Spellfire

company.' Torm had lost his sight for a time because of an incautious look at the whirling, shimmering sphere. 'Why do we cower here like-like-'

'Like blind men?' Rathan put in helpfully. Torm gave him a sour look. There were chuckles. Elminster rolled his eyes and picked up one of his spellbooks without replying. Jhessail gave Torm a pitying look.

'Listen, little snake-brains,' she said lovingly. 'How well could you have fought Manshoon, say, without the light of your eyes to guide you?'

'Aye, but I'm better now' the thief told her. 'Why must we sit caged up like this? Time slips away! Armies march, and mages weave! The gods sleep never, and orcs-'

'Will do as they always do, aye, and spill the blood of others and beget more orcs between bloodlettings-we know the sayings. If there is such a thing as patience in your mind, in some dark and seldom-visited corner, seek it out, and hunt it down, and once you have hold of it, let it not go from your grasp.' Jhessail fixed him with dark eyes. 'Use your knot, man. Or I'll teach you to.'

'That might be fun,' Torm said to the tent above him.

'I wouldn't, Torm,' Merith said calmly from where he lay. 'I just wouldn't. It is unwise.'

'Threats, dire warnings, and sinister words he heeded not,' Torm sang lightly, 'but rushed in and took the crown for his own.'

'If it's crowning ye're looking for,' Rathan grunted, hefting his mace and leaning forward, 'I could see my way clear to obliging ye.'

'Why, darling,' Torm said, mocking the tones of a high court Cormyrean lady (Shaerl frowned, and then couldnt hold it; her severe expression slipped into laughter). 'I knew not the depths of your caring. My champion!' (Squeal of excitement, breathy delight.) 'My brave warrior! My-'

'— bringer of slumber,' Rathan grumbled, flinging Torm's half-cloak over the thief's head and holding it down firmly to muffle his cries. 'Silence, now,' he added as the thief struggled, 'or I'll just bounce my mace off this nasty lump here'-he patted Torm's enshrouded head-'until it goes down.'

'Sleep now, all of ye,' Elminster told them. 'Narm and Shandril begin a long journey in the morning.' He darkened the glowing globe that hung by his shoulder. A few halfhearted jests were tossed back and forth by the weary knights, but sleep came swiftly.

Shandril awoke much later in a cold sweat, pursued through the crumbling tunnels of a ruined city by a black-winged devil who cornered her at last and reached for her, with Symgharyl Maruel's cruel, smiling face. She caught a shuddering breath and started up. Florin sat nearby with Elminster, talking in low tones through the blue haze of the sage's pipe. He leaned over with concern on his ruggedly handsome face and laid a soothing hand on her arm. She smiled gratefully at him and held to his arm as she sank back down beside Narm, who slept peacefully. Florin gently wiped the sweat from her forehead and jaw, and she smiled and must have drifted off to sleep again, for when next she knew her surroundings, morning had come.

Jhessail was laughing with Merith over hot minted tea. Sunlight shone warmly all about, for the tent and the sphere were both gone, and the knights, variously clad, were sitting up on their couches or bedrolls, or walking quietly about.

The clear tones of a horn floated up to them from somewhere below, where an unseen player was blowing his delight in a fine morning. Shandril looked around at the old stone walls of the chamber and said aloud to herself, 'I'm going to miss this.'

'Yes,' Narm agreed, suddenly beside her. Shandril turned to him in pleased surprise. He grinned. 'You seemed ready to sleep forever,' he said, hugging her.

Shandril hugged him back. 'You're mine, now!'

'A…aye,' Narm managed from within her arms.

'Not for much longer, if you break him like a clay cup,' Torm said dryly. 'They're more useful, you know, when they're whole… back and arms able to carry, and all…'

Shandril burst out laughing. 'You're utterly ridiculous!'

'It is how I get through each day,' Torm told her earnestly. It was much later when she realized he'd spoken the sober truth.

