Shandril's Saga - Spellfire Part 7

quietly than that, my lords. Yet as Casildar says, we must move. What say you?"

"What of our a.s.sa.s.sins?" Yarkul suggested.

"The replacements are young and poorly trained, yet,"

Zhessae said. "Even strengthened by our lesser brothers and the magelings, I fear they would anger Shadowdale more than harm it."

"Aye," Sarhthor agreed in his deep voice. "We have gone that way before.

Always we must run, or die."

"Yes," Sememmon put in. "We have all seen what happens when we send the magelings. Everyone wants to be the hero, to make his name among us. Reckless

and foolish, they overreach themselves and fall. Elminster is no foe to bemastered by a mageling.""Are you suggesting that we go in force, ourselves?" Ashemmi asked. "Leaving aside our personal peril, does that not leave Zhentil Keep undefended? Surelythe High Imper-ceptor of Bane has heard of Manshoon's absence by now. Will henot strike against you, Fzoul, and all of us?" His words fell into adeepeningsilence around the table. "No doubt," Fzoul agreed coldly, "he will try. But The Black Altar, andZhentil Keep about it, are not undefended, my friends." He waved a hand, and out frombehind a curtain far down the large chamber floated Manxam.The beholder was old and vast and terrible. Lichen grew upon its netherplates,and its eyestalks were scarred by old wounds and wrinkled with age. Itssinglegreat central eye turned slowly to survey them all as it drifted closer. Inthe depths of that dark-pupilled, bloodshot orb each man at the table saw his owndeath and worse. A deep, burbling hiss came from its closed, many-toothedmaw;its ten smaller eyestalks moved restlessly as Manxam the Merciless came tothe table. The eye tyrant pa.s.sed over them all to hang above the center of the table,and rolled slowly in awful majesty until its ten small eyes hung just above them,at least one looking at each man there. It said nothing, but merely hung inmidair,watching."I feel we can all be persuaded," Fzoul said without a trace of a smile, "tocome to some consensus now." The beholder did not blink. Nervously Sememmon cleared his throat. "Aye, indeed... but what do youpropose?""I believe," Fzoul said steadily, "that the most powerful* *

mages among us here now should go to Shadowdale immediately and do whateveris necessary to capture or destroy this Shandril, Elminster or no Elminster. As we are not sending incompetent or weak magelings, as you have so correctlyadvised us against, brother Sememmon, I have every confidence that you shall returnwith spellf ire, if you return at all."The mages Sememmon, Ashemmi, and Yarkul went white and silent. Only thewizard Sarhthor looked unsurprised. He merely nodded. Sememmon looked up to findthat Manxam had silently rolled over so that its central eye, the one that foiledmagic, gazed at them all.Now the reason for seating the mages together around one end of the table wasall too apparent. Manxam and Fzoul were just too far away for them both to becaught in a timestop spell, and no other magic would allow Sememmon to ready an item of art to strike at Fzoul or Manxam. Certainly he could not strike atboth-nor was there a great chance of besting Fzoul here, in his temple.

AgainstManx-am, the mage knew he stood almost no chance at all.Sememmon doubted he could even escape alive from The Black Altar if he merelytried to flee. Perhaps if he, Ashemi, Yarkul, and Sarhthor all workedtogether,with spells planned beforehand, they might have a chance to escape. IfCasildar and Zhessae, as well as any number of loyal clerics hiding on all sidesbehind the tapestries, were ready to aid Fzoul in his trap, escape would beimpossible.Sememmon kept his face expressionless with an effort, and turned to Fzouldirectly."It certainly seems the right thing to do, brother Fzoul," he said, as ifconsidering and approving. "However, I feel most uneasy in undertaking such amission-or indeed, any major expedition outside the city-without even asinglepriest of Bane to pray for our success and aid us with the favor of the G.o.d'swill. What say you, Lord Marsh, as one who neither serves Bane nor works art?"Weaken them at least by one priest, Sememmon thought, and cut that one down as a warning to Fzoul. And if we win the spellfire, we'll come back and try it on one of the beholders. Had Fzoul done something to Manshoon? Sememmon wondered with a sudden chill. Perhaps Manshoon was behind this, to be rid ofall his most powerful rivals in art in the brotherhood. If not, and he didreturn,would Fzoul tell him that all the mages had denounced him and gone off to act as they pleased?Lord Marsh rubbed his jaw, frowning at the tabletop, thereby avoiding boththe calm scrutiny of the beholder and the icy stares of Fzoul, Casildar, andZhessae. He then looked up. "I must concur with you on this, brotherSemem-mon. We have always won our greatest gains by careful use of all three of ourstrengths: the favor of great Bane; the versatile art of mages; and the mightof the swords of our men-at-arms. It would go ill to deliberately neglect morethan one of those strengths now."Our men-at-arms cannot reach the dale in time without use of art, or innumbers enough to be useful without alarming our foes. We must, therefore, forego ourwarriors. I believe that it would be foolish-as foolish as deliberately goinginto battle without s.h.i.+eld and armor-to abandon also the strength of Bane inthis matter. Moreover, I feel that the warriors under me, and probably manyun-derclerics and magelings here and in Darkhold, would think the same-andseriously question our collective wisdom in doing so, whatever the outcome ofthe venture." i With that emphatic point. Marsh sat back and looked directly at Fzoul,fingerstoying with a bauble at his throat which Sememmon, and no doubt most of theothers at the table, knew to be an explosive globe from a magical necklace ofmissiles. Sememmon almost smiled. The hard-faced warrior was another who bore no love for the Master of The Black Altar. The eye tyrant hung over them all this time, silent and terrible. Ignoring it,bearded Sarhthor rubbed his hands and said, "Well, I'm for such a strike, andthe sooner the better. The spellfire must be ours."Sememmon did not turn to look at his fellow mages, but nodded absently as heraged inwardly. Was the fool actually that simple and enthusiastic? Or was heworking with Fzoul? Nay, listen to the way his words were spoken, the littlesoft twists at the end of the words that flashed like dag ger blades turning over! Sarhthor was telling Fzoul, openly and cuttingly,that he knew Fzoul's game and thought very little of it."I'm so glad that we were able to come to an understanding so quickly," Fzoulsaid softly. His voice was like an a.s.sa.s.sin's b.l.o.o.d.y dagger being wiped clean on velvet. The deep voice of the beholder rolled out from overhead, shocking them allwith its sudden interjection. "Consider, and consider well, the nature of yourunderstanding."As Sememmon looked up to meet Manxam's many gazes for the first time, he tooksudden satisfaction in the fact that Fzoul had to be more upset at the eyetyrant's comment than any of the rest of them. Its disapproval was directedat him. Sememmon nodded, deliberately, and saw all of the other mages nodding,too. Sememmon left that chamber feeling almost satisfied, despite the danger ahead.The moon scudded through tattered gray clouds high overhead. The air was coldand still around the spires of the city. Fzoul stood on a high balcony of TheBlack Altar and smiled up at Selune in satisfaction. Strong magic protectedhis person from attack by art, and none but servants of Bane could enter thecourtyard below.The mages would have no choice. No doubt they would slaughter Casildar, buthe was too ambitious anyway, and a small price to pay for the destruction ofManshoon's pet spellhurlers. The Zhentarim would serve Fzoul at last.Even if Manshoon did return now, he would find himself isolated, with onlyupstart magelings-all too eager to betray him for their own advancement-tostand with him against the loyal of Bane, who served Fzoul. The beholders cared notwhich humans they dealt with, so long as their wants were met. The city wouldbe his at last. Until someone took it from him. Fzoul never noticed the wizard eye floating above and behind him among thedark spires, keeping carefully out of sight. He could not see its invisible owner,regarding him from the dark window of a tower nearby.He did hear the commotion in the courtyard below, as the warrior-priests of the High Imperceptor crept over the wall, and were met byalert and waiting underpriests of the Altar. Fzoul leaned forward andindiscriminately cast a blade barrier down into the growing fray below,caringnothing for the fate of his own acolytes. Let them see Bane the sooner, allof them. Sememmon heard the clash and clatter of many whirling blades and screamsbelow,and suddenly saw the b.l.o.o.d.y slaughter as one of the attackers boiling over the temple wall cast magical light upon the scene. He leaned out swiftly beforeFzoul could leave the balcony and attacked with his Ring of the Ram. Hestruck with all the force that the magical ring could muster, draining it ofmultiplecharges to do the task quickly and surely. He did not aim directly at theMaster of The Black Altar, for he knew Fzoul would be well protected, but struckinstead at the balcony.It s.h.i.+vered and cracked, as if struck by a battering ram, and then fell away,crumbling in midair, down into the shrieking and death below. It seemed tofall with awful slowness, but Sememmon watched Fzoul's fall closely; The clerichad no time to use an item or utter a word of recall- unless he managed to do soafter the first blade had sliced crimson across his red mane of hair. A fallingchunk of stone blocked Sememmon's view seconds before the balcony crashed tothe ground.Sememmon turned away in satisfaction, resolving that the attack on Shadowdalewould begin and end with the destruction of Casildar, at least until thespellfire-maid was out from under the eye and thumb of Elminster.He never noticed another wizard eye that floated just above the dark window.The eye was gone, however, some six breaths later, when a great round shadowdrifted out of The Black Altar's depths, its many eyestalks coiling andwrithinglike a nest of serpents. Then the slaughter really began.The night was cold. Overhead, Selune was scudding amid a few tattered grayclouds. Lower down there was little breeze, but Shandril had shut the windowsagainst the chill.

