after me. I have no quarrel with them.'
'I'll remind the next dozen or so corpses of that,' Narm replied dryly. 'If you leave enough for me to speak to, that is.'
Shandril looked away from him, then, and said very softly, 'Please do not speak so of all the killing. I hate it. Never, never do I want to become so used to it that I grow careless of my power. Who knows when this spellfire might leave me? Then, Narm? I will have only your art to protect me. Think on that.'
They rode down into a dell where moss grew in knobs and clumps of lush green amid the dead leaves. Small pools of water glistened under dark and rugged old trees. Narm looked around warily, as always, and said soberly, 'Aye. I think of it often.'
'It seems the fate of this Shandril to grow old unhindered-by us, at any rate' Naergoth said dryly to Salvarad, when they were alone at the long table. 'Is there any other business?'
'Aye, indeed. The matter of your mage. Malark was destroyed in Shadowdale-how, I know not-but Malark perished at the hands of Shandril.'
'You are sure?'
'I watch closely, and others watch for me-and, all told, we miss little.'
Naergoth looked at him expressionlessly. 'What then have you seen in the way of mages to take the Purple in the place of Malark?'
'Zannastar, certainly. You could even give him the Purple now. We have seven warriors and one mage.
'Well enough. Why Zannastar?'
'He is competent at art, but even more, he is biddable, something Malark was not.'
'Aye, then. Who else?'
'The young one, Thiszult. A wild one-quiet but very reckless. He could be dangerous to us, or brilliant. Why not, alone and in secret, send him after the spellfire with four or six men-at-arms? He'll either bring it back or kill himself-or learn caution. We cannot do ill by this.'
'Oh? What if he comes back with spellfire and uses it against us?'
'I know his truename,' Salvarad replied smugly, 'though he doesn't know that any have learned it.'
Naergoth nodded. 'Send your wolf, then. Who knows? Perhaps he'll succeed where all the others have failed-ours and those of Bane and Zhentil Keep. This gauntlet we've made the girl Shandril run will have its effect on her in the end, even if we've paid the price for it in blood thus far.'
Salvarad nodded. 'Yes. She's only one maid, and not a warlike one at that. We'll have her in the end, spellfire or no spellfire. I mean to have the spellfire, too… but if we take her alive, she's mine, Naergoth.'
Naergoth raised an eyebrow. 'You can have women much easier than that, Salvarad.'
'Nay, you mistake me, Bladelord,' Salvarad replied coldly. 'The power she has handled… does things to people. I must learn certain things from her.'
Naergoth said, 'Then why not go after her yourself?'
Salvarad smiled thinly. 'I am intrigued, Bladelord. I am not suicidal.'
'Others have said that, you know.'
'I know that well, Naergoth. Some of them even meant it.'
Night came upon them while they were still in the woods. The night grew cold, and the couple drew their cloaks about them as they rode on. Mist rose among the trees.
Narm watched it drift and roll and said in a low voice, 'I don't like this. An ambush would be all too easy in this mist.'
'Yes' Shandril replied, 'but all the wishing in the world won't make any difference. We're not far, now-we can't be, for travelers who left the inn mid-morning fully expected to make Tasseldale by nightfall. And there is no other road. We cannot have missed our way.' She looked into the soft silence of the trees. Tangled branches hung still and dark in the mist. Nothing stirred, and no attack came.
Shandril sighed. 'Come on,' she said, spurring her horse into a trot. 'Let's get safely to The Rising Moon. I would see Gorstag again.'
The fire burned low in the hearth, and it fell quiet in the taproom of The Rising Moon as the last of the few guests went up to bed.
Lureene quietly swept up fallen scraps of bread as Gorstag made the rounds of the doors. She heard his measured tread upon the boards in the kitchen and smiled.
So she was smiling in the dim glow of the dying fire when Gorstag, who carried no candle when he walked alone by night, preferring the dark, came into the room.
'My love,' he said softly. 'I would ask something of you this night.'
'It is yours, lord,' Lureene said affectionately. 'You know that.' She reached for the lacings of her bodice.
Gorstag coughed. 'Ah… nay, lass, I be serious… ah, I mean, oh, gods look down!' He drew a deep breath as he walked slowly up to her in the dimness and asked very quietly and formally, 'Lureene, I am Gorstag of Highmoon, a worshipper of Tymora and Tempus in my time, and a man of some moderate means. Will you marry me?'
Lureene looked at him, mouth open, for a very long time. Then she was suddenly in his arms, looking up at him with very large, dark eyes. 'My lord, you need not… marry me. It was not my intention to-ah, trap you into such a union.'
'Do you not want to be my wife?' Gorstag asked slowly, roughly. 'Please tell me true…'
'I would like nothing more than to be your wife, Gorstag.'
Lureene said firmly. His smile then was like a sudden flash of the sun in the darkness, as his arms tightened about her.
'I accept,' Lureene added, gasping for breath. 'Kiss me, now, don't hug the life from me!' Their tips met, and Lureene let out a little moan of happiness. Gorstag held her as if she were a very fragile and beautiful thing that he feared to break. They stood together so, among the tables, as the front door of the inn creaked gently open, and a cool breeze drifted in about their ankles.
Gorstag turned, hand going to his belt. 'Aye?' he demanded, before his night-keen eyes showed him who had come.
Lureene turned in his arms and let out a happy cry. 'Shandril!'
'Yes,' said a small voice. 'Gorstag? Can you forgive me?'
'Forgive you, little one?' Gorstag rumbled, striding forward to embrace her. 'What's to forgive? Are you well? Where have you been? How-'
Outside, there was a snort and a creak of leather, and in mid-sentence, Gorstag said, 'But you have horses to see to! Sit down, sit down with Lureene, who has a surprise to tell you, and I'll learn all when I'm done.'
'I'm married, Gorstag,' Shandril said quickly. 'He's-Narm's with the horses.'
Gorstag threw her a surprised look, but he never slowed his step. By the light of the fire, Shandril saw tears wet upon his cheeks, and then he was gone.
Lureene threw her arms about Shandril. 'Lady Luck be praised, Shan! You're back and safe! Gorstag has been so worried about you, ah, but now… but now-' She burst into tears and held Shandril tightly.
Shandril felt tears of her own stinging her eyes, and she gulped quickly to forestall a happy flood. 'Lureene… Lureene…' she managed, voice breaking. 'We cannot stay. Half the mages in Faerun are after us, and we're a menace to you even by being here.'
Fearfully, she stared at the barmaid. She was touched that Lureene had missed her so-she'd always thought the older girl must find her tiresome. Now she feared to lose what she had so fleetingly seen, swept away by fear. Lureene met her gaze and smiled, shaking her head slightly.
'Ah, little kitten, you have been hurt indeed, to fear these doors shut to you,' Lureene said sadly. 'If to see you again, we must entertain a few thousand angry mages, entertain them we shall, Gorstag and I, and think it a small price to pay.
'Ah, Shan, thank you! Thank you! You've made Gorstag so happy, he's like a youngling again-did you not see him stride and spring to the door? You've made him happy again, the way he has not been since you left.'
'But we must leave again, on the morrow,' Shandril said, teetering on the edge of tears. 'How-?'
'He will understand, Shan. He knows you are not ours any more-I don't doubt that he's taking the measure of your man right now! It's just that he didn't know what had befallen you. Could you not have left a note or some
