Shandril's Saga - Spellfire Part 8

are menaced on the road, let fly with spellfire before hands are laid upon you. A swinging sword often cant be stopped in time by spellfire or art."

"Oh, aye... one last thing," Elminster said. "I know something of illusions.

This will make ye both look rather older, and a trifle different in appearance-save to each other's eyes. It will wear off in a day or so, or ye can end it at any time, each of ye affecting only thyself, by uttering the word gultho-nay, do not repeat it now, or ye will ruin the magic. Let me see . .

He drew back his sleeves and sat upon his placid donkey and worked magic upon Narm and Shandril while the knights drew their mounts around in a respectful circle.

When it was done, the knights moved their mounts in closer for careful, critical looks. Narm and Shandril looked to each other and could not see the slightest difference in each other's appearance, as Elminster had said, but it was clear that they looked different to the eyes of others.

"Go now," Elminster said gently, "or ye'll be seen. We shall ride north toward Hillsfar with illusions of ye for a time to confuse any who seek ye, but those who pursue ye are not weak-minded. Go now, and go swiftly. Our love and regard go with ye." His clear blue eyes met theirs fondly and steadily as they slowly turned their mounts about, and then, with a vast wave, spurred away.

Looking back as they thundered south along the road with tears stinging their eyes, Shandril and Narm saw the knights sitting their saddles watching.

Florin raised something that flashed silver to his lips as they rode on over the first rise, and as the descending slope of the road hid the

knights from their view, the clear notes of the knights' battle-leader's war-horn rang out in a farewell. He was playing the Salute to Victorious Warriors. Shandril had heard it played by bards at the inn, but she had never dreamed it would someday be played for her!

"Will we ever see them again?" Narm asked softly, as they slowed.

"Yes," said Shandril, with eyes and voice of steel, "whatever stands in the way." She brushed her hair out of her eyes. "It is time we learned to look after ourselves. If I must slay with this spellfire every jack and la.s.s seems so eager to take, then so be it. I'm afraid I can't laugh at devils and dra-coliches and mages and men with swords the way Tbrrn does. They just make me angry and afraid. So I'll strike back at them. I hope you won't be hurt... I fear much battle lies ahead of us."

"I hope you won't be hurt, my lady," Narm answered her, as they rode on.

"You're the one they'll be after."

"I know," Shandril said softly, and steel shone in her eyes again. "But it is

who'll have spellfire ready when they find me."

They slowed their horses to a steady trot. The road was lightly traveled that day. They saw no one traveling south, and only a few merchants heading north.

AD rode ready-armed, but nodded without incident or ill looks.