'Well,' said Florin at last. 'Here we part.' He nodded at the weathered stone pillar just ahead. 'Yonder is the Standing Stone.' The pillar rose, watchful and defiant, out of the brush, overlooking the fields back to Mistledale and south toward Battledale. Florin pointed. 'Down that road lies Essembra. Take rooms at the Green Door. It once had a talking door, but we took a fancy to it, so that door is back at the tower. Somehow,' he grinned, 'we forgot to show it to you in all the excitement.'

The white horse under Shandril snorted and tossed its head. 'Easy, Shield,' Florin said to her. 'You've barely begun, yet.'

There was a sudden lump in Shandril's throat at his words. She turned in her saddle to look back. Past the pack mules on their reins, past the watchful crossbowmen who rode behind with quarrels at the ready, back to where the knights rode with an ever-grumbling Elminster. She'd miss them all. She felt Narm's hand clasp hers hard. She held back sudden tears.

'None of that,' Rathan ordered her gruffly. 'All this sobbing robs an occasion of its grandeur.'

'Aye,' Lanseril agreed. 'You'll be too busy staying out of trouble to cry, soon. So get in the habit now, and let's have dry eyes. Remember that Mourngrym serves his best wine at Greengrass. We'll be looking for you, some year.'

Narm nodded. Shandril was too busy wiping away tears that would not stop. Her shoulders shook in silence.

'Go now,' Torm said gruffly, over his shoulder. 'Or we'll be all day a-weeping and a-saying farewells.'

Rathan nodded and urged his large bay forward to take a hand of both Narm and Shandril. 'Tymora go with ye and watch over ye,' he said fervently. 'Think of us when ye are downcast or cold-such thoughts can warm and hearten.'

Torm stared at his friend. 'Such bardic soft and high glory,' he said in amazement. 'You've not been drinking, have you?'

'Get on with ye, snaketongue, to the nearest mud, and fall from thy saddle into it,' Rathan said kindly, 'and mind ye get lots of muddy water in thy mouth.'

'Peace, both of you' Jhessail chided them. 'Narm and Shandril should be well away before highsun, if they are to make Essembra even two nights hence.' She turned to the young couple. 'Mind you stay on the road. The Elven Court is not the safest place in Faerun these days.'

'Let not fear or pity stay your hand, either,' Florin said gravely. 'If you are menaced on the road, let fly with spellfire before hands are laid upon you. A swinging sword often can't be stopped in time by spellfire or art.'

'Oh, aye… one last thing,' Elminster said. 'I know something of illusions. This will make ye both look rather older, and a trifle different in appearance-save to each other's eyes. It will wear off in a day or so, or ye can end it at any time, each of ye affecting only thyself, by uttering the word gultho — nay, do not repeat it now, or ye will ruin the magic. Let me see…' He drew back his sleeves and sat upon his placid donkey and worked magic upon Narm and Shandril while the knights drew their mounts around in a respectful circle.

When it was done, the knights moved their mounts in closer for careful, critical looks. Narm and Shandril looked to each other and could not see the slightest difference in each other's appearance, as Elminster had said, but it was clear that they looked different to the eyes of others.

'Go now,' Elminster said gently, 'or ye'll be seen. We shall ride north toward Hillsfar with illusions of ye for a time to confuse any who seek ye, but those who pursue ye are not weak-minded. Go now, and go swiftly. Our love and regard go with ye.' His clear blue eyes met theirs fondly and steadily as they slowly turned their mounts about, and then, with a vast wave, spurred away.

Looking back as they thundered south along the road with tears stinging their eyes, Shandril and Narm saw the knights sitting their saddles watching. Florin raised something that flashed silver to his lips as they rode on over the first rise, and as the descending slope of the road hid the knights from their view, the clear notes of the knights' battle-leader's war-horn rang out in a farewell. He was playing the Salute to Victorious Warriors. Shandril had heard it played by bards at the inn, but she had never dreamed it would someday be played for her!

'Will we ever see them again?' Narm asked softly, as they slowed.

'Yes,' said Shandril, with eyes and voice of steel, 'whatever stands in the way.' She brushed her hair out of her eyes. 'It is time we learned to look after ourselves. If I must slay with this spellfire every jack and lass seems