She sat on the bed, facing Nairn. "Well, my lord?" Shandril asked. Narmshruggedand spread his hands."What do you want, my lady?" he asked. Shandril looked at him, eyes dark andbeautiful, and spread her own hands."Tb be happy. With you. Free of fear. Free to walk as we will, and neithercold nor hungry. More, I care little for, as long as we have friends.""Simple enough," Narm agreed, and they both laughed. "All right, then," Narmcontinued, "we must travel west, as they all say. But, advice be d.a.m.ned, let us go by way of The Rising Moon and Thunder Gap, so you may see Gorstag once more. What say?""Yes! It if pleases you, it pleases me. But what of the Harpers?""Well. . ." Outside in the night, Tbrm strained to hear, but slipped. He breathed a curseupon fickle Tymora as he slid slowly backward on the wet slates despite hissplayed, iron-strong fingers. He soon ran out of roof and fell over the edge.Desperately he swung himself inward as his fingers left the slates. Then he was falling, mind racing coolly. His fingers closed on a window ledge as heplummeted past it.With a Jerk that nearly wrenched his arms from their sockets he broughthimself to a halt and hung grimly in midair. It was then that he noticed his lefthand had come down hard upon a nesting evendove and crushed its frail body againstthe stone ledge."Ugghh," he said, suppressing an urge to s.n.a.t.c.h his hand away."How do you think I feel?" demanded the crumpled bird, opening one eye sourly.At that Tbrm did fall. The bird sighed, became Elminster even as Tbrm fellhelplessly away below him, and created a fan of sticky web-strands. Theselanced down to the grounds far below, enveloping Tbrm on the way.The thief came to a slow, rubbery halt only feet from the ground, and hungthere helplessly. He began to struggle. "Serves you right," Elminster muttereddarkly,and became a bird again.Above the two eavesdroppers, Shandril and Narm had .

decided to join the Harpers. "After all" as Narm put it, "if we don't likeit,we can back out." "Shall we tell them now?" "No. Sleep on it, Elminster said." Outside, Elminster smiled quietly, though one couldn't see it for the beak. "And so to bed again, you and I-and this time I would not hear your lifestory."Outside, on the window ledge, the bird that was Elminster looked up at thestars glimmering above Selune. The Silent Sword had ascended above the trees. Thenight was half done. The bird's beak dwindled. It grew a human mouth, and sang,very softly, a s.n.a.t.c.h of a ballad that had been old when Myth Drannor fell:. .. and in the wind and the water the storm-king's fire-eyed daughter camea-rotting home across the sea leaving none on the wreck alive but me . . .The sun rose hot that morning over Shadowdale, glinting on helms andspearpointsatop the Old Skull. Mist rose and rolled away down the Ashaba. Narm andShandril rose early, and lingered not in the Twisted Tower, but set out for a briskmorning walk accompanied by six watchful guards that Thurbal insisted onsendingwith them. Their bright armor flashed and gleamed in the sunlight, andreminded the two lovers constantly of danger lurking near, and of spellfire.They found themselves hungry again, despite a good breakfast of fried breadand goose eggs at the tower. They stopped in at The Old Skull Inn for bowls ofhot stew. Jhaele Silvermane bid them fair morning as she served them, waved awaytheir coins, and asked them when the wedding would be.Shandril blushed, but Narm said proudly, "As soon as can be arranged, or evensooner." Their escort of guards developed sudden thirsts for ale that madeShandril shudder with the earliness of the hour, but all soon set forth again upthe road toward Storm SUverhand's farm.