Great old trees of the Elven Court rose on both sides of the road. Between them and the road itself stumps rose out of the ditch like the gray fingers...o...b..ried giants, all that remained of saplings cut by travelers as staves andlitter-poles and firewood. Narm watched these narrowly as they rode,half-expecting brigands to rise up out of them at every bend and dip of the way.They rode in silence for the most part, until the sun glimmered low, and thetrees laid dark shadows across the road. "We should find a place to sleep, love," Narm said as shadows lengthened andtheir horses slowed. Shandril looked at him and nodded soberly. "Aye, and soon," she said. "We arealmost upon the vale. A cursed place. Let us stop here-at that height,ahead-and hope none find us."* * They reined to a halt, and Narm swung down. "Ohhh," he groaned. "Stiff...ohhh. Tymora watch over us." He patted his mount's head and listened. "Water, downthere," he said after a moment, pointing.Shandril swung down into his arms. "Good, then," she said lightly, inchesfrom his nose. "You fetch some while I tie the horses, oh mighty conjurer."Narm growled and kissed her, and then unhooked the nosebags from the mulesand went down to get water. Somewhere nearby a wolf howled. Overhead, as the lastlight faded and the moonlight began, a black falcon came silently to a branchabove Shandril, and clung, watching.They awoke in each other's arms on a hard bed of canvas tent laid flat uponmossy ground. Birds called in the brightening morning. It was damp and mistyamong the trees. They were in a beautiful place, but somehow it was notwelcoming. They were intruders, and could feel it.Once Narm thought he saw elven eyes far off in the gloom, regarding himsteadily, but he blinked and they were gone. The Elven Court itself may havegone from these woods, but the hand of man had not tamed them-yet. Narm feltmore comfortable with his hand resting on the hilt of his drawn dagger,beneath the cloak that covered their shoulders and throats. He turned to Shandril,who smiled through tousled hair, looking sleepy and vulnerable. "Good morn, mylady," Narm greeted her softly, rolling over to draw her close."And to you, my love," Shandril replied softly. "It is nice to be alone foronce, without mages attacking us and guards watching over us always, andElminster fussing about.... I love you, Narm.""I love you, too," Narm said quietly. "How lucky I've been to see you in theinn and then be parted, only to find you deep in ruined Myth Drannor again. Iwould have come back to The Rising Moon someday when I was free of Marimmar, onlyto find you long gone.""Aye," Shandril whispered against his chest. "Long gone and probably dead.Oh,Narm .. ." They lay in each other's arms, warm and safe and unwilling to rise and end this feeling of peace.Then they heard the dull thudding of hooves from the road nearby, and thecreak of harness leather. Shandril sighed and rolled free of Narm. "I suppose we must get up," she said, long, blond hair hanging about her shoulders as she roseto her knees, pulling the cloak about her against the chill. "If we stop inEssembra only to buy feed and to eat and then hasten on, we could camp on thesouthern edge of the woods this night. I would be out and away, west of theThunder Peaks, before the Cult of the Dragon and Zhentil Keep and whoeverelse is after me know we have parted from the knights. Come, now. You can kiss memore later." Narm nodded a bit mournfully. "Aye, I know." He sat up and looked all aboutat the drifting mist in the trees, and the horses chewing on leaves patiently.He sighed too, then, and scrambled up to draw on his clothes. His thighs were raw from yesterday's riding. He drew on his belt, then stopped abruptly,listening.He could have sworn he had heard a chuckle, but there was no one to be seen.All was quiet from the road, too. After a long time he shrugged and continued on,glancing back often at his lady. He never saw the black falcon winging low over the treetops to the east on the long flight home.In falcon shape, The Simbul shook her head and chuckled again. They were goodfolk, she thought, and then rose on powerful wings to look around at thetrees below. Children, still, but they'd not be for much longer. She had otherconcerns, too long neglected, to see to now. Perhaps they'd be killed-b.u.t.then again, it was entirely possible that they'd do the killing if any in Faerunquarreled with them. Farewell, you two. Fare-you-very-well. The lonely queenof Aglarond flicked raven-black wings and rose higher.They made good time across the strangely still place known as the Vale ofLost Voices. Sacred to the elves, it was, and men whispered that something unseenand terrible guarded it. Something that destroyed axe-wielding men and great magesalike, and left no trace behind. In the vale theelves of the Elven Court buried the bodies of their fallen, but those whodared to dig for treasure there vanished in the mists and were not seen again.Narm and Shandril, and those who pa.s.sed them there, said not a word all thetime they rode across that tree-choked valley. The largest trees they had seen yetgrew in the vale, some as big around as Elminster's tower back in Shadowdale.The light was eerily blue under the trees where mists coiled slowly far off,and faint glowing lights drifted and danced. No one stepped off the road whiletheytraversed the vale. They left it at last, Shandril shivering in sudden relief as they came up over the crest of the steep hill that marked its southern edge."The Lost Dale, they call it in Cormyr," Narm said, low-voiced. "Forever lostto men, because of the elves."Shandril looked at him. "They say in the dales that every elf in the Elven Court would have to be dead before one tree of the vale could be safely cut.""But all the elves are gone now," Narm said. Shandril shook her head."No. I saw one in the woods at Storm Silverhand's. She waved to Storm and went away as we came down to the pool." Shandril turned to peer all around intothe trees. "But that's far from here," Narm protested."Think you so?" asked Shandril very softly. "Look there, then." Narm followedher gaze and saw a motionless figure in mottled green-gray standing upon themighty branch of a shadowtop that towered high above the road ahead. Thefigurewas an elf, and he leaned easily upon a bow that must have been a bead tallerthan Narm. He looked at them with steady blue, gold-flecked eyes. Shandrilbowed her head, spread empty hands, and smiled. Narm did the same. A slow nod wastheir only answer. The horses carried them past at a steady pace, andShandril said, "A moon elf, like Merith.""A possible enemy, unlike Merith," Narm replied grimly. "Wte must watch ourevery step." He peered ahead. "The trees thin," he said. "We must be nearingEssembra. I can see fields." A caravan rumbled toward them, then, a dozen wagons*

