Spellfire

'Yes,' Narm said thickly into Shandril's hair. 'Right well.' Then he disengaged himself from Shandril anxiously. 'How are you, my lady?'

Shandril smiled back at him. 'I live. I love you. I am most well.'

Narm smiled in his turn, and then asked very softly. 'May I take you to wife, Shandril Shessair?'

Jhessail turned away to seek out Merith's eyes and found his gaze already upon her. They shared a smile of their own.

The knights waited. Shandril's face was hidden in her hair, her head bent down. Someone-Florin-looked away in sudden dismay. Silence fell. Then Shandril's shoulders shook, and they realized she was crying. Her slim hands reached out and found Narm's shoulders, and she clung to him and pulled herself into his embrace and said brokenly, 'Oh yes. Yes. Please the gods, yes.'

The knights let out a great roar of pleasure and congratulation, and hands were pounding the shoulders of the young couple. Jhessail and Merith embraced, Rathan raised a wineskin, and Torm laughed and tossed a dagger high and caught it out of the air as it fell twinkling. Then the thief raced over to Elminster, who still stood motionless with his back to them all. Torm caught at his sleeve, tugged the startled mage around, and shook him in glee.

Elminster spoke mildly. Only his eyes glinted. 'Ye've ruined the spell, and I've lost him. Ye'd better have a good reason for this, Torm, son of Dathguld.'

Torm stopped in mid-laugh, startled. 'You know who my father was?'

Elminster waved a hand in vague dismissal. 'Of course, of course,' he said peevishly. 'Now, I asked thee thy reason for all this hooting and slapping me about and dancing up and down even now upon my very toes!'

'Oh.' And for once in his life, Torm could think of little more to say, until his own feet were clear of the old mage's, and his hands free of Elminster's clothing. Then his joy and his purpose both returned to him in a rush, and he said grandly, 'Narm and Shandril are to be wed! What say you? Wed, I say!'

The mage looked bewildered for a moment, and then cross. 'Is that all?' he demanded. 'Oh, aye-any fool could see that. Ye spoiled my spell and lost me my hook on Manshoon for that? Garrrgh!' He stamped his foot and turned away sharply in a swirl of dusty robes, leaving Torm to stare after him in astonishment. The thief recovered his customary grin when he saw that Elminster was heading straight for the laughing, still-embracing couple.

'Dolt,' said Rathan affectionately, and pressed his wineskin into Torm's hands. 'Come and sit, and have drink.'

Torm shuddered. 'I hate this swill!' he protested. 'Can't we just play pranks on each other, instead?'

'I have wondered, friend Torm,' came Florin's grave voice behind them, 'just what you do when really happy… and now I know. Truly, wonders anew unfold before my eyes every passing day. But the message I bear is to your damp companion. Rathan, Narm and Shandril would speak with you and myself as soon as the gods will.'

Rathan looked at him, momentarily surprised, and then nodded in understanding. 'Aye. Of course.' He thrust the skin into Torm's hands, and said, 'Mind this for me then, Torm? Thankee.' Two steps away, he checked, whirled about, and said sternly, 'And no pranks, mind!'

Torm shrugged and spread his hands in mock innocence. 'Is it my open, honest face? My kind, forgiving manner? My gentle disposition?'

'Nay,' said Elminster dryly from behind him. Torm jumped, startled. ''Tis the length of thy tongue.' The old sage put his hand under the thief's elbow as he passed and drew him along. 'Come,' he commanded, simply, 'thy presence is required.'

Narm was looking up at Rathan, his arm about Shandril and a kind of light about his face. Yet out of his eagerness, he spoke gently and hesitantly. 'I–I have no gift to give you, good guide of Tymora,' he said. 'But I-we- could you wed us two, and soon?'

Rathan grinned back at him. 'Of course I will. But a gift indeed ye have.' He gestured at the broken litter of rock about them, where coins still gleamed here and there amid the dust. 'One of those, perhaps,' he said gruffly. 'Mind it's a gold one, look ye.' Narm thanked him and clasped his hand and plucked up a gold piece. Rathan held it high, and said, 'Tymora looks down upon us and She finds this good, and shines the bright face of good fortune upon this union. By the sign of her favor, I declare ye two handfast, and to be wed before nine days and nights are out. All ye who are here, cry, 'Aye.''