The dale was quiet despite the morning vigor of workers in the fields. All Faerun seemed at peace. Birds sang and the sky wascloudless. Narm realized that he and his lady had only a vague idea of where StormSUverhand's farm was. He turned to the nearest guard, a scarred, mustachioed veteran who bore a spear lightly in his hairy hands. "Good sir/' Narm asked,"could you guide us to the dwelling of Storm Silverhand?""It lies before you, lord-from this cedar stump, here, on up to the line ofbluewood yonder." Narm nodded and said his thanks, for Shandril had alreadyhurried ahead. The guards trotted with him until they caught her again.It lay behind a high, crown-hedged bank of gra.s.s-covered earth. Over thehedgecould be seen the upper leaves of growing things. All was lush and green. Onthis bright morning, bees and wasps danced and darted among the curlingblossoms of a creeper that coiled in gnarled loops. The men-at-arms walked watchfullyand carried their blades ready, but Shandril could not believe that there couldbe anything lurking to offer ready danger, in such a place and on such a morning as this. They turned where a broad track cut through the hedge, and followed it up aline of old, twisted oaks to a large, rambling house of fieldstone. Its thatchedroof was thick with velvet-green moss and alive with birds. Vines on tripods andpole-frames stretched away from them in rows, like choked hallways amid thegreen, rustling walls of a great castle. Far down one they saw StormSilverhand at work, her long silver hair tied back with a ragged sc.r.a.p of cloth.The bard wore dusty and torn leather breeches and a halter, both s.h.i.+ny with age.Swinging a hoe with strength and care, Storm was covered with a glisteningsheen of sweat, and stray leaves stuck to her here and there. She waved and, layingdown the long hookhoe, hastened toward them, wiping her hands on her thighs."Well met!" she called happily as she came."I'm going to hate leaving this place/' Shandril said in a small, huskyvoice. Narm squeezed her hand and nodded."I am, too," he said, "but we can come back when we are stronger. We will come back." Shandril turned to look at him, surprised at the iron in his tone. She was smiling in agreement as Storm reached them. The pleasant smellof the bard's sweat-like warm bread, sprinkled with spices-hung around her.Nairn and Shan-dril both stared. Storm smiled. "Am I purple, perhaps? Grotesque?"Nairn caught himself, and said, "My pardon, please, lady. We did not mean tostare." "None needed, Narm. And no 'lady', please . we're friends. Come in and sharesweet.w.a.ter, then let us talk. Few enough come to see me."On the way to the house, she said to Shandril, "So what is so strange aboutme?" Shandril giggled. "Such muscles" she said admiringly, turning to point at thebard's flat, tanned midriff. Corded muscles rippled on her flanks and arms a.s.she walked. Storm shook her head. "It's just me," she said lightly, leading them through a stout wooden doorthat swung open before she touched it, into cool dimness within. "Sit here by theeast window and tell me what brings you here on such a fine morning. Most seek Storm in fouler weather/'"Urrhh ... as bad as Ehninstei? Narm said in response. She handed him a long,curving horn of blown and worked gla.s.s, in the shape of a bird. He held itgingerly, in awe. "It's real gla.s.s!""Aye... from Theymarsh in the south, where such things are common. It breakseasily," the bard said, filling another. Shandril held hers apprehensively,too. One of the guards backed away when offered one."Ah, no, lady," he said awkwardly. "Just a cup, if you have one. I'd feeldark the rest of my days if I broke such as that." Shandril murmured in agreement.The bard smiled at them all, hands on hips, and then turned and spoke softlyto the guardsmen."We must be alone, these two and I, to talk. Bide you here, if you will. Thebeer is in that cask over there; it is not good to drink more sweet.w.a.ter sosoon. Bread, garlic b.u.t.ter, and sausage is at hand in the cold-pantry. Comewith speed if you hear my horn." She took down a silver horn from where it hung on a beam near her head, and turned to Narm and Shandril. "Drink up," she urged simply. "There is much to talk about." She went to theback of her kitchen and swung open a little arched door there, into thesunlight. "Follow the path into the trees, and you shall find me." Then she was gone.The visitors from the tower looked around at the low-ceiiinged kitchen, thedark wooden beams, and hanging herbs. It was cozy and friendly, but ordinary, notthe wild showplace of art and lore one might expect in the home of a bard. Asmall lap harp rested half-hidden in the shadows on a shelf near the pantry door.Narm almost dropped his gla.s.s when suddenly, and all alone, it began to play.They stared at it as the strings plucked themselves. One of the men-at-armshalf rose from his seat with an oath, clapping hand to blade, but a veteran turned on him. "Peace, Berost! It is art, aye, but no art to harm you, or any of us."The harp played an unfamiliar tune that rose and fell gently, and then climbedand died away to a last high, almost chiming cl.u.s.ter of notes."Sounds elven," Narm said quietly."Let us ask," Shandril said, standing her empty gla.s.s carefully upon thetable. "I'm done." Narm drained his with a last tilting swallow and set it down withcare beside hers. They nodded to their guards, went out the little door, and found themselves on a path that twisted down a little ravine, around herbs and beneath overhangingtrees. Down they followed it, to emerge at last by a little stream amid thetrees that widened into a pool.Storm stood beside it in a robe, hair wet. She was still damp from bathing,and as they came, she sat upon a rock and beckoned them to two other rocks at the pool's edge. Close by her head, the silver horn hung from a branch."Come and sit," she said, "and bathe, if you would ... or just dabble yourtoes in the water. It is soothing." She turned serious eyes upon them, and said,"Now tell me, if you will, what it is that hangs upon your hearts.""The harp that played by itself," Narm asked innocently, "was that an elventune?" "Aye, a tune of the Elven Court that Merith taught me. Is that all thattroubles your mind?" she teased, shaking water* *

from her silver hair. "Lady," Shandril said hesitantly, "we think we would like to join theHarpers.We have heard only good of those who harp from all whom we respect. Yet wehave heard only little. Before we set foot on a new road that we may follow mostof our lives-and that may well lead us to life's end sooner than not- we wouldknow more from you of what it is to be a Harper. If your offer still stands. Well,does it-?" Storm held up her hand. "Hold, hold! No more queries until we've seen theseclear between us. I shall try to be brief." She drew up her bare feet beneathher on the rock, and looked at the woods all around. Then she nodded, as ifreaching a decision, and held out a hand to them."A Harper is one of a company of those with similar interests-men, and elves,and half-elves. Most bards and many rangers in the North are Harpers. More women than men are Harpers. We have no ranks, only varying degrees of personalinfluence. Our badge is a silver moon and a silver harp, upon a black orroyalblue field. Many female mages, and most druids, are our allies, and we aregenerally accounted 'good.'"A Harper is one who tolerates many faiths and deeds, but works againstwarfare,slavery, and wanton destruction of the plants and creatures of the land. Weoppose those who would build empires by the sword or spilled blood, or workart heedless of the consequences."We see the arts and lore of fallen Myth Drannor as a high point in thehistoryof all races, and work toward the careful preservation of history, crafts,and knowledge. We work toward that which made Myth Drannor great-the happy andwilling sharing of life with all races."We work against, and must often fight, the Zhentarim; the Cult of theDragon-who plunder the lore and art of the Realms to enrich their revereddracoliches; the slavers of Thay; those who plunder and willfully destroytombs and libraries everywhere; and those who would overturn the peace and unleashfire and sword across the land to raise their own thrones. "We guard folk against these, when we can. We also guard books and theirlore,precious instruments and their music, and art and its good works. All these things serve hands and hearts yetunborn, those who will come after us. "We seek to keep kingdoms small, and busy with trade and the problem of theirpeople. Any ruler who grows too strong and seeks to take knowledge and powerfrom others is a threat. More precious knowledge is risked when his empirefalls, as fall it must."Only in tavern-tales are humans wholly evil or s.h.i.+ningly good. We do what wecan for all, and stand in the way of all who threaten knowledge. Who are weto decide who shall know or not know lore? "The G.o.ds have given us the freedom and the power to strive among ourselves.They have not laid down a strict order that compels each of us to do exactlythus and so. Who knows better than the G.o.ds what knowledge is good or bad,and who shall have it?" Narm regarded her thoughtfully. "Does that mean, good lady, intending nodisrespect," he asked quietly, "that there should be no secrets, and thatwild six-year-olds should be tutored in the destroying spells, because knowledgeshould be denied to none?" Shandril looked at him fearfully. Would Nairn's tongue lead them into Storm'sanger, losing any chance of aid-or welcome-from the Harpers?Storm laughed merrily, disspelling the spellfire-maid's fear. "You havechosen well, Shandril," the bard said. "Unafraid, and yet polite. Inquiring, nothostile and opinionated. Well said, mage-to-be." She got up, drew on hersoft,battered old boots, and rose to pace thoughtfully."The answer to your question is no. All in the Realms hold and guardknowledgeas they see fit. That, too, we have no right to change, even if we had theart to alter every creature's mind. Much should be secret, and much revealed onlyto those who have the right or ability to handle it. If that sounds too simple,think on this: Harpers seek not to reveal the truth to all, but to preservewritings, art, and music for later years and beings. We work against thingsthat threaten the survival of such culture, or erode its quality by influencing itwith unchallenged falsehood."Harper bards always sing true tales of kings, as far as* *