pulled by oxen. The wagons were surrounded by hard-eyed outriders who rodewith crossbows at their saddles and short spears in their hands. The wagons bore no merchant banner, but pa.s.sed without incident.Well behind the caravan rode a family on heavily laden draft horses, leadingstrings of pack mules. They were led by a single excited youth with a halberdthat dipped and swung alarmingly as he rode forward to challenge them. "Way,there! Way, if you be not foes! Declare yourselves!"Narm stared at him in silence. The halberd lowered upon them."Declare yourselves, or defend yourselves!""Ride on in peace," Narm replied, "or I'll turn your halberd into a viper andturn it back upon you!"The boy recoiled, his horse dancing uncertainly as its rider waved abouttryingto draw his blade wrong-handed while keeping the halberd menacingly uponNarm. "If you be a mage," he said shrilly, backing away as Narm and Shan-dril rodesteadily on, "give your name, or face swift death!" Beyond him Narm saw smallcrossbows raised ready upon saddles, and calm, wary eyes above them. He couldnot hesitate longer. Beside him, Shandril rode serenely silent.Narm drew himself up in his saddle. "I am Marimmar the Magnificent, Mage MostMighty. I and my apprentice would pa.s.s you in peace. But offer us death, andit shall be yours!"Beside him, Shandril burst into m.u.f.fled giggles. Narm kept his composure with an effort, as the boy cast him a frightened look and hastened by. Narm noddedpleasantly and then stared straight ahead as he rode past the other men andthe mules behind, managing to hide a smile that kept creeping onto one side ofhis face. "Sarhthor?" Sememmon asked aloud, peering into the depths of the crystal ball before him. Its magical telepathy was always difficult to focus at first. Inits depths he could see flickering lamps and an expressionless, elegantly beardedface. Sarhthor looked back at him and sent his thoughts without speaking.Sememmon tried to hide his own irritation at the other mage's precise ease ofart and apparentfearlessness. "Well met, Sememmon. I have searched the dale. Elmin-ster and the knightshave just returned, using the road south from Voonlar. The girl with spellfire andher consort mageling are not here, as far as I can determine.""Not in Shadowdale?" "Not. They may be here in hiding, but I doubt it. None of the knights-orthose Harpers I can observe in safety-have gone anywhere out of the ordinary or metwith anyone. The folk of the tower know they left two nights ago.""Two nights?" Sememmon almost screamed. "Why, they could be almost anywhere!"Precisely why I'm returning to you, as soon as possible, Sarhthor thoughtflatly, then said aloud, "By the way, who is that with you?""With me?" Sememmon asked, angry and startled. "I am alone!""You are indeed-now. A moment ago there was an eye floating above your leftshoulder-the ocular construction of a wizard eye spell. A spy, then. Guardyourself, Sememmon."Sememmon had already turned angrily away from the ball, to stare wildly abouthis chamber. "Show yourself!" he thundered, casting a detect magic spell.Dweomer-the auras of familiar objects imbued with art-glowed all around him.The faint traceries of spells, too, shone in the field of revealed magic createdbyhis spell, but they were all spells he knew about, preservative anddefensive,all art that should be there. There was no sign of any intruder.At last Sememmon turned angrily back to the crystal ball, but it was dark. Noone waited at the matching globe at the other end any longer. Sememmon cursedthe shadows about him, but they did not answer.The sun was low again. Shandril and Narm pa.s.sed a skin of hot spiced teabetween them as they rode, their bellies full of warm roast phledge, the plumpground-partridge of the woods, smoky-tasting and delightful in a thick peagravy. No one had acted suspicious of them at the inn Florin had recommended. "How do you feel, my lady?" Narm asked suddenly, not meeting her eyes. "Aboutthe spellfire, I mean. Does it... change one?"A little startled at the suddenness of the question, Shan-dril looked at himwith something close to pity in her eyes. "Yes, no doubt. But not in thelargersense, I think. I am still the Shandril you rescued from Rauglothgor." Shehesitated, then added in a much softer voice, "I am still the Shandril youlove." Narm looked at her, and there was a little silence as they regarded eachother. And then the attack came. Shandril felt something was wrong an instant before the boulder struckNairn's shoulder, and his head flew back. The jarring made her bite her lip. Narm waswhirled about, his arm striking her head solidly as he spun, and he toppledand fell. Stunned, Shandril stared at the huge, mossy boulder as it settled past her to hang above Narm's head. He lay crumpled, unmoving. The boulder sank slowly, and over the gra.s.sy bank beyond where Narm lay, Shandril saw a man in robes.

He grinned at her without humor. His eyes glittered black and deadly. She drew breath to scream, as wild fear rose and choked her from within.

The of ttae Soot / have known the crushing of the soul that defeat brings, and the burning, sickening pain of deep wounds-and would not have it otherwise. Such dark things make the bright spots burn the brighter.

Korin of Never-winter Tales Told By The Warm Fireside Year of the Blazing Brand "No... make no sound," the man in robes warned. "Speak not. Cast no spells.

Use no spellfire, Shandril Shessair-or I will let fall the rock on the head of your husband." His eyes bore into hers. "Do not think to trick me or take me unaware," the man added calmly, "for I am not such a fool- and yonder stone can hardly miss its mark."

Shandril sat still in her saddle, cold fear trickling slowly- slowly and chillingly-down her spine. She stared at the mage and wondered for an instant who this one was. How to win free? her mind screamed then. How to win free?

"I am Malark " the man said with cold pride, "of the Cult of the Dragon.

come for revenge, and I will have it." His eyes flickered. "Get down off your horse slowly, and stay just where you land, or your husband will die."

Shandril did as he commanded, never taking her eyes off his. He watched her with the cold patience of a snake.

"Lie down. Slowly. Tb your knees, and then upon your belly, arms outstretched toward me. Do not touch any weapon." Shandril did so, heart sinking as she pressed her face into the rocky ground. "Good," said the voice coldly.

"Spread your arms and legs apart. Do not try to rise."

He was nearer. ShandrU obeyed, wondering how much she'd have the courage to endure. She gathered spellfire within her, silently. Malark walked around her, staying at a safe distance. Angry warmth filled her chest and throat. She glared at the gra.s.s before her eyes, and it began to smoulder. She hooded her fire, hastily, and held herself ready. Tymora aid me!

"You have cost us much indeed, Shandril Shessair. The Shadowsi), the dracolich Rauglothgor, his lair, and the fortified tower above it, with all his treasure, the dracolich Aghazstamn, many devout worshippers-the worth of all these, you owe us. The price is your spellfire-that, and your service and that of your husband. You may serve us, or die. Lie still." The cold voice began the mutterings of spellcasting.

G.o.ds aid me, Shandril thought. What will become of us? There are no knights here to rescue us, now.

Malark's cold chanting ended in a sudden squealing, gurgling sound. Shandril, waiting to absorb his spell, froze and then rolled over in breathless haste.

