Spellfire

for a dagger in the ribs at first argument.

'I brought you up as a servant here, Shan, for I dared not attract attention to you. Folk talk if an old retired warrior lives alone with a beautiful girl-child, you know. I had to hide your lineage-and, as long as I could, your last name-for I knew the cult would be after you if they guessed.

'That fight at the bridge, you see-they could have slain us all by art from afar without exposing themselves to our blades and spells for anything near so high a cost, if all they'd wanted was us dead. No, they wanted you, girl, you or your mother. I let them have neither! It was the greatest feat I ever managed, down all those years of acting and watching my tongue and yet trying to see you brought up proper. 'For they've kept nosing, all these years, the cult and others. I suspected your Marimmar, Narm, of being yet another spying mage-who knows, now? Some, I think, were fairly sure, but they did not want to fight rivals for you unless you were the prize, so they watched closely to see if you'd show some of your mother's powers. I dreaded the day you would. If it were too public a show, I might not have time to get you to the elves or the Harpers or Elminster.

'I was more wary of the old mage, for it is great mages who fear and want spellfire the most and will do the greatest ill to get it. Even if I had the time to run, then, I might not have the time to get Lureene and the others safe away. The cult might well burn this house to the ground and slay all within, if they came to take and found me gone.'

He shook his head, remembering. 'Some days, I was like a skulking miser, looking for those coming to plunder under every stone in the yard and behind every tree of the woods and in the face of every guest.'

Chuckling, he shook his head. 'Now you are wed, and I am to be wed, and you went to find yourself because I would not tell you who you were. And you've come back, with all my enemies and more besides upon your trail, and you wield spellfire. And I am too old to defend you.'

'Gorstag,' said Narm quietly. 'You have defended her. All the time she needed it, you kept her safe. Now all the Knights of Myth Drannor must scramble to defend her! She drove off Manshoon of Zhentil Keep and wounded him perhaps unto death! My Shandril needs friends, food, and a warm bed, and a guard while she sleeps. But if others give her those, it is not she who needs defending now when she goes to war!'

Shandril chuckled ruefully. 'There you hear love talking,' she said, wearily pushing her hair out of her eyes. 'I need you more than ever, now. Did you not see how lonely The Simbul was, Narm? I would not be as she is, alone with her terrible power, unable to trust anyone enough to truly relax among friends and let down her defenses.'

'The Simbul?' Lureene gasped. 'The Witch-Queen of Aglarond?' Gorstag, too, looked awed.

'Aye,' Shandril said simply. 'She gave me her blessing. I wish I could have known her better. She is so lonely, it hurts me to see her. She has only her pride and her great art to carry her on.'

In a far place, in a small stone tower beneath the Old Skull, The Simbul sat up in the bed where Elminster lay snoring, and tears came into her eyes. 'How true, young Shandril. How right you were. But no more!' she said softly. Elminster was awake, instantly, and his hand went out to touch her bare back. 'Lady?' he asked anxiously.

'Worry not, old mage,' she said gently, turning to him with eyes full. 'I am but listening to Shandril speak of me.'

'Shandril? Are you linked to her?'

'Nay, I would not pry so. I have a magic that I worked long ago, that lets me hear when someone speaks my name-and what they say after, for three breaths, each time-if they are near enough. Shandril is speaking of me, and my loneliness, and how she wished to know me better as a friend. A sweet girl I wish her well.'

'I wish her well, too. She is at ease, then, and unhurt, would you judge?'

'Aye, as much as one can judge.' The Simbul regarded him impishly. 'But you, lord! You are at ease and unhurt. Shall we see to changing your sloth into something more-interesting?'

'Aaargh,' Elminster replied eloquently, as she began to tickle him, and he tried feebly to defend himself. 'Have you no dignity, woman?'

'Nay-only my pride, and my great art, I'm told,' The Simbul said, skin gleaming silver in the moonlight.

'I’ll show you great art!' Elminster said gruffly, just before he fell out of the bed in a wild tangle of covers and discarded garments.

Downstairs, Lhaeo chuckled at the ensuing laughter, and began to warm another kettle. Either they'd forgotten him, or thought he'd grown quite deaf-or, at long last, his master had ceased to care for the proprieties. About time, too.

He began to sing softly, 'Oh, For the Love of a Mage,' because he was fairly confident that Storm was busy, far down the dale, and would not hear how badly he sang.

These are the sacrifices we make for love, he thought.

Upstairs, there was laughter again.

'It grows early, not late,' Gorstag said, as he saw Shandril's head nodding into her soup. 'You should to bed, forthwith-and then it is in my mind, Narm, that you both stay and sleep as long as your bodies need, before you set off on a journey that is long indeed, with no safe havens anywhere.'

'We have not told you all yet, Gorstag,' Narm said quietly. 'We have joined the Harpers-for now, at least-and we go to Silverymoon, to the High Lady Alustriel, for refuge and training.'

'To Silverymoon!' Gorstag gasped. 'That's a fair journey, indeed, for two so young, without adventurers to aid you! Ah, if I was but twenty winters younger! Still, it'd be a perilous thing, even then. Mind you stay with caravans for protection. Two alone can't survive the wilderness west of Cormyr for long, no matter how much art they command!'

'We'll have to,' Shandril said in a grim, determined voice. 'But we will try to take your advice and stay with the caravans. And if you don't mind, we will sleep over tomorrow. Foes or no foes, I can't stay awake much longer.'

'Come,' Lureene said, 'to bed, lass. In your old place, in the attic. Gorstag and I'll sleep by the head of the stair, the other side of the curtain. I'm not leaving you alone while you're here.'

'Aye,' Shandril murmured, rising slowly by pushing upon the table. In the darkness of the passage that led out to the kitchen and the attic stair, cold eyes regarded them for a last instant and then turned with their owner and fled silently into the dark. So the wench had returned, had she? Certain ears would give much, indeed, to hear speedily of this…

'Gorstag?' Lureene asked sleepily. 'Happy, love? Put that axe down at hand here, and come to bed now.'

'Aye,' Gorstag replied. 'There's something I must find first, love.' He ducked into the darkest corner of the attic, at the end beyond the stairs, and dragged aside a chest bigger than he was. He did something to one of the roof beams, down low behind it in the dust, and part of the beam came away in his hands. He took something from a small, heavy coffer, and then replaced everything as before.

Bearing whatever he had unpacked with him in his hand, he came back across the broad boards of the attic floor to the curtain and called softly, 'Narm? Shandril?'

'Aye, we are both awake. Come in,' Narm said in reply, from where they lay together.

Gorstag came in quietly, and lowered something by its chain from his hand to Narm. 'Does your very touch drain items of art, Shan, or only when you will it so?'

'Only when I call up spellfire, I think,' Shandril told him. She gazed at the pendant Narm held. 'What is it?'

'It is an amulet that hampers detection and location of you, by means of art and the mind, such as some foul creatures use. Keep it, and wear it when you sleep. Only try to take it off when you must use spellfire, or you'll drain its art. Wear it tonight, and you may win a day of uninterrupted rest tomorrow. I only wish I had one for each of you-but the dark necromancer whose neck I cut it from, long ago, only found the need to wear one.'

Narm chuckled. 'You should have gone looking for his brother.'

'Someone else had slain him already,' Gorstag replied with a grin. 'It seems he liked to torment everyone around with summoned or conjured nasty creatures. Someone finally grew tired of it, walked to his tower with a club, threw stones at the windows until he appeared, and then bashed his brains out. The someone was eight years old.'

'A good start on life,' Narm agreed with a yawn, and put the amulet about Shandril's neck. 'This has no ill effects, does it?'