truth is known. They do not, for any reward, sing falsely of the grand deedsof an usurper, or falsely portray as bad the nature and deeds of his vanquishedpredecessor. Even if such would make good tales and songs, a Harper cleavesto the truth. The truth-a thing slightly different for everyone-must be therocks that the castle of knowledge and achievement is built upon."Strong words, eh? I feel strongly. If you come to do so, too, you will trulybe Harpers. If one falls out of such belief, they should leave the struggle and our ranks. They will do themselves, us, and our cause ill."I hope only that whether you walk with us or no, or join and then leave usthereafter, that you walk always together, and take joy in each other's company.It is through such love -or longing, when in lack of it-that much learningand celebration comes about. It adds to the culture that we strive to save and nurture. More than that, whether you be Harpers or not, I would be yourfriend." Shandril and Narm looked at each other, and then at the bard, and spoketogether. "We would be Harpers.""If you will have us," Shandril added awkwardly. Storm looked at them bothwith a smile and then stepped forward and gathered them into her arms." 'If you will have us,' " she repeated softly. "We would be proud andpleasedto have you. You, Shandril and Narm, not your art and your spellfire. Youneed not stay here-indeed, I agree with Elminster, for we have spoken of this. Youshould not stay here. You should walk far and see much, and grow in your owncounsel and powers. As you go, if you work against evil, you will be Harpers,whether you bear our badge or no. Fight not always with blade or spell. Theslower ways are the surer-aid freely given, and friends.h.i.+ps and trust built.These evil cannot abide. It shrinks away from what it cannot destroy withfire and blade." "Where then should we go?" Narm asked, as they stood together there in thewood in each other's arms. They leaned together, and all three took comfort fromthe embrace. Storm spoke softly, words almost hidden among the sounds of thewater. "Go you by way of Thunder Gap. Watch for Dragon cult* *

agents. They are thick in Sembia, and there is one in Highmoon. His name isKorvan-" Shandril stiffened. "Go to Silverymoon itself. Seek out Al.u.s.triel,HighLady of that city, and say that you come from her sister Storm and would beHarpers."With Al.u.s.triel, too, is a good place to be if you intend to have a child bythen." The bard looked meaningfully at Shandril, who blushed. "Well, you'renot quite the first couple to make that mistake." She looked at Narm. "If yourladyfeels too sick to eat," she said, "feed her lots of stew. In the evenings,she'll feel more like dining."Narm looked at her. "Pray, lady, let me get used to discovering I'm going tobe a father, first," he said plaintively. Storm chuckled again."Think well, both of you, on the names your offspring must carry through life.I was born in a storm, and was named because I came out of it. It is anear-catching name, I'm told, but I fought many larger and stronger lads andla.s.ses when I was small because of it." She freed herself from them and undid her robe. After a startled look, Narm politely turned his back. Unconcerned, the barddrew on her clothes. Shandril saw that her arms, back, and flanks were coveredwith faint white, twisting sword-scars. She looked up at Shandril's wondering eyesand winked. "I've walked many roads. Some roads leave little maps." Shetraced one scar with a long finger and tied her halter,"You can turn about, Narm," Storm said dryly. "I'll soon grow tired oftalking to your shoulders." Narm obediently turned about, grinning. "Now," Stormcontinued, "I'll tell you a few things about the journey ahead of you. First:trail marks. You'll see a few runes scratched or burned on rocks, trees, orin the dirt as you go." Storm picked up a stick and then shrugged. "Nay ... I'lldraw them for you in the house. It is Elminster's way to expect one toremember half a hundred things in a morning; I'll not do that. I will tell you the names of Harper agents along your way. Look to them for aid if you need it."These, too, I'll write for you, on a bandage. I'll need you to p.r.i.c.k yourfinger and bleed on it afterwards. It must look well-stained and disgusting if you don't want it to be looked at too closely,if someone searches or robs you. But these I'll tell you about, in case you getseparated, or lose your list. If you lose the list of runes, stay clear ofall such that you see. "First, in Cormyr..."After a long time, Storm rose, belted her horn at her waist, and led themback up the path to her back door."What if someone-by art, I mean-heard all this?" Nairn asked, looking at thetrees all around. Storm shook her head. "I have art of my own to cloak this little, hidden place. Manshoon himselfcould not hear us unless he sat with us." She went in and set the men-at-arms to cutting cheese and apples for all, while she prepared the bandages.Storm vanished up a stair half-hidden in the shadows of the old stonekitchen,taking Shandril's hand and drawing her up, too. When they reappeared there was no sign of the promised bandage. Shandril's eyes told Narm readily enoughthat it was hidden upon her somewhere. The bard now wore black fighting leathersand a sword. "Tb the temple, then," Storm said briskly, "for we have much to talk aboutwith Rathan and Eressea." West of the tower, over the bridge that spanned the river Ashaba, rose thesolid stone temple of Tymora without ditch or palisade. Its open gates stood intall green gra.s.s without any wall, so that anyone could easily walk around. Stormled them between the gate-pillars and along a wide flagstone path to the temple.The path led to circular, arched double doors of gleaming metal, fas.h.i.+oned toresemble the disc symbol of Tymora. An acolyte stood guard before them,manninga polished circular alarm-gong. He was young and pimply and very earnest."Whycome you to this house of honor to the Lady?" he inquired, in the words ofthe ritual. "Tb take our chances," Storm replied formally, "and to speak with the Lady'sservant, Eressea Ambergyles, and* * with the faithful Rathan Thentraver if he is within." "Yes, lady," said the acolyte with respect. "He is, and you are welcome.Enter,if you will." He opened the doors and stepped within to signal another totake his post as he escorted the visitors into the temple.In a moment, he reappeared and beckoned wordlessly, leading them into a largecircular chamber whose pillars held up a domed ceiling high overhead. He ledthem up a broad stair without haste, past a watchful priest who sat at thehead of the stairs with plain bra.s.s rings gleaming upon his fingers and a bare mace laid across his knees. The mace glowed faintly.Beyond the priest a gallery opened out to the right and left, running aroundthe inside of the dome, past many closed doors. Their escort knocked upon a doorstraight ahead, and it swung open. Rathan and Eressea, both clad in plainspunrobes, were seated at a small round table in a room with large windows. Onthe table between Rathan and the tiny, stern-faced Preceptress were six dice.Storm nodded to them. "Well met, both of you. Games of chance?""What else in the service of Tymora?" Eressea replied. "It is sacrilege, mindyou, to work upon odds, or cheat, or otherwise affect pure chance."Storm nodded. "You know why we've come, Rathan?""Aye," he said, and rose. "Ye may go down to the doors, for we must nowdiscuss holy things," he said simply to the men-at-arms. After a moment, they turnedaway with nods and murmurs and salutes. Rathan gestured to the acolyte tofollow them, but left the door open. He turned to Narm and Shandril. "Ye wish to bewed before the bright face of Tymora," he said simply. "When?""As soon as possible, by your leave," Shandril said hesitantly."The day after tomorrow," Storm insisted. "I shall sponsor/'"Nay, lady," Rathan said with a grin. "The Lord Mourn-grym hath alreadyclaimed that honor. All has been made ready, but for the asking of Her Grace,Eressea." He turned to Eressea, who had risen. Her stern face was alight. She smiled happily, and said, "I will give Tymora's blessing withpleasure. Is it to be here, or in the tower, or-?""Outdoors, Preceptress," Storm said softly, surprising them all. "Upon thesite of my sister Sylune's hut, which is burned and gone now." There was a littlesilence. Shandril realized that Eressea was looking to her for her approval."Agreed," she said simply, unaware of what she should say. But Narm quietlyechoed her, and made it somehow formal by doing so. Then Rathan spoke."Agreed," was all he said, and Eressea bowed."After dawnfry, then, the day after tomorrow," the Per-ceptress said. "Letthe word go out." Rathan bowed, and went out and down the stairs before them."The young lord and lady to be wed? G.o.ds' good wishes to them! I tell you,Baerth, I saw flames come from her very hand! 'Spellfire' they're callingit-but it was no spell like I ever saw cast! No dancing about or chanting, she justfrowned a little, like Delmath does before he lifts a full barrel, and thereit was! Aye, you wouldn't want to be marryin' that, now would you?"