If

that rock fell on Narm . . . But Narm was safely to one side, in the grip of a grinning Rathan. Malarkstood staring at her, black eyes very dark and very large, and over his shoulderTorm was grinning.In the thief s hands were the ends of the waxed cord that had choked off Malark's spell in mid-word. Malark was hanging from the cord now, faceterrible,frantic fingers clawing at the cord about his throat growing feeble. Malark'seyes rolled up into his skull, and he began to sag. Tbrm held the cord tight as he lowered the mage slowly to the ground."Well met," the thief said cheerfully as he rolled the body over, drawing hisdagger in one fluid motion, and beckoned Rathan over with a jerk of his head."His purse, quickly, before he is fully dead . . . these d.a.m.ned mages allhave spells set to trigger all manner of mischief at their deaths."Rathan bent to work obediently. "Ho, Shandril-thy lad's all right," he saidquickly. Shandril stared at the boulder, now sunk into the gra.s.s nearby, andshuddered. "Nothing but a bit of rag and a handful of coppers," Rathan told Torm."His boots," Tbrm directed, still holding the cord tight. Malark's facelooked so dark and terrible that ShandrU turned away."Is-is he dead?" she asked weakly."Nearly. I'll cut his throat in a moment. . . . Then, lady, it would be bestto burn the body completely, or some bright-minded b.a.s.t.a.r.d of the cult willraise him to lurk on your trail." Tbrm turned professional eyes upon the boots."Trythat heel." "Hah!" Rathan said in satisfaction a moment later, holding up six platinumpieces. "Hollow, indeed!""Hmmph," Tbrm said, wrinkling his nose. "No magic? Scarce worth all thistrouble. Have off his robe, Rathan, and we'll cut his throat and be done withit." "His robe?" "Aye, his robe. Where he conceals the components for his spells, a few extracoins, and the G.o.ds know what else . . . which we'll soon learn. Come on-my arms grow weary!""They do? Pretend they're around a wench, and ye'll have no trouble at all,"Rathan told him gruffly, tugging off the mage's robe. He stepped back, lookedat the body as Tbrm laid it down with both ends of the cord in one fist and adagger gleaming long and wickedly in the other, and then grinned at Shandril."Not unimportant, are you?" he said. "Malark, one of the rulers of the Cultof the Dragon. An archmage in his own right. You watch out, now. There are lotsof other rats like this one in Sembia, mind, and there's one in Deepingdale,too..-.." "Tfes," Shandril said. "Korvan."Rathan nodded. "Aye, that's the name! You've been warned, then? Good. Well,you're doing fine thus far!""Fine," said Shandril bitterly, looking at Malark as Tbrm freed his cord atlast and slashed with cruel speed. Her gaze fefl next on Narm, who still lay silent in the gra.s.s. "Oh, yes. Fine indeed." She burst into tears.

Rathan sighed and went to her. "Look, little one," he said awkwardly, "Faerun can be a cruel place. Men like this have to be slain-or they will kill thee.

Nor is there any shame in

defeat at his hands-this one could have slain any of us knights, in an open fight. He was an archmage." He enfolded her in a bear hug. "Ye wouldn't be thirsty, perhaps?"

Shandril's shoulders shook helplessly then, as tears were overwhelmed by laughter. She laughed for a long time, and a little wildly, but Rathan held her tight, and when at last she was done, she raised bright eyes and said, "Are you finished, Tbrm? I think I'd like to wield a little spellfire."

Tbrm nodded and stepped back, and Shandril raised a hand and lashed the body with flames, pouring out her anger. Oily smoke arose almost immediately, and the horses snorted and hurried off in all directions.

Torm and Rathan let out brief despairing cries and ran after the horses, just as Narm rolled over and groaned, and then asked faintly, "Shandril? Wha-why did you do that? Am I not to kiss you?"

"They could be dead by now!" Sharantyr said angrily. "I ride patrol for a few days and return to find you've put your toes to the behinds of two of the nicest young people I've met! One struggles with half-trained art, and the other bears spellfire that every mage in the Realms would slay her to gain or destroy, and both are mad enough to seek adventure. And but days married, too! Where is your kindness, Knights of Myth Drannor? Where is your good sense?"

Easy, Shar," Florin said gently. "They joined the Harpers and wanted to walk their own road. Would you want to be caged?"

"Caged? Does a mother turn her infant out of the house because it's reached twenty nights of age? Alone, you sent them!" She turned upon Elminster. "What say you, old one? Can they best even a handful of brigands on the road?

Brigands who attack by surprise in the night? Speak truth!"

"I have never done aught else," Elminster answered her. "As to the fight ye speak of, I think ye'd be surprised." He drew out his pipe. "Besides," he added, "they're not alone. Not by now. Ibrm and Rathan rode after them."

Sharantyr snorted. "Sent the brightest lances, didn't you?" She paced, sword bouncing on her hip, and then sighed.

"Well enough. They are not unprotected." She folded her arms and leaned back upon the wall by the hearth. "G.o.ds spit upon my luck," she said more softly.

"I wanted to say farewell, not just ride away and never see them again."

"They'll be aU right, Shar," Storm said, "and they'll be back again."

"Sharantyr raises a good point, though," Lanseril said from his chair. "The wisdom of sending them alone, with only a rescue squad hurrying along behind, can well be questioned." He raised thoughtful eyes to Mourngrym and Elminster.

