Spellfire

horse!'

Lureene rushed toward the stables, tears blurring her sight as she ran. 'No,' she whispered. 'Oh, gods, no.' But the gods did not hear before she reached the stables.

There was a slow thudding of hooves, then, as Gorstag came back out of the inn with axe in hand. Frightened faces were gathering about the yard.

A dwarf on a mud-spattered mule rode heavily in at the gate, and came to a sliding halt before Gorstag. The dwarf heaved himself sideways and rolled down out of the saddle with practiced ease, using the axe he bore naked on his shoulder like a walking-stick. Crippled, he leaned heavily on his axe as he limped over to Gorstag. The innkeeper was looking grimly toward the stables, where a worried Lureene was leading out a horse.

'Well met,' the dwarf said to Gorstag. 'You are Gorstag?' The innkeeper, who was intent upon Lureene and the approaching mount, looked down in surprise. 'Aye, I am.'

'Have you seen a companion of mine, the adventuress Shandril? She waited on tables here, once,' the dwarf rumbled. I hear she rides with a young mage, now, and hurls spellfire.'

'Aye. I have,' Gorstag said, axe coming up. 'Who then are you, and what is your business with Shandril Shessair?'

'I am come from Shadowdale,' the dwarf said gruffly, looking up at him with a gaze as harshly steady as his own. 'From Sharantyr and Rathan and Torm of the knights I have heard where Shandril headed and followed on. I am sent by Storm Silverhand of the Harpers and Elminster the sage, and bear a note to ye, to tell you to trust me in this. Here; read it. Now tell me where Shandril is, for time draws on and my bones grow no younger.'

Gorstag grinned at that as he unrolled the parchment. 'Not so sour, Sir Dwarf. Life is less a trial to the patient.'

'Aye,' the dwarf replied, 'most of them lie dead. Tell me where Shandril is!'

'A moment.' Gorstag read the parchment. Lureene brought the horse to his shoulder, and he moved so that she could read what was written, too:

To Gorstag, of Highmoon, By these words, well met! The bearer of this note is the dwarf Delg, once a swordmate of Shandril in the Company of the Bright Spear, just after she left your house. He serves no evil master and bears Shandril no ill will; trust us in this-he has submitted to all our tests of art in this regard, and it is true. The Cult of the Dragon destroyed the company, and it was thought only Shandril survived. This Delg, left for dead in Oversember Vale, made his way to the shores of the Sember, where he was found by elves and taken to priests of Tempus. While they were healing his wounds and praying to the god for guidance as to what task they should set him in return, a messenger of Tempus appeared and said that Delg's task was to defend the girl who wielded spellfire against seeking swords; and so he has come to you for word. Your part in defending Shandril is done, valiant Gorstag; we tend Dammasae's place of rest and remember. Aid this one as best you can, and you will be honored greatly. You shall have then in your debt,

Elminster of Shadowdale and

Storm Silverhand of Shadowdale

Gorstag read it, frowning a little, and then looked up at Delg. 'You've missed them,' he said simply. 'They rode west from here some short time ago, now. A mage hostile to them follows them, close indeed.'

'I've missed them? Then there's no time left to wait about!' the dwarf said, and hobbled back to his mule. 'Up!' he commanded it, 'and ride like the wind… or she'll be in trouble again, and in need of old Delg, before we get there!'

'Will you not take a faster mount?' Gorstag asked, waving at the horse Lureene held. Delg shook his head.

'My thanks, but how fast would I travel if I fell off it at the first bend in the road? Nay, I'll stick to what I know, and make haste in my own way. Fare thee well, Gorstag. Stay by your lady. It is the greatest adventure you can have.' And he grinned then, and rode away, raising his arm in a warrior's salute. Gorstag returned it, watching him go, and Lureene stroked his arm thoughtfully and said nothing.

After a time Gorstag looked away from the road and said gruffly, 'Well, you can put the animal away. We shan't be needing it.'