Malark, in the shape of an owl on a branch overhead, grinned sourly tohimself amid the coa.r.s.e laughter, and thought on how to slay Shandril. All thisskulkinginfuriated him. At every moment, the girl and her mageling were together, andat every moment, they were flanked by at least one accomplished in art, or oneof the knights armed with powerful items of art-with others close at hand.Malark would not soon forget the desolation of Rauglothgor's lair. A mistakein this matter could be his last. He turned tired eyes toward the Twisted Tower.She was guarded even now. Especially now.The wedding ceremony would be one chance to get at Shandril-of-the-Spellfire,but not a good one. All of the most powerful protectors of Shadowdale wouldbe gathered there. Perhaps later . . . these two had to leave the dale sometime.Malark had the uncomfortable feeling that others were waiting for just thatto happen, and he might have to battle rival bids for spellfire, perhaps evenOumrath. Malark growled to himself, and took flight restlessly, heading south acrossthe road. Soon, Shandril of Highmoon, he thought. You'll feel my art soon. . . .The day dawned cool and misty. Shandril and Narm had stept apart as customdemanded, Shandril in the Temple of Tymora with Eressea, and Narm in theTwisted Tbwer with Rathan. Both were up and awake before dawn to be bathed in holywater and blessed. Word had spread throughout the dale, and folk began to gatherearlyby the banks of the Ashaba.Rathan filled a gla.s.s from a crystal decanter and held it high. "Tb theLady,"he said, and emptied it into the bath. Then he turned his head to look downat Narm and grinned. "That's all the wine I'll touch this day."Narm rose, dripping. "You mean you'll miss all the festive tippling, later?"Rathan shrugged. "How else can I make this a special occasion? Eressea and Iwill go off together somewhere after it's all done and share a gla.s.s of holywater!' He stared off into reverie for a moment and then blinked and said gruffly, "Come on, then. Out and dry yourself! If ye are so heedless as togetthe chills, Shandril may wed a walking corpse!""Cheery, aren't you?" Narm observed, as Rathan unwrapped heated linens fromhot rocks, grunting and licking his fingers, and held the linen out for Narm totake. "If it's a clown ye want, I'll send for Tbrm straightaway" Rathan replied."But don't blame me if he gets thee so drunk and distracted that ye forget to cometo thy wedding-or if he locks thee in a chest somewhere so that he can have thepleasure of marrying your Shandril himself!""Tbrm?" "Aye. And if he's busy misbehaving elsewhere, I may take his place in suchadventures myself."Eressea was kissing Shandril's forehead formally, and then hugging herfondly."We must make haste now," she said. "Your lord-to-be awaits you. Shadowdale gatheredS*

awaits you, too. So let us 'scoot,' as Ehninster says." Shandril rolled hereyes, and together they hurried down the stairs.A lone horn rang out from where Sylune's Hut had been and echoed in the dale,to signal that Nann waited with Rathan. It was answered immediately from thebattlements of the tower of Ashaba, as the bride-to-be and the PreceptressEressea set forth on the long walk south.Storm Silverhand walked behind them, blade drawn, as the guard of honor. Anyhostile eyes watching and planning an attack on the maid who commandedspellfirecould not help but notice the many bright glows of art that hung about thebard's person. She was armed with power and expecting trouble. There were not a few gasps and mutters among the dalefolk at the display.Well ahead of them walked Mourngrym, Lord of Shadow-dale, bareheaded butfullyarmored, the arms of the dale upon his breast, and a great sword at his side.The trumpeters along the route bowed to him but did not sound their hornsuntil Shandril reached them. One by one their calls rang out as the bride drew nearer. Mourngrym saluted Narm and then stepped aside. A few bare stone flags amongstill-scorched gra.s.s marked the spot where Sylune's hut had stood. When shelived and was Lady of the Dale, no temples had stood in Shadowdale. All had come here to be wed before her. Now at least one more couple would be wed here.Rathan stood square upon the stones, looking for Shandril. The disc of Tymoraupon his breast began to glow as he cupped it in his hands.Nearer they came, Shandril and Eressea, and the last trumpeter blew two highnotes. A fanfare of all the trumpets joined him, loud and long and glorious.When the last, thrilling echoes had died away, Shandril stood before Rathan.The priest smiled at her and cast the disc of Tymora, which he had taken offits chain, into the air. It hung a man's height above their heads, spinninggently,and its glow grew brighter.

"Beneath the bright face of Tymora, we are gathered here to join togetherNarm Tamaraith, this man, and Shandril Shessair, this woman, as companions inlife. Let their ways run together, say I, a friend. What saith Tymora?"Eressea stepped forward and spoke. "I speak for Tymora, and I say, let theirways run together" Rathan bowed his head at her words."We stand in Shadowdale," he said then. "What saith a good woman of the dale?"Storm Silverhand took a step forward and spoke. "I say, let their ways runtogether.""We stand in Shadowdale, and hear you. What saith a good man of the dale?"The smith Bronn Selgard stood forth from the gathered Dalefolk then, hisgreatgrim face solemn, his mighty limbs clad in old, carefully patched finery. Hisdeep voice rolled over them all. "I say, let their ways run together.""We stand in Shadowdale, and hear you," Rathan said in response. "What saiththe Lord of the Dale?" Mourngrym stood forth. "I say, let their ways run together""We stand in Shadowdale, and hear you," came Rathan's voice, and it suddenly rose into a deep challenge. "What say the people of the dale? Shall the ways of these two, Narm and Shandril, run together?"

"Aye!" came the cry from a hundred throats.

"Aye, we have heard ye. We have heard all, save Narm and Shandril. What say ye two? Will ye bleed for each other?"

"Aye," said Shandril, first as was the custom. Suddenly she was dry-throated.

"Aye," Narm said, as quietly.

"Then let ye be so joined," Rathan said solemnly, and took their left hands in each of his. Mourngrym stepped forward with his dagger drawn.

In the throng nearby, Jhessail and Elminster tensed. Now their protection on Mourngrym might be tested by someone seeking to compel him to strike at the young couple. Rathan's face, too, was tense as he watched.

Gravely the Lord of Shadowdale reached out his dagger and carefully p.r.i.c.ked the upturned backs of the two hands,

Shandril's first. Then he wiped the blade upon the turf before them, kissed it, and put it away. He stepped back in silence.

"Now, as we told thee," Rathan whispered to them, and stepped back.