"I take it you considered their slipping away while we rode a distraction toHillsfar was a good risk?"Elminster nodded. "It had to be. Think on that, Sharantyr, and be not so angry,la.s.s." "They pa.s.sed the vale without loss or upset," Merith put in, "I heard from one of the people who was watching the road there."Sharantyr nodded. "Since then?" she prompted. Merith shrugged."I scryed Tbrm and Rathan yestereve," Ulistyl spoke up. "They were cuttingacross country, southeast of Mistledale, and had met with no one then. I'Utrythem again tonight.""Soon?" "Aye ... you can watch, if you like. You too, Jhess, if you have no greater gameafoot"-she looked meaningfully at Merith, who grinned-"at such an early hourof the ever ning. We might need your spells if there is danger or alarm."Jhessail chuckled. "It is a good thing none but the G.o.ds look over yourshoulders to see all we-and Narm and Shandril, G.o.ds smile upon them-get upto. It would make a long, confusing ballad."Elminster scowled. "Life is seldom as clear-cut, smooth, and as easily ended as a ballad," he said and put his pipe in his mouth with an air of finality. Thefire crackled and flared up in the hearth. The sage stared at itthoughtfully."She's so young to wield spellfire," he murmured."He lies within," the acolyte said fearfully, hastening away from the door.

Sememmon thanked him curtly and said, "Open it." ' 'The acolyte stood a moment in silence. Then he glided forward and swung theheavy oak and bronze door wide. Sememmon motioned him to pa.s.s through. Theacolyte nodded and stepped forward, face impa.s.sive. The mage followed,throughvery thick stone walls, into a vast chamber that glowed a faint and eerieblue.

;This was the center of The Black Altar, the Inner Chamber of Solitude, where one was said to be closest to the G.o.d. The forces of the High Imperceptor had notpenetrated this far, although Sememmon felt much hidden satisfaction at theextensive damage he'd already seen. The priesthood would be a whilerecoveringits strength, indeed. Perhaps, Sememmon thought, never, if certainmisfortunes befall them now, while they are weak and disorganized.Sememmon came fully into the chamber, and such thoughts ceased. Vast and darkabove him hung a beholder, its great central eye gazing down upon himmaliciously. The acolyte had darted back behind Sememmon. He heard the doorclang and the crash of a heavy bar falling into place. He was imprisoned. Theeye tyrant was not Manxam. Sememmon cursed inwardly even as he strodeforward,his cloak about him concealing nervous fingers that had gone straight to thehilt of a useless dagger.The floor of the chamber was of highly polished marble. In the center of thatvast, cold expanse rose a black throne- a throne that the High Imperceptorhad not sat at the foot of for many a long year. It was gigantic, a seat for a giant, the seat of a G.o.d. It was occupied.Red silk stood out against the black stone. Fzoul Chembryl lay asleep upon abed across the seat of the G.o.d's throne, recovering after the frantic healingefforts of the priests who served Bane under him. Sememmon gazed at him as heapproached, uncomfortably aware without daring to look up that the beholder was moving with him, floating directly overhead with its great unblinking eyestaring down.The mage was no more than a dozen steps from the base of the throne, able to see clearly the rope ladder the priests were wont to ascend by, when a deep,rumbling voice from overhead said, "You have come to find death, Sememmon the Proud, but you have found not Fzoul's death, but your own." As Sememmonlooked up and broke into a run, he saw the dark body of the beholder sinkinglower and lower. The beholders were making their own bid for leadership ofthe Zhentarim. Within a breath the beholder would be close enough to use the eye that dealtdeath or that turned one to stone. Or it might simply charm him intoobedience or pursue him about the chamber like a trapped rat and wound him from afar.In the end, he knew, it would use the eye that destroyed one utterly, and therewould not even be dust left of Sememmon. So Sememmon ran as he had never run before, diving frantically around theedgeof the throne where the vast central eye, the one that foiled all magic,could not see. He hastily began the casting of an incendiary cloud. He did not havethe right spells for a fight this grave.... Buy time and cover, then use adimension door to teleport directly above the beholder, he told himself. Useparalyzation-or, no, use magic missiles now! Or ... ah, G.o.ds spit upon itall! Raging, Sememmon applied himself to spellcasting.He finished, and sprinted along the back of the throne, nearly tripping over a ringbolt on the floor that obviously was a trap-door-if one were very strong or had four or five acolytes to lift it. Sememmon reached the corner, gaspingfor breath, and steadied himself. To cast a magic missile spell, he must see thetarget-and if he could see the beholder, its eyes would also be able to seehim. He tensed himself to take a rapid peek, and-There was a flash and a roar, and the very floor heaved up, knocking Sememmonto his knees. Up, get up, he urged himself frantically. But there was a reddishhaze of dancing spots before his eyes. He could not seem to grasp which way'up' was. "Well met, Sememmon," said a dry, coldly familiar voice. Sememmon looked upinto the calm gazes of Sarhthor and Manshoon. The High Lord of Zhentil Keep wasrobed in his usual black and dark blue, and he looked amused. "You can get up now,"he added. "It's gone." He flexed his open hand.Sememmon found his voice. "YouVe returned! Lord, we * *

