others more powerful, but I've truly masteredwhat I do know." "Oh?" Elminster asked softly. "Think ye so?" His features suddenly blurredand shifted beneath the battered old hat, flowing and changing in a fascinating,rather frightening manner. Narm stared at the shrinking sage, and suddenlyfound himself facing the young boy who had watched his spell practice from thefence. The little face grinned; the little mouth moved, and in a perfect imitationof Narm's own voice said solemnly, "Being a mage is a lot more than just hurlingb.a.l.l.s of fire about." Narm stared at him in anger, then resignation, and then sheepish amus.e.m.e.nt."Elminster won't permit it, indeed," he said. "I can see that I'll have torise early in the day indeed to get ahead of you."Elminster smiled. "Ah, but I have five hundred years' start on ye. Come.Dinner is ready. Thy lady is a cook of rare skill. Yfe have chosen correctly. Seethat ye serve her as well, boy, as she serves ye." With this last sage advice heknocked his pipe out on the doorstep and went in. Narm looked once at thestars,beginning to sparkle as the sky darkened, and followed him inside.SOI To Walk Unseera The bards soon forget a warrior falling withouta great feat of arms. Would you be forgotten?Face each battle, each foe, as though it is yourlast. One day it will be.Dathlance of SelgauntAn Old Warrior's WayYear of the Blade The morning sun laid bright fingers upon the table where they sat in theaudience chamber of the Twisted Tbwer. Shandril watched stray dust motessparkleabove the table as she and Narm waited for Elminster to come in from dawnfryin the great hall. Narm's hand found hers, and they sat together in contentedsilence, alone with the fading tapestries of Shadowdale's past and the emptythrone. "I was brought here by Illistyl before we met in Rauglothgor's lair,"Narm said quietly, "and spoke with Mourngrym. It seems an age ago, now."Shandril nodded. "It seems long ago that I left Deep-ingdale, yet it is amatter of tendays, not months." She looked at the great painted map of theDragonreachupon the wall. "I wonder where we shall be in a year?" she asked.Narm never replied, for upon her words the doors opened and Elminster camein. Shandril had thought Mourngrym would be with him, but the sage was alone. Hecame toward them, slowly, and for the first time, Shandril thought, he reallylooked old. He sat down in a chair beside them, not on the throne, and fixedthem with bright eyes."So quiet?" he asked. "Have ye both stopped thinking,( then?" "No," Narm replied boldly. "Why say you so?"The old mage shrugged. "The young are supposed to be always talking orlaughingor fighting, they say. Ye two . . . surprised me." He took out his pipe,looked at it for a long breath in silence, and then put it away again, unlit. "Iasked ye here to tell thee that I have watched, these past few days, and ye two are as well trained with art and spellfire as we here can presently make thee. It is upto thee, now, if ye would grow more powerful. More than that, it is time forthe both of ye to decide what to do with thine lives.""Do?" Narm asked, but not as one surprised. Elminster nodded approvingly."It is not good for ye to drift along under the influence of the knights andmyself. Ye would be swept up into our councils and our struggles. Ye'd slowlygrow embittered and empty, as ye lost the will and way to walk thine ownroads and think for thyselves.""But we have found friends here, and happy times," Shandril protested, "and-""And danger," Elminster interrupted smoothly. "I want to keep ye with me. Onecannot have too many friends, and I grow weary of losing them all, one afteranother, with the years. But if I let ye stay, I would draw doom to ye, just as settling down together in the dale, or in a nice cottage somewhere bythyselveswill." "What? Laving together will bring danger upon us?" Narm asked, bewildered.