Narm and Shandril brought their bloodied hands to each other's mouths, and then stepped into each other's arms and kissed, embracing fiercely. A cheer arose from those watching.

"Of one blood, joined, are Narm and Shandril," Rathan said. "Let no being tear asunder this holy union, or face the dark face of Tymora forevermore." Above their heads, the spinning disc flashed with sudden, intense light. There were cries of surprise and wonder.

"See the sign of the G.o.ddess!" Rathan shouted. "Her blessing is upon this union!"

The disc rose, s.h.i.+ning brightly, as Narm and Shandril stepped back, hands clasped, to watch. From it sprang two shafts of white radiance, with a noise like high, jangling harping. They stretched down, one to touch Narm and the other Shandril.

Narm stood motionless, smiling, eyes wide in astonishment as he felt power rus.h.i.+ng through him, cleansing and strengthening him. At the touch of the light, Shandril burst into flames, and as she moved to embrace Narm in wild joy, her spellf ire rose above them both in a great teardrop of rising flame. Their clothes blazed and were gone, but their hair and bodies were unharmed.

Elminster clucked disapprovingly and began to move his hands in the gestures of a weaving of art, muttering spell phrases unheard by those around him. The Harpers stepped from trees all about, then, to play The Ride of the Lion on many harps that shone and glittered in the bright light of Tymora.

For a moment it seemed that another Lady stood with Elminster and the bridal couple on the fire-scarred flagstones, a smiling lady with silver hair. Only Jhessail saw the wraith-like figure before it faded silently away again.

"Sylune!" Jhessail whispered, and tears came into her eyes.

Robes of illusion enclothed Narm and Shandril as the

flame died down. Rathan shouted, "It is done! Go forth in joy! A feast awaits you at the tower of Ashaba! Dance, all!"

Jhessail came forward amid the happy tumult then to where Elminster, Mourngrym,

the clerics, and Storm stood guard about the happy couple, smiling."It is done," she said softly, and kissed them both. "It is time for me togiveyou what was given to Merith and I upon our wedding day. Foes are gathering even now in the woods to take you, and there will be battle. Mind you fly high,and take no part."Elminster gravely began the casting of a spell of flight upon Shandril, andJhessail did the same upon Narm. When they were done, Elminster said gruffly,"Remain aloft no more than ye must-this magic will not last forever. Go,now!" He guided them into another embrace, and patted Shandril's back awkwardly."Rise!" he bid them, "before the fighting reaches us!"Shandril thanked them all, and then, in Nairn's embrace, rose slowly from theearth. Both were silent in awe as they rose up through a clearing skytogether.The bright disc of Tymora silently rose with them and followed, leavingRathan staring up into the sky. "I do hope Tymora sends me back her holy symbol," besaid, watching the faint radiance moving eastward over the forest."And I hope," Storm said as gently, "that they have the sense to steer wellclear of Myth Drannor.""I'll see to that, sister," came a soft voice from above, as a black falconswooped out of the mists and then climbed away from them, heading east.Elminster growled. "Now I suppose I'll have to keep eyes alight for whatevershe might do to get spellfire, too!" he said, and became an eagle, and was goneinto the sky.Those who still stood where Sylune's Hut had been looked at each other, andthen at the dalefolk hastening back toward the tower as swords flashed and sangamid the trees. Harpers and guards of the dale were battling men in a motley ofleathers-mercenaries, by their look.Jhessail sighed. "Well, back to the battle again," she said."Aye," Storm agreed. "As always." They drew blades, a wand, and two maces,and charged into the fray. As always.Talk Not Aside Open the door, little fools: we wait outside.The green dragon NaurglaurSayings Of A WycmYear of the Spitting Cat"We should go down," Shandril whispered into the wind. Narm's arms tightenedabout her, and he and Shandril flew for a time in silence. The great greenexpanse of the elven woods lay below them."Aye," he reluctantly agreed at last. "I shall not soon forget this.""Nor shall I," she whispered. "As I should hope not!"Narm chuckled at her mild indignation. Bending his will to turn northwestagainover the seemingly endless trees of the Elven Court, they headed back toShadowdale. "I can't help but feel," he said, looking about them, "that we're beingwatched." It was an odd feeling to have while soaring naked high above theland. "I'm sure we are, and we have been since we first rode with the knights," hislady replied. "How else could they protect us?"

'"Well, yes . . . but now?"

"I'm sure they've seen such things before" she said. "Elminster's five hundred winters old, remember?"

"Aye." Narm sighed, looking all about them. They were gliding low over the trees, the sky clear but for a line of clouds to the north. They could see no other creatures in the air or below. Narm shrugged. " Would that none of this were necessary," he said, "and we could walk unafraid together." *

Shandril fixed him with very serious eyes. "I agree with you," she replied softly. "But without spellfire, you and I would be bones by now." They pa.s.sed over the bare top of Harpers' Hill and left it behind them again. "Besides, it is the will of the G.o.ds. Rage as we might, it is so, and shall be."

Narm nodded. "Aye. . . . Your spellfire can be handy enough, I'll admit. But does it harm you?"

Shandril shrugged. "I know not. I do not feel amiss or in pain, most times.

But I couldn't stop it or give it up, even if I wanted to. It is part of me, now."

She turned in his grasp to look back, and as she did so something circular and silver drifted out of the empty sky into her hands. Shandril caught it before thinking of danger. It was cold and solid, and the touch of its smooth weight sent her fingertips tingling.

"It is Rathan's holy symbol!" Narm said, astonished. "How came it here?"

"By the will of Tymora," Shandril said quietly. "Tb answer your doubts." Narm nodded slowly and almost sternly. The fine hairs upon his arms stood out stiff with fear. But he held her as gently and firmly as before.

"Where now?" he asked, as they saw The Old Skull Inn below. "The Twisted lower?"

"No," Shandril said, pointing at chain mail flas.h.i.+ng upon the backs of men below. "In all the alarm, the archers might well have us both down before they knew us."

"Or even," Narm muttered, "because they knew us."

Shandril slapped him lightly. "Think not such darkness!" she hissed. "Have any who are truly of the dale shown us anything but kindness and aid since we came here? We must be suspicious, aye, or perish-but ungrateful? But as I was about to say, I have little liking for the idea of greeting all the folk of the tower clad as we are."

Narm chuckled. "Ah, the real reason," he said, halting their flight over Elminster's tower. "My apologies, for such black thoughts. Still, it is better to look over one's shoulder than to die swiftly and surprised."

"Aye, but let not the looking make you sour," Shandril told him. "You would come down here?"

"Have we anyplace else?" Narm asked. "I doubt the art that protects Storm's home will be kind to us now, if we

come calling when she is not there."