have missed you, indeed-""Aye. No doubt. I've watched you and seen the, ah, troubles with Fzoul. Come,now, and slay him not. He is needed." They hurried across the marble floortoward the door Sememmon had come in by. It was blasted and twisted intoshards of metal beneath their feet. "Sarhthor," Manshoon explained briefly.The three mages went out through strangely deserted halls and sought thestarlit night outside. Wordlessly they walked out of The Black Altar, past dim pilesthat had already begun to stink; the bodies of those who had fallen in thebattle between Fzoul's forces and those of The High Imperceptor. They walkedstraight to Sememmon's abode, and the two mages left Sememmon there."Cheer up," said Manshoon in parting. "You'll have your chance to fight withthe others for all this"-he shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the darkspires that rose all about them-"someday. I can't live forever, you know."With that he turned on his heel and was gone down the cobbled street into thenight,Sarhthor at his heels. Sememmon stared after them in the faint light and tasted fear. When wouldManshoon feel that Sememmon had lived long enough? He entered hastily, thelittle eyeball that Manshoon had sent to spy floating in, unseen, with him,too. "We just happened to be riding this way," Rathan said gruffly. "It's an openroad, is it not?""No" Shandril said with a crooked smile. "You came after us to protect us.Did you not trust Tymora to look after us!"The burly cleric grinned. "Of course Tymora watches over ye. ... Am I not aninstrument of Tymora's will?""Is that why you moved a sleeping man and left all the fighting and dirtywork to me?" Tbrm said. "Not a copper's worth of value in the pockets of his robe,too." "Dirty work, is it? Who took off his boots, I'd like to know!" Rathan teasedhim. "I thank you both," Narm said, "despite your feeble attempts at humor. Again mylady and I owe you our lives. And our horses', too, it seems. Your spell eventook away the pain in my head."Rathan grinned. "If ye want it back, I can lend thee Tbrm for a few breaths."Tbrm favored him with a sour look. Shandril giggled. "I don't think that will be quite necessary, Rathan. I have a man to drive me beyond endurance, now." Narm gave her a hurt look, to whichshe replied with a wink, but Torm looked delighted."Oh, you can leave him with Rathan, to learn how to ride and fight andworshipand all," he said, "and I'll ride with you. I'm witty, agile, clean, quick,and experienced. I know lots of jokes, and I'm an excellent cook, so long asyou'repartial to meat, tomatoes, cheese, and noodles all cooked together. I'm fullyconversant with the laws of six kingdoms and many smaller, independent cities,and I'm an excellent gambler" He batted his eyelashes at her. "What do yousay?Hmmm?" Shandril gave him a look that would have melted gla.s.s. "Is there nothing you can do about him?" she asked Rathan. "Oh, aye," Rathan agreed. "Ye can give him first watch, so we can all get some sleep. Narm and I'll sleep on either side, close against ye, and ye wont haveto worry about him getting cold and wanting to snuggle up.""Ah, hah," Shandril agreed dubiously. She rolled her eyes and flopped downinto the bed of folded tent without replying. Rathan grunted and lowered himselfslowly to a lying position, rolling his cloak up as a pillow. He lay on thegra.s.s fully clad, without bedding or blanket, grasping his mace. He noddedthen,as if satisfied, and within a few breaths he was snoring. His booted feettwitched now and then. Tbrm winked at Narm and reached out to pinch one of them. His fingers werestill inches away from their goal when Rathan rolled open one eye and said, "Ye canforget pinching, stroking, and tickling honest folk-or even us- who're asleepin the arms of the G.o.ds. Just see that the fire stays high."Narm fell asleep chuckling.The soft morning sun breaking over the rolling hills and fields of Battledaleand northern Sembia lit up the sky to the_J east, and found Rathan Thentraver thoughtfully warming water for tea over thedying fire.He looked around at his sleeping companions, got to his feet with a slowgruntof effort, and clambered up the bank to look at the land about. It was bareof all but gra.s.s, rolling and very empty. He nodded in satisfaction, tucked hismace under his arm, and sat down again and cleared his thoughts of all b.u.t.tymora, as he tried to do every morning.He opened his heart to her and prayed that the two young folk beside him-aye,and Tbrm, too, hang him-would see only her bright face until they had atleast reached Silvery-moon and befriended Al.u.s.triel. Everyone needs at least onesafe journey-and these two, more than most, because of the spellfire, he toldhimself. Rathan looked across the twisted blankets to Shandril's sleeping face andthought about her weeping spellfire and lashing out angrily with spellfireand tearing open her tunic to pour spellfire out the faster upon a foe. He wouldnot want to carry such power for all the gold in the Realms....He sighed. If they'd ridden a bit slower, that snake of a mage might have hadher yestereve. So close, he'd been. A matter of breaths. Yet one couldn'tnursemaid one who could blast apart mountaintops!They'd be running into trouble soon enough, these two, and they'd need someone. Rathan sighed. Ah, well, some things ye must leave to Tymora. He got up andbegan to make tea. Soon they'd be wanting morningfeast, too.

He looked at all the sleepers, and a smile touched his lips. Why wake them?

The younglings needed a good, long sleep when they were guarded and could relax.

Let 'em sleep, then. He peered south to see if he could glimpse the River Ashaba, but it was too far away yet. Ah, well. We'll ride with them until they're up at dawn tomorrow, and then turn back. If Elminster is half the archmage he pretends to be, surely he can hold Shadowdale together that long.

Scratching under his armor, Rathan opened his food supply pack. Ah, well. . .

another day, another dragon slain.

"Will ye never be done all that scratching and scribbling?"

Elminster demanded, "tou're not writing an epic, ye know!"

Lhaeo turned calm eyes upon him. "Stir the stew, will you?" Elminster snorted, shifted his unlit pipe from hand to mouth, and began to stir.

"You miss those two, don't you?" the scribe asked him softly without turning.

The old mage stared at Lhaeo's back angrily for a long breath and then muttered, "Aye," around his pipe, set the ladle back in its place, and sat down upon the squat cross-section of a large tree that served as a seat next to the tiny kitchen table. " Tis not every day one sees spellfire destroy one's own prismatic sphere without delay or a lot of effort. Or see the high-and-mighty Manshoon put to flight by a young girl who's never cast a spell in her life."