Lureene nodded. 'Of course,' she said, turning, 'and there's a little matter of corpses lying about, too…'

Gorstag growled and went to put away his axe and find a shovel. He carried the letter very carefully in his hand, and looked at it again as he went.

Shargrailar the Dark circled high above the Thunder Gap, cold winds whistling through the spread, bony fingers that were all that was left of its wings. Shargrailar was the mightiest dracolich in Faerun known to the cult, perhaps the most powerful bone dragon there had ever been. Its eyes were two white lamps in the empty sockets of a long, cruel skull. It looked down with the cold patience of a being who has passed beyond the tomb and yet can fly, and it flew lower, watching and waiting.

So a human female dared to destroy dracoliches? Death must find her. Lucky she must have been, and her victims young fools, but still, she must die. She was headed toward Shargrailar's lair. Armed with spellfire, they said. Interesting. Shargrailar glided among the clouds like a silent shadow, peering at the tiny road men called the East Way, far below. It had been a very long time since Shargrailar had been interested in anything.

There below, on the road. Two human riders, with mules… one was female. Silently Shargrailar descended, skeletal head peering. Yes… yes… this must be her. If not, what matter? What pair of humans could hurt Shargrailar? The great dracolich dove down out of the sky like a gigantic arrow of death, for that is the way of dracoliches. As it descended, Shargrailar could see that the she-human was beautiful… it opened bony jaws to give her death, silently, patiently…

Thiszult rode hard, hauling upon the reins savagely. He had to pass the maid and mage and get ahead of them, to have to time to call up his special magic-or find a height or their camp, to have some time with them in view to do it. It would not do to miss them now-or to get too close and warn them, without his swordsmen to chase them and bring them to a stand.

He thought furiously as he rode. He wore no insignia, and rode alone. There was nothing to say that he was a mage, nor that he wished anyone ill. Yet, he was riding in brutal haste-dangerous, as the road climbed toward the Peaks, and a warning to anyone that all was not right-especially to a couple no doubt wary indeed, by now, of attacks. He slowed his mount, cudgeling his brains for a plan. In darkness they could too easily evade him. Yet, one had to sleep, and they would halt, to camp. Perhaps then would be the best time to attack, but only if he had their close trail by then and remained unseen. There was no other way.

With a sigh, he brought the horse to a shuddering halt, leaped clear and then tied its reins to a sapling before the winded horse could move away. He checked what he carried with him. It was all secure. Well and good. A quick glance up and down the road-empty, as far as he could see from here-and he quickly cast spells of invisibility and flight upon himself, and leaped into the sky.

He was gone before Delg found the exhausted horse and wasted several breaths in puzzlement, as he looked about for traces of anyone leaving the road nearby or continuing on foot, but found nothing. The dwarf shook his head and rode on, thinking of Burlane and Ferostil and Rymel, all dead now, all never to laugh with him again… well, perhaps he'd join them soon, if there were hostile mages about. He kicked his mule into reluctant hurry, and watched the road ahead narrowly, his axe ready in his hand.

'Someone follows us,' Narm said, peering back over his shoulder as they rode.

'Some one?' Shandril asked him. 'One? Alone?'

'Yes… a child, or one of the short races, on a mule,' Narm said doubtfully. 'Seems an odd traveler, to ride alone through the wilderness.'

'Well, it is an open road,' Shandril replied. 'It cannot be untraveled, by any means.' She turned in her saddle. Behind them, the land fell away in gentle hills to the dark woods and Deepingdale, and she thought she could see The Rising Moon, or where it must be. Tears touched her eyes for a moment, again-and then she saw bony death gliding coldly down out of the sky behind them.

'Narm!' she screamed, as she kicked heels to her mount and climbed forward onto its neck in sudden, wild urgency. 'Get down!'

Narm looked, and saw. In frantic haste, he tore Torm's gift from his neck and threw it away. Shandril had one glimpse of his white face before the world exploded around them.

What in the name of the Soul Forger was that? Delg stood in his stirrups, open-mouthed, as the great skeletal bulk arrowed down out of the sky ahead of him. It was like a dragon, but it was a skeleton! It was… oh, by