its sizzle jolted her back to the chilly morning. She pulled away from the smell, biting her lip to keep from gagging. She clutched the furs closer around herself.
'Well, why?' the dwarf demanded, frowning fiercely. 'Are you ill?'
'No'' Narm said gently from behind him, 'she's with child.'
The dwarf almost fell as he lurched and tottered about speedily to face the young mage. 'She's what?' he demanded. 'Did you have anything to do with this?'
Shandril giggled. 'We are married, Delg,' she added sweetly.
'Aye. But-but-what of the babe, with you hurling spellfire about, an' all?'
'I-' Shandril began, then fell silent, spreading her hands in a gesture of helplessness. The dwarf saw something almost desperate in her eyes, and he whirled about again to face Narm. The young wizard also spread his hands anxiously but said nothing. Then he shrugged.
'You don't know,' said the dwarf heavily. 'You truly don't know what you'll give birth to after all this hurling fire and collapsing and hurling fire again…' Delg let his words trail away as he looked at them both challengingly, but the two young humans were silent.
The dwarf sighed heavily and tossed up his arms in resignation. Mushrooms and sausages left the pan to soar into the air, still steaming.
Narm leapt forward but missed catching one. Most of the others landed on Delg's head or back in the pan. The dwarf stood a moment more, looking down at Shandril and shaking his head. Sausages shifted in his tousled hair. 'Ah, well,' he said, rather sadly. 'Ah, well…'
Narm brushed off the sausage he had picked up. 'Delg Hammerhand,' he asked softly between bites, 'have you been so lucky — sorry, favored of Clanggedin — as to have gone your entire life through always knowing exactly what you're doing and what the right thing to do is and what everything means and the consequences of all?'
Delg glared at him, beard bristling. 'D'you mock me, lad? Of course not.'
'Well, then,' Narm said mildly, 'you will understand how we feel, doing our best with what the gods have given us, beset by foes and wandering lost in the wilderness, far from aid and wise advice. Uh, save yours.'
Shandril laughed helplessly. Delg turned back to look at her, sighed theatrically, rolled his eyes for good measure, and said, 'Right. I stand corrected. Thy panfry awaits, great lord.' He bowed to Narm, waving with the pan at a nearby rock. 'If you'll be seated, herewith we two can sate our hunger and discuss how best to feed your lady without having her spewing it all back at us.'
The morning sun shone down bright and clear through the trees of Shadowdale, leaf-shadows dappling the rocks on the rising flanks of Harpers' Hill. Storm's blade flashed back its brightness as she slid the steel edge along the whetting stone. The Bard of Shadowdale sat thoughtfully under a tree, putting a better edge on her old and battered long sword. She kept silent, for that was the way Elminster seemed to want it, this morn.
The Old Mage stood looking east, whence a cool breeze was rising. His eyes flashed as blue as the sky as he raised the plain wooden staff he bore, and the staff seemed to glow for a moment in answer. The wind rose, and the wizard's long white beard and mane stirred with the rustle and dance of the leaves all around. Elminster was muttering things under his breath, using his old and deep voice, and Storm knew that her sister, on her throne in far-off Aglarond, heard them and was whispering words back. None other was meant to hear them. Storm took care that she did not, for that was the way she was.
Elminster stopped speaking and smiled. The wind died away again, and birds rose from the trees around, twittering. The Old Mage stared eastward, unmoving. Storm watched him, frowning a little. She knew him well enough to see the sadness hidden behind his eyes. The Old Mage stood silent and motionless for long minutes.
When Storm began to grow stiff and the edge on her sword threatened to become brittle and over-sharp, she slid her shining blade softly into its sheath and went to him.
Elminster turned to her thoughtfully. 'I thought,' he said slowly, his eyes very blue, 'I'd put such love behind me, long ago. Why do I keep finding it again? It makes the times apart from her' — he turned away to stare into the green shadows under the trees — 'lonely indeed.'
Storm put a hand on his arm. 'I know. It's a long walk back from Harpers' Hill. That's why I came.'
