slew more dragons-that one day its strength would fail and some younger, greedier dragon would drag it down as it had served its elders, and all its striving would have been for naught. For years such worries ate at the creature's old heart, and when men came with offers of eternal strength and wealth, the dragon slew them not, and it listened.
By the arts of the Cult of the Dragon, the great and evil red dragon became, in time, a great and evil dracolich. Dead it was and yet not dead, and the years touched not its vigor and strength, for it had become only bones and magic, and its strength was of the art and could not be diminished by age.
The years passed, and Faerun changed, and the world was not as it had been. Rauglothgor flew less often, for there was little left to match its memories, and few lived that it had known, and willing men of the cult brought it treasure to add to its dusty hoard. The dracolich grew moody and lonely as kingdoms fell and seas changed and only it endured. To live forever was a curse. A lonely curse.
Shandril could not look away from those lonely eyes. 'So young,' said the deep voice, and abruptly the bony neck arched up and the eyes closed and she was alone, shivering.
'Well met, Great One,' Symgharyl Maruel said. 'By your leave, I would question this one before I leave her with you.'
'Given, Shadowsil,' Rauglothgor replied. 'Though she knows little of anything, yet, I deem. She has the eyes of a kitten that has just learned to walk.'
'Aye, Elder Wyrm,' said the Shadowsil, 'and yet she may have seen much in the few days just past, or even be more than she seems.' The lady in purple strode around to stand before Shandril. At a gesture, the rope slithered slowly from Shandril and left her free. Shandril gathered herself to flee, but Symgharyl Maruel merely smiled down at her in cold amusement and shook her head.
'Tell me your name,' she commanded. Shandril obeyed without thinking.
'Your parents?' the mage pressed.
'I know not,' Shandril replied truthfully.
'Where did you dwell when younger?' The Shadowsil continued quickly.
'In Deepingdale, at The Rising Moon.'
'How came you to the place where I found you?'
'I… I stepped through a door of light that glowed in the air.'
'Where was that door?' the mage continued, a note of triumph in her voice.
'I… I don't know. In a dark place-there was a gargoyle.'
'How came you there?'
'B-by magic, I believe. There was a word, on a bone, and I said it…'
'Where is the bone now?'
'In a pool, I think-in that ruined city. Please, lady, was that Myth Drannor?'
The dracolich chuckled harshly. The Shadowsil stood silently, eyes burning into Shandril's. 'Tell me your brother's name!' she demanded abruptly.
Shandril shook her head, confused. 'I–I don't have a brother.'
'Who was your tutor?' The Shadowsil snapped at her.
'Tutor? I've never had-Gorstag taught me my duties at the inn, and Korvan about cooking, and-'
'What part of the gardens did the windows of your chamber look upon?'
Shandril flinched. 'Chambers, lady? I–I have no chambers. I sleep-slept-in the loft with Lureene most nights…'
'Tell the truth, brat!' the mage in purple screamed, her face contorted in rage, eyes gleaming. Shandril stared at her helplessly and burst into tears.
The deep chuckle behind the mage cut through both angry threats and sobs. 'She speaks truth, Shadowsil. My art never lies to me.' Shandril looked up, startled.
Symgharyl Maruel dropped her rage like a mask and regarded the disheveled, tearful Shandril calmly. 'So she is not the missing Cormyrean princess, Alusair,' she said aloud. 'Why then is she such a sheltered innocent? She is not simple, I believe.'
The dracolich chuckled again. 'Humans never are, I have found. Ask on; she interests me.'
The Shadowsil nodded as she moved forward to confront Shandril. Her dark eyes caught and held those of the young thief; Shandril prayed silently to all the gods who might be listening that she be free of this place and these two horrible beings of power.
Symgharyl Maruel regarded her almost sympathetically for a time and then asked, 'Were you a member of the Company of the Bright Spear?'
Shandril lifted her head proudly and said, 'I am.'
''Am?' The Shadowsil laughed shortly. Shandril stared at her with mounting fear. She had secretly hoped that Rymel, Burlane, and the others had somehow escaped the great dragon. She covered her face at the memory of the vicious attack, but she knew the truth now. The mage's cold laughter forbade her to deny it any longer. Tears came.
'You were taken by the cult and imprisoned in Oversember. How did you escape?' The Shadowsil pressed.
'I–I…' Shandril's face twisted in fear and grief, and mounting anger. Who was this cruel sorceress, anyway, to drag her here and bind and question her thus?
The dracolich's deep, hissing laughter rolled around Shandril again. 'She has a temper, Shadowsil. Beware. Ah, this is good sport!'
'I found the bone and read what was on it,' Shandril answered sullenly. 'It took me to the place with the gargoyle. I know no more.'
Symgharyl Maruel strode toward her angrily. 'Ah, but you do, Shandril! Who was that fool who attacked me before we took the gate here?'
Shandril shook her head helplessly.
'My name, witch,'-a new voice echoed over them all in answer-'is Narm!' There was a flash and a crackling in the air, and Shandril saw the mage stagger and almost fall, face contorted in pain and astonishment, as a swarm of small bolts of light struck her body.
Shandril looked behind her as she rose from her knees. High above, at the mouth of the cavern, were six humans. Two in robes stood before the others. One of them, also the one who spoke, she recognized from those last seconds before Symgharyl Maruel had forced her through the gate. He was young and excited. The other, a woman whose hair was as long as The Shadowsil's, stood with hand outstretched. She had been the one who had just hurled magic at the purple-robed sorceress.
Shandril had no time to see more before the cavern rocked with Rauglothgor's roar of challenge. The dracolich reared up to face the newcomers, eyes terrible, bony wings arching. Shandril hurled herself at The Shadowsil, who sprang away and hissed a word of art-and vanished before Shandril could grab her. Rauglothgor spat a word that echoed in the grotto around her, and a fiery streak lashed high over her head and exploded flame in all directions.
Shandril dove flat and looked around wildly. The newcomers were leaping down the sloping cavern floor toward her, apparently unharmed by the fireball. She saw the purple-robed sorceress appear on a high ledge behind them all.
'Look out!' Shandril screamed, pointing above them. A man in plain robes glanced up and back, and there was a winking of red light from a circlet he wore. From it burst a thin red beam that struck The Shadowsil. The sorceress stiffened, hands faltering in their spell-weaving, and then she slumped back against the rock wall, holding her side and screaming curses of anger and pain.
The dracolich roared again, and the long-haired woman lashed out in reply with a bolt of lightning. As it crackled overhead, the lightning outlined a tall man in blue-gray plate armor and the young man as they scurried down the slope toward her. The man in armor held a drawn blade.
The young man called out to her. 'Lady! You from The Rising Moon! We come to aid you! We-'
His words were lost in the roar of the dracolich's second fireball, bursting just behind the two running figures. Shandril turned in panic and ran downslope, slipping on coins, hard jade, and shifting bars. Behind her there was a cry of pain, the hissing laughter of the dracolich rolled around her, and the light abruptly faded in the cavern.
