Spellfire

burns…'

The two spellcasters exchanged glances, and Jhessail carefully laid a hand on Shandril's shoulder. There came a swift tingling into her fingertips.

'She holds yet more power,' Jhessail whispered, 'and this cannot be of the balhiir, not after so long a time and so much hurled forth. It's as Elminster suspected.' She bent again to Shandril's ear. 'Awaken, Shandril! We await you.' The eyelashes below her flickered.

'Narm,' Shandril said in a sleepy murmur, gaining strength. 'Narm, we are called… ah… ohh. Where-?' Shandril raised her head and looked around. In the soft, leaping glow of the lamp Illistyl had just lit she saw the two ladies of art standing over her. She tensed involuntarily to hurl forth the spellfire within, then relaxed. 'My pardon, Lady Jhessail, Lady Illistyl. I did not know you.'

She shook her head as if to clear it and turned to Narm. 'Up, love; arise.'

'Eh? Oh. Gods, is it time already?'

'It is,' Jhessail said gently. 'Elminster awaits you.'

'Oh, gods belch!' Narm said, rubbing his eyes and flinging back the fur. Hastily he pulled it up again. 'Ah-my clothes?'

Shandril burst into weak, helpless laughter, and handed him his robe.

Illistyl smiled. 'Jhessail and I will wait in the hall. Come when you are ready.'

In the hallway, the theurgist said to Jhessail, 'Tell no one yet, Jhess, but The Simbul came in by the window and listened, even as I did.'

Eyebrows lifted, and then lowered again. 'What did you both hear, aside from lovemaking?' Jhessail asked, lips twisted in amusement.

'The life-tale of Narm Tamaraith, full and open and unadorned. His mother, at least, may well have been a Harper,' Illistyl replied, refering to the mysterious group of bards and warriors that served the cause of good in the Realms.

Jhessail nodded. 'He thinks so?' Illistyl shook her head.

'The thought has not crossed his mind,' she said. 'It was the description.'

Jhessail nodded again as the door opened, and the two hastily dressed guests of the dale stepped out. Narm looked at the two ladies curiously. 'I mean no disrespect,' he said slowly, 'but is there a secret way into that room? I mean… that chest…'

'We workers of art have our dark secrets,' said Illistyl crisply. 'I dragged it.'

'Oh,' Narm said, surprised. 'I see. Uh, sorry.' They went down the stairs, nodded to the guards and went out into the night. It was very warm and still. Selune shone brightly overhead. Merith and Lanseril waited with mules. 'Well met,' the elf said softly.

'Where are we bound?' Shandril asked quietly, as he knelt to help her into the saddle.

'Harpers' Hill,' Merith replied, and they set off. Shadowdale lay dark around them. Looking about, Narm could see the watchful guardposts atop the tower and the Old Skull Tor behind them and upon the bridge and at the crossroads ahead. Silently the guards watched as the small party rode at ease through the dale and into the trees.

It was very dark, and the mules slowed to a walk on the narrow forest trail. Someone saluted Merith quietly. As they passed, Shandril saw a grim man in dark leather, with a drawn sword. 'A Harper,' Jhessail said simply. 'There will be others.'

The forest changed as they traveled on. The trees became larger and older, growing closer together. The darkness of their foliage, which now blocked the moonlight, became deeper and somehow quieter. Thrice more they passed guards, and at last came up a steep slope into a clear space. Torm and Rathan waited there, with others standing beyond. The thief and the cleric greeted them with quiet smiles and encouraging pats, and took their mules.

Merith drew Narm to one side, proffering a cloak. 'Remove your clothes and leave them here,' he said. 'Cover yourself with this.' Away along the bare hilltop, Jhessail was doing the same with Shandril. 'Boots, too-the ground is soft.'

'Will this be… dangerous?' Narm asked Merith.

The elf shrugged. 'Aye, but no more so than spending your night any other way, if it's death you fear. Come, now.'

Elminster stood in the moonlight at the center of the hilltop with Florin and Storm. As Shandril and Narm were brought to them, Elminster scratched his nose and said, 'Sorry to get ye from bed for all this mystery and ceremony, but 'tis necessary. I need to know thy powers for certain. Shall we begin, the earlier to be done?'

The knights embraced Narm and Shandril, and then left them alone on the hilltop with the old sage. He drew from his robes a small, battered book and handed it to Shandril.

'First,' he said, 'can you read this?'

The book was old, but upon its brown and crinkled pages were runes sparkling as clear and bright as if they'd only just been set down. Shandril stared at them, but she recognized nothing. Even as she looked, the runes began to writhe and crawl, moving on the page before her as if they were alive. She shook her head and handed the book back. 'No,' she said, rubbing her eyes. Elminster nodded, opened the book to a certain page, and extended it to Narm.

'And you? Only this page, mind-at the top; tell me the words aloud as ye can make them out.' Narm nodded and peered in his turn.

''Being A Means Both Efficient And Correct For The Creation Of-'' he began. Elminster waved him to silence, took the book back, and selected another page. Narm looked longer this time, forehead furrowed in concentration.

'I–I… 'A Means To Confound; I think it says here,' Narm said at last, 'but I cannot be sure even of that; nor is a word more clear to me, anywhere upon this page'

Elminster nodded and said, 'Enough, and well enough.' He turned to Shandril. 'How do ye feel now?'

Shandril looked at him with a little frown. 'Well in head and body, or at least I feel nothing amiss, but there is in me a… stirring, a feeling… a tingling.'

Elminster nodded slowly, as if unsurprised, and looked to Narm. 'Have ye any spells or cantrips in thy head?'

Narm shook his head. 'No. I–I have scarce had the time to study, since…' His voice trailed off under Elminster's grin.

'Aye, and good.' From his robes, he drew forth a scroll, glanced at it, and handed it to Narm. 'Read this' he commanded, 'and cast it-at thy lady. 'Tis but a light spell; ye cannot harm her.' He stepped back to watch.

Narm glanced around at the bare, moonlit hilltop, feeling the watching eyes he knew to be there in the trees. He took a slow, deep breath, and then cast the spell as carefully as he had done the first time ever. He turned and centered the art upon Shandril, who stood waiting.

Light flared around her, and then in a moment died. Elminster stepped near, looking at Shandril. Nodding at the fire in her eyes, he then produced another scroll. He gave this to Narm and said, 'As before. It will not harm her.'

Narm cast another light spell, and again it was absorbed. Shandril's eyes glowed brighter. A third time Elminster handed Narm a scroll, and he cast light. Shandril's body took it in. The old mage came near to Shandril and waved Narm away but did not touch her. He then said to Shandril, 'Lady, do ye see that boulder, there? Shatter it with thy spellfire, if ye will.'

Shandril looked at him, trembling a little, the fire leaping in her eyes, and said only, 'Yes.' Once again tingling fire coiled and raced within her, roiling about in her veins. She bore down on it with her will, thrusting it down one arm until it built, to a soundless thunder.

From her hand burst forth spellfire in a long, rolling gout. The boulder was enveloped in orange flame, building to white intensity. The three could feel heat upon their faces, and there was a sharp crack as the stone shattered. Shards sprayed in a small shower upon the hillside as the flames died away. Silence stretched for long moments.

Elminster turned to Narm. 'Stand back, now,' he warned. 'Over there, beneath that tree.' The mage cast a light spell of his own. It, too, was absorbed. Elminster then cast two more. Then he created a wall of force to one side, and nodded toward it. Shandril raised her hands and hurled fire.