In silence one old, long-fingered hand closed over hers and squeezed his thanks, and together they went down the twisting trail through the trees.
'Ready? We'd best be off, then. Even with spellfire to fell our foes, it's a long way to Silverymoon, an' we're not out of the Zhents' reach yet.' As he spoke, Delg hoisted a pack that bulged with food, pots, and pans onto his shoulders.
Shandril put on her own pack, but said softly as she came up beside the dwarf. 'No… we haven't any spellfire to fell our foes. I'm not going to use it again.'
Delg's head jerked around to look up at her, but it was Narm who spoke, astonished. 'Shan? Are you crazed?'
'What — why?'
His lady's eyes were moist when she looked up at him, but her voice was flat with determination.
'I'm not going to go through my life killing people. Even Zhents and others who wish me ill. It's… not right. What would the Realms be like if Elminster walked around just blasting anyone he chose to?'
'Very much as it is now for you — if everyone he met tried to kill or capture him,' Narm said with sudden heat. 'Folk have more sense than to attack the mightiest archmage in all the Heartlands.'
'But not enough to leave alone one maid who happens to have spellfire — 'the gift of the gods.'' Shandril's tone made a cruel mockery of that quotation. She looked away into the distance — 'I… hate all this. Having folk hate me… fear me… and always feeling the fire surging inside…'
'You're not the first maid who's been afraid of things, you know,' Delg said.
Shandril's head snapped up. 'Afraid?'
'Aye, afraid,' the dwarf said softly. 'You're afraid of what you wield. Afraid of how good it feels to use it, I should say… and of what you might do with it-and become in the doing.'
'No!' Shandril said, shaking her head violently. 'That's not it at all!' She raised blazing eyes to glare into his own. 'How can you know what I feel?'
The dwarf shrugged. 'I've seen your face when you're hurling spellfire. One look is enough.'
Shandril stared at him for a moment, open-mouthed, and then buried her face in her hands. The small, twisted sound of a despairing sob escaped between her fingers, and they saw her shoulders shake.
Then Narm's arms were around her. 'Shan, love,' he said soothingly, trying to calm her. 'Shan-easy, now. Easy. We both love you. Delg's telling truth, as he sees it… and truth's never an easy thing to hear. Shan?'
His lady said nothing, but her sobs had died away, and Narm knew she was listening. He kissed the top of her head, stroked her shoulders soothingly, and said, 'I know how you feel. We both do… and we… know well how hard it is for you to use spellfire. But our lives depend on it. We'll both die if you refuse to wield it — or hang back from using it until too late. Our foes won't wait for you to wrestle with any decisions.' He stroked the hair back from her temples, and then added quietly, 'And I'd hate to die because you chose a Zhentarim over me.'
Shandril stiffened in his embrace. Narm caught Delg's eyes, saw the dwarf's expressionless nod of approval, and went on firmly, 'That's what you'll be doing, you see, if you don't use spellfire as fast as Delg draws his axe or I work a spell — you'll be choosing the life of a Zhent wizard over ours.' He smoothed her hair, and added softly, 'And then you'll be alone before you die.'
'Which won't be long after, if I know Zhents,' the dwarf grunted. He lumbered forward and dealt Shandril's rear a gentle blow. 'Come on, lovejays. You can cry while you walk, lass; we haven't time for you to stand here and find all the wrinkles in your soul. Zhents are after us — and the gods alone know who else — so we must be on our way. Unless, of course, you're really fond of this particular spot… as the site of your grave.'
Shandril raised stony eyes to glare at him, tears glistening on her cheeks. Delg nodded approvingly. 'That's right, lass — hate me, just so long as you do it. while you're moving. On!'
'My spells and my love are yours,' Narm said quietly. 'Use them as you will… all I ask is that you use spellfire when we need it.'
Unspeaking, Shandril looked at him and nodded. Narm smiled. His lady reached out, took hold of his chin, pulled it close, and kissed him firmly. Then she sighed, turned, and set off in the direction Delg had been heading. The man and the dwarf exchanged silent glances, then followed.
