The flames clawed at the wall and raged, becoming a blinding inferno as Shandril fully bent her will upon the barrier. When at last she gave up and let her flame die, shrugging, the wall still stood. Elminster nodded again, and asked, 'How do ye feel?'
Shandril shrugged. 'A little scared, but I neither hurt nor feel strange in any way.' She pushed with her will, letting flames leap up from her palms and then wink out in a little spurt, and added, 'I hold more yet'
The sage nodded and said, 'I shall raise a wall of fire there, before thee. When I nod, kneel before it and hurl spellfire through it, angling upward into the sky so as not to harm the forest. Only a little, mind thee. Cast it only for the length of a long breath, then cease.'
Shandril smiled, flames dancing in her eyes, and said, 'As you will… a short but steady burst of flame.' Spellfire roared through the wall of flames as though it was not there, and roared onward, drawing the mage's flames with it When the burst ended and curled away from the hilltop with a rippling, tearing noise of air, the wall of flames was gone. Flames dimmed and faded in the starlit sky above, and then all was gone as though it had never been. Shandril got up from her knees where she had been watching the beauty of the flames in the sky above her, and sighed.
'Are ye well?' Elminster asked, intently. Shandril nodded, and the mage said, 'Right, then.' He raised his hands and quietly cast a bolt of lightning at her.
It crackled and struck, and Shandril reeled. Narm cried out involuntarily, but already Shandril stood strong again, and the lightning was gone. The smell of the bolt hung in the air about her as she turned, bleeding a little from where she had bitten her lip, and smiled reassuringly at Narm.
'How are ye now?' Elminster asked.
'Well enough,' she said. 'I feel weary, a little, but not sick or strange.'
'Good,' the old mage said gently. 'I shall cast more lightning at thee. Gather and hold it as long as ye can. If it starts to hurt thee, or ye feel it trying to burst out and ye cannot stop it, fair enough. Let it flow out at the sky or at the rock you struck earlier. Do not release it until then, so that I may roughly learn thy capacity. We have healing means near at hand. Be not afraid.'
Shandril merely nodded and stood waiting, hands at her sides. When the sage's bolt struck her, she flinched but then stood quiet as Elminster hurled bolt after bolt at her. The air about the hill crackled and tingled upon the faces of those who watched. Narm trembled and twisted his hands about in the robe he wore, but could not look away.
More and more energy the delicate, aged fingers of the old mage poured into Narm's lady, and she stood silent and unmoving. At last she bent at the waist with a sob, threw her arms wide as she took a few steps to steady herself, and burst into a pillar of coiling flame.
'Mother Mystra!' Narm prayed hoarsely, in horror. Merith laid hands upon him quickly then, to prevent him running to his beloved-and a fiery death. Narm screamed Shandril's name and wrenched at Merith's grasp. He dragged the silent elf forward until Florin arrived to set his strength against the young spellcaster's. Narm struggled helplessly in their iron grip. On the hilltop above them a pillar of living flame writhed where Shandril had stood.
Abruptly, flames shot from it down the hill to strike the boulder. There was a flash, and those watching ducked as small red-hot chunks of stone showered down through the leaves around them. Jhessail hastily worked a wall of force from a scroll she had held ready, and Lanseril quenched those fires that started around them.
A smoking scar was all that was left where the boulder had stood. On the summit, a pillar of flame roared up as if to touch the glimmering stars. Elminster stood watching calmly, a cooling fragment of stone cupped in his hands.
Slowly, the roaring flames winked out. Shandril stood nude in the moonlight, sniffing curiously at the sharp smell of the scorched ends of her hair, which was otherwise untouched. Her cloak had burned away to nothing, but the flames had not marked her. Narm burst free of Merith and Florin's grasps and ran across the scorched rock, heedless of the pain in the bare soles of his feet.
Elminster moved to intercept him, but it was not necessary. Shandril herself backed away. 'Keep back, love!' she warned. 'I know not if my touch will slay, right now.' Narm came to a halt barely a pace away. 'I am well,' she added gently. Her long hair rippled and stirred in the calm air as if with a life of its own.
'What can you do?' Narm asked Elminster in anguish.