"Nay-staying in one place will. With thy talent," Elminster said, pointing along finger at Shandril, "one mage after another will seek to slay thee.Mulmaster, Thay, and the Zhentarim all must needs destroy anything thatthreatens magery. So walk ye out into the wide Realms and disappear. I ca.n.a.lter thine outward selves with magic, although to each other ye will look the same. Pa.s.s from sight, and thy menace will be forgotten in the struggles thesetyrantsof art have with one another. "My advice to thee," Elminster continued, "is to wander, and hide. Ye willneed friends who will raise sword or art to aid thee if needed. So walk ye withStorm Silverhand and * ( *

her fellow Harpers, then find thine own way and thine own adventures again.Mistake me not-I would not be rid of ye. I think ye will soon be slain orstunted in art and spirit if ye stay here. Come back and visit, though." Theold mage put his pipe in his mouth and puffed it furiously into life with firethat sprouted from his forefinger, and his eyes grew suspiciously misty.Shandril and Narm looked at each other. "I-we both think you are right,"Shandril said, reading Narm's eyes. "We would speak with the knights firsthowever." Elminster looked to Narm, who nodded silently. "We do not want toleave this place, and our friends," Shandril added. "If we must, we wouldknow where in the Realms it is best to go."Elminster nodded. "Well said. If ye like, I'll tell Mourn-grym."Shandril nodded. "Please." She did not burst into tears until after he'd gone."He's right, you know," Narm said gently, arms about her. Shandril sniffled as she nodded. "Oh, I know. That's not what makes it so sad. It's leaving friends. FirstGorstag and Lureene at the inn, then Delg, Burlane, Rymel, and the others,and now the knights. I'll even miss Elminster, the crusty old b.a.s.t.a.r.d.""Well, that's as polite and yet as honest a calling as I've had in a longtime" the sage's unmistakable voice said dryly behind them.Narm and Shandril broke apart, whirling. "You must have been waiting outsidethe door!" Shandril said hotly to Mourngrym. The Lord of Shadowdale raisedcalminghands. "Everyone must stand somewhere," he said. "I lost five gold pieces at dicewith the guards, if it's any consolation to you. The others'll be here in amoment." He crossed to a tall cabinet. "In the meantime, shall we have a gla.s.s ofwineapple? I strained it myself. It's not fermented; you cannot get drunk onit,Narm." "Well, seeing as you have the cabinet open," Rathan hailed him from the door.Mourngrym sighed. "Is Tbrm with you? I thought as much... leave somethingdrinkable in there that I can give to visiting gentles, will you?" He wentand sat on *<>

his throne, flagon in hand."Well met, Jhess, Illistyl. . . where's Merith?" he called."Along in a minute, my lord," Jhessail said. "He was in the bath when Shaerlcalled." "Ah, that's why she isn't back yet!" Torm said innocently to the gla.s.s he wasraising to his lips. Mourngrym's empty flagon bounced off his head an instantlater. "My lord, if I may borrow your boot for a moment?" another voice said fromthe door, sweet and low."Of course, lady," Merith said politely, drawing it off and proffering itpolitely. Shaerl took it from him and threw it hard and accurately. Tbrmgroanedand dropped Mourngrym's flagon with a clatter, amid general mirth."All here?" Mourngrym asked. At the door, Lanseril nodded as he set an ornatebar across the handles and snapped it down into place. "Good, then ... Narmand Shandril have something to ask of you." Silence fell.Shandril looked around at them all, suddenly shy, and nudged Narm. He lookedat her uncomfortably, cleared his throat, and then lapsed into silence."Ye need no speech, lad," Elminster's calm voice came from his left. "Just saythy piece straight out, before someone else attacks the tower to seize thee."There were chuckles of agreement at this. Narm swallowed and got to his feet."Well, then," he said quickly. "Shandril and I think we should leave you, tohave our own lives and adventures. We do not want to insult or upset anyone.

You have been good friends and protectors to us, and my lady and I will be evergrateful. But as long as we stay, it seems Shadowdale will be an armed camp, as one evil group after another comes seeking us. We must go-but where, how, wedo not know. "We would talk it over with you, if you will, and then decide alone togetherafter. We alone must live with what we decide, and with each other." He satdown suddenly, feeling foolish."Good speech," Illistyl said. "Well then, what would you know?"Shandril spoke. "What are the Harpers? Not who, but what? What do they worktoward?" Florin answered her. "My wife is a Harper, lady, yet even to me, they remain mysterious. They are secretive about their membership andtheir precise aims, but they do work for causes that we deem 'good.' The airof mystery they deliberately foster seems to be their defense against foes who are stronger at arms or art."When you see the device of a silver moon and a silver harp, you face aHarper.Storm Silverhand is one, you know, as is the High Lady of Silverymoon. Storm can tell you others, where it is not my place to do so. Many bards, rangers, andhalf-elven mages are Harpers. The Harpers oppose the Zhentarim, and those whocut trade routes into wilderness to mine and fell timber with no thought