"True," Shandril agreed and took one last look around from their height, looking

north over the Old Skull's stony bulk to the rolling wilderness beyond. Thewind slid past them gently now. "Learn this spell yourself, as soon as you can,"she urged as she clung to him. "It is so beautiful.""Aye." Nairn's voice was husky. "It is the least of the beauty I have knownthis day."Shandril's arms tightened about him, and she and Narm sank gently to theearth in a fierce embrace in front of Elminster's tower. Overhead, a falcon waggled its wings to an eagle and veered away to thesouth. The eagle bobbed in slow salute and wheeled about, sighed audibly, and doveearthward. "Must ye stand about, naked, kissing and cuddling, and generally inflaming anold man's pa.s.sions?" Elminster demanded loudly, inches behind Narm.Narm and Shandril both jumped, startled, but barely had time to unclasp andturn about before the sage was pus.h.i.+ng them roughly toward the door. "In! In, andtryyour hands at peeling potatoes. Lhaeo can't feed two extra guts on naught butair, ye know!" Shandril's fending hands encountered a deep and silky beard.Elminster came to a dead halt and glared at her. "Pull my beard, will ye?Ridicule a man old enough to be thy great - great - great - great - great -great - and - probably -great-again-grandsire? Are ye mad? Or just tired oflife? How would ye like to enjoy the rest of thy life from the mud, as atoad,or a slug, or creeping moss? Aye? Aye? AYE?"He was pus.h.i.+ng them both again, now, step by step to the door. Narm had begunto chuckle uncertainly. Shandril was still white and open-mouthed. The dooropenedbehind them, and Elminster added in sudden calm, "Two guests again, Lhaeo.They'll be needing clothes first.""Aye," came the dry reply from within. "It is cold in the corners, herein.How are they at peeling potatoes?"Elminster's answering chuckle urged them in, and he closed the door with abrief, "I'll follow, anon... some tasks remain." They were inside in theflickering dimness with Lhaeo, already moving toward a certain closet.

"We've gone through more clothes since you've come to Shadowdale," he said."You were a head shorter than I, were you not, Shandril?""Yes," Shandril agreed, and she began to laugh. After a moment, Narm joinedher. Lhaeo shook his head as he handed clothes backward without looking. Trulytheyserve most who know when to laugh and when to listen.The stew warm inside her, Shandril leaned back against the wall on her stoolhappily. She looked over at Narm, clad in the silk robes of a grand mage ofMythDrannor, and smiled at him, heart full. The hearth glowed, and Lhaeo movedsoftly back and forth in front of it, stirring and tasting and adding pinchesof spice kept in a rack above his cutting board. Pheasant hung from the raftersabove the scribe, and a plump gorscraw lay upon the table, waiting to bepluckedand dressed. Narm sipped herbed tea and regarded Lhaeo's deft movements over his stewpots. "Is there anything we can do to help?" he asked.Lhaeo looked up at him with a quick smile. "Aye, but it is not cooking. Talk,if you would. I have heard little enough speech that is not Elminster's. Tell mehow it is with you.""It is wonderful, Lhaeo," Narm said. "I am as happy now as I have ever beenin my life. We are wed this day and henceforth. It is joyous indeed!""You, too?" the scribe asked Shandril. She nodded, eyes s.h.i.+ning.Lhaeo smiled. "Both of you/' he said, "remember how you feel now, when times are darker, and turn not one upon the other, but stand together to face theworld's teeth. But enough. I will not lecture you. You must hear enough of that fromother lips, hereabouts."They all laughed. Shandril stopped first and asked, "Those men-at thewedding?Who were they, do you know?""I was not at your wedding," Lhaeo said softly. "Forgive me. I abide here toguard-certain things. I did learn something from the Lord Florin of the menwho drew swords and would have attacked you, if that's whom you mean."Narm nodded. "Those men, yes."

The two men held each other's eyes for a moment, and then Lhaeo said, "Therewere over forty, we believe. Thirty-seven-perhaps more by now-lie dead. Onetalked before his life fled. They were all mercenaries hired, for ten piecesof gold each and meals, to grab you both-Shandril alone, if they could take but one of you."They were hired in Selgaunt only a few days back and flown up in a s.h.i.+p thatsails the skies. Oh, yes, such things exist, though they be rare triumphs ofart. They were hired in a tavern by a large, balding, fat man with a wispybeard, who gave his name as Karsagh. They were directed to take you to a hillnorth of here to be picked up by the skys.h.i.+p."They would then be paid in full. Each had received only two pieces of gold.Many died carrying it, still unspent. Who this Karsagh is and why he wants you,we know not. Have you any favorite thoughts as to who he might be?"Narm and Shandril both shook their heads. "Half the world seems to be lookingfor us, with swords and spells," Shandril said bitterly. "Have they allnothingbetter to do?" "Evidently not," Lhaeo replied. "It is not all bad, that. Look who found you,Shandril-this mageling called Narm, and the knights who brought you here.""Aye " she said very quietly, "and it is here we must leave-friends andall-because of this accursed spellfire." Fire leaped and spat in tiny,cracklingthreads from one hand to another, as she stared down at her hands in anger."Not within these walls, if you please, good lady," Lhaeo said, eyeing it."Things sleep herein that should not be so suddenly awakened." Shandrilsighed,shame-faced, and let the fires subside."Sorry I am, Lhaeo," she said sadly. "I have no wish to burn down yourhouse." The hearthfire let out a crack, then, that startled them all, as a tinypocketof pitch in a branch blew apart. Narm stared from it to Shandril, a little fear on his face. At his look, Shandril nearly burst into tears."Nay, nay," said Lhaeo, turning to his cutting-board. "I know you do not, nordo I fear it coming to pa.s.s. You must not hate your gift, Shandril, for the G.o.dsgave it to you without such fury. And did not Tymora bless your union?" Thescribe indicated the holy symbol that Shandril had carefullyS* set upon a high table. As if in response to his words, it seemed to glow for a moment as they looked at it."Aye," Narm said, getting up. "So we are helpless in the hands of the G.o.ds?"He began to pace. Lhaeo looked up, sharp knife flas.h.i.+ng as he cut up the tripesof a sheep."No," he answered, "for where then would be your luck, which is the very essence of holy Tymora? What 'luck' can there be, if the G.o.ds control your everybreath? And how dull for them, too! Would you take any interest at all in the worldbeneath your powers, if you were a G.o.d and if the creatures in it had nofreedom to do anything you had not determined beforehand?"No, you can be sure that G.o.ds do not fate men to act thus-and-so often, ifat all, despite the many tales-even those by the great bards-that would have itotherwise." "So we walk freely, and do as we will, and live or die by that," Shandrilagreed. "So where should we walk? You know maps, Lhaeo-I have seen your markupon the charts here and in the tower yonder. Where upon the land of Faerunshould we go?"The scribe looked at her and spread his hands. "Where your hearts lead, isthe easy answer" he said, "and the best. But you really ask me where you should run to now, this season, with half Faerun at your heels and with the Harpers yourchosen allies. A good choice, know you by the road."He paced alongside Narm for a few strides and then said, "I would go south,quick and quiet, and go by the Thunder Gap into Cormyr. There, keep to thesmaller places and join with a caravan or with pilgrims of Tempus who seekthe great fields of war that lie inland from the Sword Coast. Go where there areelves, for they know what it is to be hounded and will defend you with fierceanger."He turned back to the cutting-board. "I daresay you would hear much the sameadvice from those who travel, if you could trust one to ask." Narm andShandril traded glances in silence. Then Narm spoke."We have heard such directions before, yes," he agreed, "almost word forword. If the best way is so obvious as all that, will your enemies not be lookingfor us to take it, and be waiting?"*