And as the chorus of 'Ayes' rang out, the sun above them shone with sudden brightness, and a beam of golden light touched the coin in Hainan's fingers. There was a flash, and it was gone. Narm, who had secretly doubted the stout cleric's sincerity until that moment, opened his mouth in awe. Rathan spread his empty hands in benediction, stepped forward to take one each of Narm's and Shandril's hands and clasped them together under his own. He stepped back and bowed, and then he was Rathan again, smiling and blinking and looking about for his wineskin.

'Our thanks, Rathan,' Shandril said huskily, and he bowed again and said, 'Tymora's will, but my pleasure,' and made of the formal words the approval and joy of a friend.

Narm spoke then. 'My lord Florin,' he said to the tall ranger in the scorched and claw-scraped armor, 'may we come to Shadowdale for a time, with you all? We have no home, and my lady-no, we are both weary of running and fighting and never knowing rest, or a home. It is much to ask, I know, but-'

'But no more drivel,' said Torm unexpectedly. 'Of course you will come to the dale… where else would you go?'

Florin looked at him sternly, and then grinned. 'In truth, Torm,' he said, 'I could have put it in no better words myself… you are welcome for as long as you both desire it. I daresay you can study art better in Shadowdale's peace and quiet-relative though that may prove-than out here, as one mage after another hurls it at you.'

'Study?' asked Narm faintly, staring at Elminster, who stood puffing his pipe expressionlessly.

'Yes, with Illistyl and I,' said Jhessail. 'He,' she added, nodding at Elminster, 'will be studying your bride. It's been a long time indeed since someone last mastered spellfire so ably-and survived its use so well.'

Flames flickered red and angry orange in two braziers. They stood in a vaulted stone hall, and between them was an altar of black stone, polished glossy-smooth and shaped like a gigantic throne, forty feet high. At the foot of the Seat of Bane was a much smaller throne, and upon it sat a cold-eyed man with pale brown hair and wan features. His high-cowled robe was deep black and simple, and his hands gleamed with many rings. None living knew his truename, save himself; few knew his common name. He was the High Imperceptor of Bane, and he was very angry.

'Give me good reason,' he said coldly to those who knelt before him, 'why I should not put you to death. You have failed me. Manshoon was to have received our message at this meeting with his lords. We cannot move against the traitor Fzoul with Manshoon in the city, or we shall know certain defeat. You had the message; you delivered it not. What can you say to stand against this?'

'M-my Lord,' said one of those kneeling, hesitantly, 'the message was about to be passed on to Manshoon, in a believable manner-and for that, we needed those assembled to be on the topic, or he might well have smelled out our ruse. The meeting was scarce begun, and the fool Kalthas telling all grandly that garrisons across the northlands were wasteful and needless, when Manshoon stood up, all of a sudden, and upset the table and all. He-he began to cry, Dread Lord. He whispered a word, 'Maruel' or something similar, and then summoned a scrying-crystal. He was not even looking at us. He looked into the globe when it came to him-'

'The word of summoning!' the High Imperceptor interrupted sharply. 'What was it?'

'Ah-a moment. Dread Lord, it began, 'Zell'… ah, it was 'Zellathorass'! ' the kneeling man said triumphantly. The High Imperceptor nodded.

'Rise, and continue,' was all he said. Bowing, the man did.

'The-the word he dismissed the globe with, Dread Lord, was 'Alvathair' I do recall. He seemed furious after that and dismissed us. He said, 'Sirs, this meeting is at an end. For your safety, leave at once.' And he called down gargoyles upon us from above, and-and we fled.'

'Did you see where Manshoon went?' asked the High Imperceptor eagerly.

'N-no, Dread Lord. He was not seen in the city all the rest of that day.' The speaker spread his hands. 'We came straight to you, leaving that night, for fear of delivering our message wrongly, once the chance you had directed us to take was lost.'

The High Imperceptor nodded shortly. 'Well spoken, well recalled. Rise, all of you.' When the brief shuffling