"A thief, she said she was-or at least, she joined the Company of the Bright Spear as a thief."

Elminster snorted again. "Thief? She's as much a thief as you are. If we had a few more thieves like that girl, the Realms would be so safe we'd not need locks! Swords, aye, but no more locks. Which reminds me... locks, and locked-away books, that is-Candlekeep-Alaundo. What did old Alaundo say about spellfire? We must be getting fairly close to that prophecy now, too, so it's no doubt Shandril he's talking about."

Lhaeo smiled. "As it happens, I looked up the words and sayings of Alaundo the last night they spent here. Tb your left, under the jam jar, on the uppermost sc.r.a.p of paper, IVe copied the relevant saying. If a certain 'war among wizards'

has already begun in Faerun, it is next to be fulfilled."

Elminster halted his flailing about in the vicinity of the jam-jar to fix Lhaeo with a hard glance, but the scribe went on with his writing.

"What're you doing?" Elminster demanded. "There you sit, scribbling, while the stew thickens and burns. What is it?"

Lhaeo smiled again. "Stir the stew, will you?" he asked innocently. Then, before the old mage's fury could erupt beyond a rising growl, he said, "I'm noting down the limits of Shandril's power, as observed by you and the knights. The information may prove useful some day," he added very * *

ED GREEN WOOD quietly, "if she must ever be stopped."

Elminster stared at him a moment and then nodded, looking very old. "Aye, aye,

you have the right of it, as usual." He sighed. "But not that little girl.Not Shandril. Why, she's but a little wisp of a thing, all laughter and kindnessand bright eyes-""Aye. Like Lansharra," Lhaeo answered simply. Elminster nodded, very slowly,and said nothing. There was silence for a long time. Lhaeo finished his work,blew upon the page, and got up. The sage sat like a statue, his eyes on the fire.Lhaeo reached over him, slid a sc.r.a.p of paper from under the jam-jar, andlaid it before Elminster. He turned away to see to food, without a word. Perhapsfour breaths later, he heard the old mage's voice behind him, and he smiled tohimself. Put a recipe for fried sand snake in front of Elminster and he'd bereading it in a trice." 'Spellfire will rise, and a sword of power, to cleave shadow and evil andmaster art.' " Elminster read it as though it was a curious bard's rhyme or abad attempt at a joke. Lhaeo waited. Elminster spoke again. " 'Master art?What did Alaundo mean by that? She's to become a mage? She has not the slightestapt.i.tude for it-and I'm not completely new to teaching art, ye know!""I have found that Alaundo's sayings make perfect sense after they havehappened, for the most part," Lhaeo said, "but they help precious littlebeforehand." "Ahhh... stir the stewl" Elminster grunted. "I'm going out for a pipe." Thedoor banged behind him. Lhaeo grinned.The stairs creaked as Storm came down them barefoot, silver hair shining inthe firelight."Leave the stew," she said softly to Lhaeo. "It's probably been thrashed intosoup by now, between the both of you."Lhaeo smiled and put strong arms around her. "Let us go back upstairs," hesaid gently, "before he returns for a flame to light his pipe. Haste, now!"The bed creaked as they sat upon it, a scant instant before the door, below,banged open again. Outside, Elminster chuckled and then hummed his favoriteof the tunes Storm had devised. One didn't get to be five hundred winters oldwithout noticing a thing or two.*O*

They rode steadily south all that day on a road busy with wagons rumblingnorth out of Sembia. Hawk-eyed outriders and shrewd, watchful merchants looked themover often, and the scrutiny always made Narm and Shandril uncomfortable.