forthose who live there-the merchants of Amn, for instance. We respect theHarpers,and aid them." "Well enough, then," Nairn said, sitting back. "Where should we wander,Harpersor no?" "Somewhere where you can get filthy rich," Tbrm said with a grin. "And hideamong the ma.s.ses of people, and find any work you fancy-Waterdeep, forinstance." Mourn-grym, whose family was of n.o.ble Waterdhavian stock, shookhis head ruefully."Have you no honor?" Jhessail inquired wearily of Tbrm."Aye, indeed. keep it at the bottom of my pack and take it out to shine it upand look at it on windy nights in the wilderness, by the fire. It looks grand,I tell you. But it is poor company, and doesn't keep one warm.""Ignore him," Rathan said. "His ratlike city instincts lead his lips astray.Waterdeep is a good place to hide, aye, but it would probably prove moredangerous to thee than Sha-dowdale. It is full of prying eyes from half thelands in Faerun, and not a few who will take from thee what they can andleave the rest in a gutter.""Aye" LanserU agreed. "It is better to travel the wilds of the Sword CoastNorth, the high forests and the fair city of Silverymoon. The Unicorn Run is a place breathtaking in its beauty, with great trees that have stood there cladin moss since the world was young and man a fledgling southern race. It is worththe trip, I tell you.""Aye, go where few tread, and where ye can see what few have seen and ye will always remember;' Rathan agreed. "I shall envy thee thy journey, bring what perils it may-""Is every lord and lady among you going to philosophize pompously the wholetenday through?" Elminster asked in exasperation."Why not? It is our turn, indeed, after years of listening to yourfulminations," Torm returned wickedly. A hush fell as all waited to see if hewould forthwith become a frog.Elminster merely chuckled and said, "True enough. My turn to listen and beentertained, then."Florin and Lanseril were visibly disappointed that Ibrm was going to escape atransformation, at least this time, and rose and turned away to stroll aboutthe chamber. "Is this discussion not the way to do it, then?" ShandrU asked."Well," Lanseril's voice floated back to her. "Let us say that few have senseenough to do it beforehand. Most rush into battle without thinking enough,and talk about it only to themselves.""Do not think, though, that jaw-wagging is not good or necessary," Rathansaid. "It is one of the most important things a priest does for lay worshippers whocome to him." "Aye, well said," Tbrm agreed. "Such talk is as necessary as the sword in anordered life, and in the doings of kings and statesmen across the Realms. It was the sage Mroon who defined-almost a thousand winters ago, mind you-the famous'circle of diplomacy': 'Why talk but to end the fighting? Why fight but toend the talking?' It is as true today as then. . . . Well, old mage? Did Iremember,or did I not?" "Ye did . . . perhaps the first thing I've told thee that ye have recalled,that I can tell," Elminster said severely. "But enough banter-it does not helpthese good people to make their decision, only hastens them to bed with wearinessand lost time." "Aye," Florin agreed. "Perhaps we should tell you of the Realms about so you can better decide your route. Would that help?""Indeed," Shandril and Narm answered together."Danger, you will find, lies on every hand. You want to wander freely, andhide yourselves, so places where few dwell that are near to us here are out, as are warlike and inhospitable lands. That bars you from anything north of the Moonsea, andfrom the Stonelands, Daggerdale, and Myth Drannor, all presently lawless placeswhere much strife rages."Mulmaster, too, is an unfriendly place," Florin noted. "So, of course, areZhentil Keep and the cities under its sway. Cormyr is friendly, but still tooclose to the cult's strength and spies for your comfort.""Westgate is where Tbrm was reared-and look at him!" Tbrm grinned atLanseril's comment. "It is a den of thieves and warring merchant houses, a city built on intrigue. Keep clear of it."The druid paused to wet his throat from his flagon of spring water, andMerith spoke."You then have little choice as to what direction to travel. West you must go,overland to the Sword Coast cities. Silverymoon would be good, although youmust be wary of the fell forces of h.e.l.lgate Keep and the ores of the mountains.You must be alert for the long reach of the Zhentarim and of the cult-for if youdo join the Harpers, and the cult hears of it, they will expect you to show upin Silverymoon sooner or later."The Moonshaes and Neverwinter are good, if you can remain unknown as thehurler of spellf ire and her spelfcast-ing companion. Everlund also, but Loudwaterand Nesme and other places too favored by overland trade bring too great a riskof discovery. Loudwater lies between the Zhentarim, in Llorkh, and h.e.l.lgateKeep,and is isolated by wilderness and deep forest. Such places you must avoid,for they become traps all too easily. Have I left aught unsaid?""No," Illistyl said simply, and Jhessail laughed."If your heads are not spinning with that whirlwind tour of near Faerun," sheadded, "they should be!""Better they spin now than later, lost off the road somewhere in thewilderness of Faerun," Elminster said darkly. "We'll make thee a map on softhide-Florin,ye and Lanseril can do it this night,