"Aye, most probably they will," Lhaeo agreed, with the ghost of a smile. "So youmust take care not to get caught."They both stared at him for a moment in frustration, and then Shandril laughed."Well enough," she said. "We shaU try to follow your advice, good Lhaeo. Knowyou any ways of avoiding those who search?""You both work with art and walk with those who are mighty in art, and youask me?" Lhaeo replied, eyebrows raised. "If you would learn the ways of stealthand disguise without art, ask Tbrm. I have escaped thus far, true, but in my case was cloaked in the Lady's Luck." He turned to Narm. "If you must pace aboutlike a great cat in a cage," he added, "could you slice potatoes while doing it?"Elsewhere, things were not so peaceful. In Zhentil Keep, two men faced eachother across a table. "Lord Marsh," said the mage Sememmon carefully, "does it seem to you that thepriests of The Black Altar, through some unfortunate internal dispute orother,have fallen into confusion and disarray too great for us to leave the citywith it unaddressed? I know my fellow mages feel that eye tyrants cannot betrusted and should not be given more authority than the minimum one is obliged toaccord them to win their support. All reports indicate that the beholder Manxampresently holds sway in the temple, and the corpses of many hundred clergy,great and lesser, that lie there have begun to stink.""I have heard those same reports," Lord Marsh Belwintle agreed smoothly. " amforced to the same conclusions . . . as, I hold, any reasonable man would be.This matter of one girl who can create fire will simply have to wait, unless or until she shows up at your gates to do us harm. Whereupon I am fullyconfident that the power and skill of the gathered mages of the city would defeat her, so long as they have not all been destroyed or weakened in the interim by beingsent off here and there on missions by one who had rather transparent reasonsfor wis.h.i.+ng them out of the city.""Exactly," Sememmon agreed. "I had thought to discuss with you theadvisabilityof setting just one of your mages of power- Sarhthor, perhaps-to observing this maiden's doings, so that herseizure by any of your foes or other concerns could be noted or countered by us. Wereshe to reveal any power or method whereby she gained spellfire, we couldbenefit merely from such a watch, with no blood lost to us and no art or coin wasted.Prudence would seem to indicate some sort of vigilance on your part.""An excellent plan, indeed," Lord Marsh agreed, reaching for a gla.s.s...o...b..ood-red wine before him. "The fighting arm of the Zhentarim would certainlyconcur with-and even expect-such a tactic. An eye must serve us where a clawmight be cut off, if we are not to be taken unaware by some creeping enemyand ultimately overwhelmed. More wine?""Ah, thank you," replied Sememmon, "but no. It is excellent, indeed, but itstaste lingers on the tongue and makes the sampling of potions when concoctingthem a chancy business, at best. Such onerous duties call, I fear""Quite so, quite so," Marsh agreed, rising. "Well then, we are agreed. Ishall not keep you longer. We may have to speak with each other later, and speedily,should the beholders prove troublesome. But for now, olore to you and yourfellows-in-art." "Olore to you," Sememmon agreed. He walked away.An eye that neither of them saw floating under the table watched Sememmon goand then winked out. "The Wearers of the Purple are met. For the glory of the dead dragons!"NaergothBladelord said. The leader of the Cult of the Dragon was, as always, coldlycalm. "For their dominion;' the ritual reply answered him, more or less in unison.Naergoth looked about the large, plain, underground chamber. All were presentsave the mage Malark. Well enough. To tongue-work, then, the faster to feastin some fine festhall of Ordulin, above, and then bed and then sleep. The rulingCouncil of the Cult waited expectantly."Brothers," he said, "we are gathered to hear of an affair that preoccupies yourmages: this matter of spellfire and all that is drawn into it. BrotherZilvreen,what say you?"

"Brothers," Master Thief Zilvreen said with soft, sinister grace. "I havelearned little from your loyal followers of the fates of the dracolichRauglothgor and the mage Maruel. But it appears likely that Rauglothgor, itstreasure, the she-mage, and even another sacred night dragon, the wyrmAghazstamn, whom Maruel called on for aid and rode upon back to Rauglothgor'slair, have all been destroyed. Destroyed by the accursed archmage ofShadowdale,Elminster, a group of adventurers who call themselves the Knights of MythDrannor, and by this young girl we have heard of, this Shandril Shessair, whocan cast spellfire!""All?" rumbled Dargoth of the Perlar merchant fleet. "I can scarce believetheycan all have been destroyed. What is so powerful, save an army of a size that we could see gathering for many days?""No such swords have been raised," Commarth, the bearded general of theSembian border forces, added dryly."Men sent back by Malark have described the site of Rauglothgor's lair as apitof freshly strewn rubble," Zilvreen answered. "Draw your own conclusions.""So just what is this spellfire," Dargoth asked, "that it can destroy greatmages and great wyrms alike?"Naergoth shrugged. "A fire that burns and can be hurled as a mage casts boltsof lightning," he said, "and that affects magical items and spells as well asthings not of art. More than that we do not know-which is why we sent Malark.""What of him?" Commarth asked. "Has he spoken to you more recently than weknow?" Naergoth shook his head. "No, I have heard no more than I have told you. Heis in or about Shadowdale now, as far as we know, seeking a time and a way togetat the girl.""Shessair," one of the others mused." Wasnt that the name of the mage that yourbrothers of art who preceded Malark slew at the Bridge of Fallen Men, in the battle that bought them their deaths?""Aye, it was," Naergoth said, "but no connection is yet apparent. We have atleast three eyes in Sword Coast cities who have the last name of'Suld' that Iknow of... and none are blood-related or even know of each other/'"What boots it?" Dargoth said. "Ancient history only warms long tongues-it can have no bearing on what we decide to do in thismatter/'"It certainly won't, if we do nothing," Commarth agreed in dry tones. "Have youany plans in mind, brothers?" Naergoth and Zilvreen shrugged."You first, brother," Zilvreen prompted.Naergoth nodded and spoke. "The price of getting our hands on this spellfireseems far too high, and others-the Zhentarim, and the priests of Bane outsideZhentil Keep, for two-are known to seek it. Yet it is we who have already paid a price, and I am loath to turn away empty-handed. The price may seem too highto you ... and yet we cannot afford not to gain spellfire for our own. No one can. I expect much bloodshed yet." He looked around the table. "How we go aboutgetting it, I leave to you, brothers.""Let the mages win it for us" said Zilvreen smoothly. "Waste no moreswords-and especially no more of your bone dragons-on this.""Well enough," Dargoth agreed. "But spellfire or no, we must not let thisgirl,or the knights, go unpunished for what they have done. We must never forgetthat we have lost much treasure, two dracoliches, and The Shadowsil over this. Thegirl must pay. Even if she becomes an ally, she must die after we have gainedher secrets and her power. This must ride over all.""Well said, brother; Naergoth agreed. There was a murmur of agreement aroundthe table. "We are agreed, then- for now, we let your brother mages handlethis affair?" "Aye, it is his field," came one reply."Aye, it would be folly to do otherwise," said another."Aye-and if he comes not back, we can always raise other mages to the Purple.""Aye to that, too!""Aye," the others all put in, in their turn. So it was agreed, and they all rose and left that place.It was late in Shadowdale, and in the Twisted lower the candles burned low.In an inner room of Lord Mourngrym's chambers off the great bedroom, there wasmuch discus sion over the remains of dinner-in low tones, as Lady ShaerI slept in herchair at one end of the table, and Rathan Thentraver dozed over one arm of hischair. "We must leave," Shandril said, close to tears."Leave? Of course ... how can you know yourselves and become strong if you are always in the midst of our hurly-burly?" Florin agreed. "But come back onedayto see us, mind," he added softly.

"Have you a place in mind?" Jhessail asked, as she leaned drowsily uponMerith's shoulder. The elf s eyes gleamed in the candlelight. Tbnight he had saidlittle and listened much. Narm shrugged. "We go to seek our fo