'I will touch her myself, to end the test,' the old mage replied firmly. 'I am protected by potent spells, where ye are not. A moment, if you can contain yourself.' He strode forward and took Shandril's hand in his own.
'Well met, sir,' Shandril said with grave courtesy. Narm waited tensely.
'At your service, madam,' Elminster replied, bowing. His face was expressionless, but his eyes twinkled. Narm caught his gaze and shook his fists in impatience.
'Is she safe?' he almost pleaded. The sage nodded, and was fairly bowled over by Narm's rush to embrace his lady. He stepped back and waved at the trees. Harpers, knights, and guardsmen of the dale appeared from all sides.
Elminster looked at Narm and Shandril, smote his forehead suddenly and muttered, 'Gods, I must be getting old!' and swept off his cloak to cast it about Shandril's shoulders. As he did, the stone he held suddenly twisted from his grasp and grew. In an instant he was facing a strange-eyed woman in dark, tattered robes, whose long silvery hair strayed wildly about her shoulders. All around, approaching Harpers reached for their blades.
'Well met,' Elminster said calmly and turned to Shandril. 'Shandril Shessair,' he said formally, 'I present to thee The Simbul, Queen of Aglarond.' There was a murmur from those who approached, and then silence, as all waited for the infamous archmage to speak. Shandril gently freed herself from Narm, and bowed solemnly in greeting. The Simbul almost smiled.
'Impressive, young lady,' she said, 'but dangerous-perhaps too dangerous. Elminster… all of you… have you thought on this? Here stands a power you may have to silence. She may have to be destroyed.' There was a babble of talk and then a hush. Shandril stared, white-faced, at the archmage, but it was Elminster who moved forward to stand between them and speak.
'No,' said the old mage. He glared around at all on the hilltop with very old, sad eyes. 'Ye,' he said to The Simbul, 'I, and all gathered here now, are dangerous. Should we then be destroyed out of hand because of what we might do? Nay! It is the right and the doom of all creatures who walk Faerun to do as they will; it is why we of the art frown so at those who charm often, or in frivolous cause.
'Not even the gods took unto themselves the power to control ye or me so tightly that we cannot walk or speak or breathe save at another's bidding! It is their will that we may be free to do as we may. Slay a foe, sure, or defend thyself against a raider-but to strike down one who may some day menace thee? That is as monstrous as the act of the usurper who slays all babies in a land, for fear of a rightful heir someday rising against him!'
'Aye. Well said,' Florin agreed grimly, in quiet, deliberate challenge of the woman in black who stood among them. No other spoke. They waited in silence for the reaction of The Simbul.
The witch-queen stood in their midst, alone and terrible. They had heard of the awesome art she commanded, that held even the Red Wizards of Thay at bay, and hurled back their armies time and time again to preserve her kingdom. They knew the tales whispered of her temper and cruel humor and mighty power. Narm could smell their fear, there on the hilltop. Not a drawn sword moved.
The Simbul nodded, slowly. 'Aye, great one,' she said to Elminster, 'you truly have the wisdom lore grants you in these lands. I agree. If others had not also agreed so, many winters gone, I would not have lived to stand here upon Harpers' Hill now.' She stepped around Elminster, and he did not bar her way.
Narm, however, moved protectively in front of Shandril even as The Simbul advanced. She came to a halt and stood facing him. 'I have trusted,' she whispered. Her eyes were very proud. 'Will you not also trust me?' Narm stared at her for a long, tense breath, and then nodded slowly and stepped aside. The Simbul glided up to Shandril and said, 'My forgiveness, if you will take it. I wish you well.'
Shandril nodded, swallowed, and said softly, 'I–I hold nothing against you, great lady.' She smiled, tentatively.
The Simbul smiled, too, and added, 'A gift for you.' Her hand went to the broad black belt about her waist and drew from it a plain brass ring. She leaned close until Shandril could smell a faint, strange, stirring perfume at her throat. Shandril had never seen eyes so steel gray, stern, and sad all at once. 'Use this only when all else is lost,' The Simbul whispered. 'It will take you, and anyone whose flesh touches yours directly when you use it, to a refuge of mine. It will work only once, mind, and only one way. The word of command is on the inside of the band,