Tbrm had acquired a moustache from somewhere about his person, as well as some brown powder of the sort used as cosmetics in the Inner Sea lands. Skillfullyhe rubbed it about his eyes and jaw and cheekbones, until his face seemed subtlydifferent. He rode in silence for the most part-a mercy upon hiscompanions-andaffected a soft, growling voice when he did speak. He remained to the rear asthey rode.Looking back, Narm could see the glistening whites of his eyes darting this way and that in the shadowy gloom of a cap that hid his face. The conjurergatheredthat Tbrm was a little too well known in Sembia or nearby to ride openly onthe high road this far south without his fellow knights around him.Rathan, however, paid such cautions no mind. He rode easily before Shandril,speaking loudly of the kindnesses and spectacular cruelties of the Great LadyTymora, and occasionally pointing out a far-off landmark or the approachingcolors of a merchant house or company of the Inner Sea lands. But he seemedto be addressing her as Lady Nelchave, and occasionally comparing things to'yourhold, Roaringcrest.' Shandril answered him with vague murmurs, trying tosound bored. In fact, she was enjoying riding in the comfortable security of Rathanand Tbrm's presence, with a guided tour of the countryside.Tbrm and Rathan preferred to lunch in the saddle without halting, Shandrilfound it fascinating to watch them fill nosebags with skins of water and leanforward to hang them carefully about the necks of their mounts and mules, after firstletting each animal taste and smell the contents of such a bag. They deftlypa.s.sed bread, cheese, and small chased metal flasks of wine about. Tbrm evenproduced four large, iced sugar rolls (probably pilfered from some pa.s.sing cart or other) from somewhere about his person. Shandril began towonder if he had endless pockets, like those of Longfingers the Magician in thebards' tales. A light rain squall came out of the west in the afternoon and lashed thembriefly as it pa.s.sed overhead. Tbrm nearly lost his moustache, but heregainedhis high, sly spirits. He danced about on his dripping horse, firing jests,rolling his eyes, and mimicking the absent knights.The day pa.s.sed and the road fell away steadily behind them, until in higheventide they came to Blackfeather Bridge, where the road between theStandingStone and Sembia crosses the River Ashaba. There Sembia maintained a small guardpost of bored-looking, hardened men armed with ready crossbows and longpikes bearing the Raven and Silver banner of Sembia.The guards looked long and coldly at the four travelers. Narm noticed acleric of Tempus and a silent man in robes standing off to one side with two veteranwarriors, watching them steadily. His throat went dry, but he tried to keephis face unconcerned and impa.s.sive. Dragon Cult and Zhen-tarim agents could beanywhere-and everywhere. Narm was certain Rathan was recognized, but nothing was said and no one barred their way.Two hills later, as the sun sank lower, Narm looked back, but he could not see any pursuit. An uneasy feeling persisted, however, and he was not surprisedwhen at sunset Rathan led them wordlessly westward, well off the road, until it grewtoo dim to ride safely on."This seems as good a place as any," Rathan said gruffly, waiting for Term'ssoft-spoken a.s.sent. "Heady watch tonight," the cleric added. "If you must go off to relieve yourself, Shandril," he added, "go not alone."The knights seemed to share Narm's feeling of trouble ahead. Narm and Tbrmhad barely drifted off to sleep, long after an exhausted Shandril, when there was a thudding noise, as someone tripped amid the webwork of black silk cords Tbrmhad strung in an arc behind where Rathan sat watch. Rathan lifted the mace fromhis knees as he whirled and let out a warning bellow.The attacker was already coming to his feet, cursing soft ly, sword drawn-and there were others behind. Narm rolled upright withfrightened speed. Torm was up and away into the night like a vengeful shadowbefore he could even draw breath. "Defend thy lady, lad!" Rathan bellowed back over one shoulder, as his macestruck aside attacking steel with a shrill clatter. Two faced him, with athird rushing up.Narm saw a man fall as he looked all around for danger on his way to stand over Shandril, who was rolling over drowsily. More men with blades were coming outof the night. Narm saw another fall, and this time he saw the glint of steel asTbrm leaped onward to deal death again. Then a man rushed right at Narm,steel gleaming in the firelight.Coolly, Narm cast a magic missile spell. Then he drew his dagger and bracedhimself. The glowing pulses of his art swooped and struck. The man, who woredark leathers and wielded a hooked sabre, staggered and fell. Narm set histeeth and leaned over to finish the job. Blood wet his fingers, and he felt sick ashe looked up and around again for new dangers approaching.There were none. Torm dispatched another from behind-Narm saw the man stiffenand groan-and Rathan was chatting jovially to those he slew."Do you not realize what moral pain-nay, spiritual agony-striking thee downcauses me? Hast no consideration for my feelings?" The heavy mace fell again,crushing. "More than this, aye, ye-uhh!- grrh!-wound me. Instead, ofchallengingme in-ahhhh-the bright light of day, before men of worth to bear witness, with a stated-hahhh!- grievance, ye seek to do the dishonor upon my poor holy bonesin the dark of the night! At a time when all good and- ahhh!-lucky men are abed,with better- unghh!- things to be doing than cracking skulls asunder! Don't yeagree- ahh!-now?" Rathan's last opponent fell, twitching, jaw shattered andb.l.o.o.d.y.Torm looked up. "The horses don't like this. We'd best move them, and us, incase there are others lurking. Narm, is your lady awake?"Shandril answered him herself. "Yes." She shuddered involuntarily at thesightof his b.l.o.o.d.y dagger. "Must you enjoy it so much?"Tbrm looked at her in silence for a time. "I do not enjoy it at all" he saidquietly. "But I prefer it to getting a knife .in the ribs myself." He bentdown and wiped his blade on something that Shandril mercifully couldn't see in the darkness, but he did not sheathe it. "Shall we ride?"

"Walk, pigeon-brain," Rathan rumbled, "and lead the horses. Who knows what we'll stumble over or down into if we try to ride in this? See to these, will ye? I want none alive to tell thy names and route, and this mace is not as sure as a blade."

"At once, Exalted One," Tbrm said with sarcastic sweetness. "Mind you don't forget any of your baggage. I'll see if our late friends were carrying anything of value with them."

Rathan nodded in the light of the dying fire. "Mind more don't come upon thee while ye're slavering and giggling over the gold. See to the campfire, will ye?"

In quiet haste, they gathered their gear and led their mounts and mules into the night. Westward Narm and Shandril followed Rathan, pace by careful pace, over rolling ground.

Tbrm caught them up before long. "The fire's scattered and out. I can find no one else following, but listen sharp everyone."

"It seems I'll be doing that the rest of my life," Shandril said in a bitter whisper.

Tbrm put his head close to hers. The faint light of Selune caught his teeth as he grinned. "You might even get used to it. Who knows?"

"Who indeed," she replied, pulling a reluctant Shield up an uneven slope in the dark.

"Not much farther now" Rathan said soothingly from up ahead. Loose stones clacked underfoot, and then Rathan said in quiet satisfaction, "Here. This place will do."

Shandril fell into sleep as if it were a great black pit, and she never stopped falling. She awoke with the smell of frying boar in her nostrils. Narm had just kissed her. Shandril murmured contentment and embraced him sleepily as she stretched. He smelled good.