"Oh?" Korvan said, turning his head sharply in sudden interest. "Shandril, her name was."

"Oh . . . pretty, that," the herder replied, nodding. "I saw her in the mountains only a few nights back. I was chasing two lost sheep."

"The Thunder Peaks?" Korvan asked, nodding at the wall where, beyond, they knew the gray and purple mountains could be seen above the trees.

"Aye, near the Sember. I came upon a great crowd of folk, with weapons and all.

They were all standing about, asking this girl of yours if she was all right, after she'd unleashed 'spellfire,' they called it. . ."

"Spellfire?" Korvan said, astonished.

"Aye. I hid-there were gold coins all over the place, and they had swords out.

wasn't sure that a guest who came uninvited would be left alive to walk away again, if you take my meaning-"

Korvan nodded. "Aye . . . but who were these people?"

"Shadowdale folk, they were. That old sage, and the ranger who rides aboutthe Dales with their messages- Falconhand, is it?-and the elf-warrior who livesthere, and a priest, I think. They were all excited over the girl... seemsshe burned up a dragon or suchlike with this spellfire. There was something aboutsomeone called Shadowsil, too. They walked about so that I couldn't rightlyhear it. Never found the sheep, but I got their price and better in gold coins bykeeping hid and coming out after they'd gone.""She went off again, then?" Korvan asked. The herder nodded."North, down into the forest. Toward Mistledale, I suppose ... andShadowdale,beyond."Korvan sighed. "Too far to follow," he said with feigned sorrow. "Anyway, ifshe wanted to come back, no doubt she'd have headed home by now." He shook hishead. "Well, my thanks for your story," he said, looking past the butcher t theyarddoor. "Now, you had some sheep I'd do well to buy? The faster I buy from you,the faster I can be smoking and hanging."Shandril must die, Malark of the cult decided. Not yet, but after thesealtruistic fools here had trained her to full powers. Somehow she haddestroyedRauglothgor and the dracolich's lair, slain or escaped The Shadowsil, and, ifthe talk hereabouts could be believed, had also somehow escaped--and driven away-Manshoon of Zhentil Keep. She had been lucky. It would be simply impossiblefor a slip of a girl to defeat the gathered mages of the Cult of the Dragon.Malark cursed as the wagon crashed and rocked through a particularly deeppothole. Arkuel, in the leathers of a hired guard, turned and grinnedapologetically through the open front door of the wagon. Malark snarledwordlessly and rubbed his aching shoulder. He collected his wits andconsidered how to separate this Shandril from her protectors in the tower of Ashaba. HieTwisted lower, they called it. Obviously, Malark would have to get into theranks of the tower guards. Perhaps it was too soon.There was a loyal cult agent already in the guard- Culthar, his name was. Hecould strike at Shandril later, when the time was exactly right. Tb try andtake her now would be too risky. Malark did not trust his underlings to saddle ahorse unsupervised, let alone do what would be necessary to make such acaptureand escape, given the art and the swords that would come against them.On the other hand, the longer the cult waited, the more likely it was thatsomeone else would try to take the source of spellfire for themselves-theZhentarim, certainly, and perhaps the priesthood of Bane.Perhaps that would be for the best, though. With all the confusion that wouldensue if one of those foes did make an attempt, Malark could storm in thenand prevail, for the greater glory of the followers.The archmage was jolted roughly out of that pleasant daydream as one wheel ofthe coach struck a pothole, bounced and sank, and then another wheel pitchedsharply down into an even larger pothole. The wagon came back upright just asits rear wheels skidded sideways alarmingly on loose stones. The G.o.ds aloneknew how fat little merchants managed this, day in and day out-and this was judged one of the better roads in the North! Malark questioned the wisdom of his own plan for the forty-third time, as the wagon slowed for the guardpost that would let him, a traveling merchant who dealt in love philtres, medicinal remedies, and special substances for use by distinguished pract.i.tion- O*

ers of the art, into Shadowdale.

The bright light of morning made the bare, fissured rock of the Old Skull briefly a warm and pleasant place, despite the whispering wind that all too often made it the coldest, bleakest guardpost in Shadowdale. The three who stood there looked down over the green meadows to the south, and the grim and defiant Twisted Tower to their right.

"The G.o.ds help us if the Red Wizards of Thay hear of Shandril before she and Narm are both grown wise in the ways of battle and art," Storm said. "Without my sister, the defense of this little dale falls upon a few knights, and upon Elminster. And for all his art, he is but one old man."

"Things will get bad enough with just the Zhentarim, if Manshoon raises them against us," Sharantyr replied. "You miss Sylune very much. She must have been special indeed. They still speak of her often, and wistfully, in the inn below."

Florin smiled. "She was special-and she fell while defending the dale against a wyrm of the cult, a danger we may soon face again, with Shandril here. Even now, the cult must be searching for her-and with the testing, it will not take them long to learn that she is here."

Storm smiled, almost ruefully. "Elminster plays a deeper game than we do. He did that in front of everyone quite deliberately.... I trust him completely, and yet I confess his doings often make me uncomfortable. We will all have to deal with the consequences."

"You think such a public display was unwise," Florin said with a smile. "I, too-and yet I thought then, and still feel, that Elminster was like an actor in the streets of Suzail. He plays to a larger audience than those standing around him, hoping to attract the eyes of those who pa.s.s, perhaps a n.o.ble or even a ruler. Our sage is no fool, and not feeble in wits from age, unless there is some feebleness that affects the judgment but leaves one able to perfectly work art and develop new magics."

"There is such a thing," Sharantyr teased. "But it strikes the young, too-it makes us adventurers when we could stay safe at home in fields or forests, doing dull, honest * *

work and acquiring respect as we grow gray and bent."

"Well said," Storm noted. "But I think Elminster has some purpose, though not clear to us yet, in displaying Shandril's power so dramatically."

"Is this 'us we three here?" Sharantyr asked, "or the Harpers? Answer me not, if you'd rather not speak of them."

Storm shook her head. "I have not spoken formally with others of thefellowship,but I can tell you that most who saw the testing were of like mind. It is theact of a rash youngster?'Florin nodded, turning his gaze thoughtfully to the top of Elminster's small,rough fieldstone tower, just visible over the foothills of the tor belowthem. "Shandril is a danger to him, more than any other in the dale, for she bringsspells to dust. If ever she moves against Elminster, or is duped into foilinghim, the old mage can be destroyed-and our defense against Zhentil Keep willbe gone. Those who would work such a deed are only too many""Aye," Storm said, her silver hair stirring with the rising breezes. Shelooked to the tower where they knew Shandril to be, and her eyes were very dark a.s.she looked back at the two rangers. "So it must not happen.""A lot of folk have died here, it seems," Shandril said, her voice showingfear. The young theurgist Illistyl was showing her the tower.Illistyl sat down on a cushion and waved at Shandril to do the same. Shandrilsank down as Illistyl answered calmly, "A lot of people have died, indeed.Zhentil Keep has attacked the dale twice since the knights came here. Almosthalf the farmers I grew up with are dead now. So are more adventurers who came to the dale than you could cram breast-to-breast into this room. It is reallife; people die, you know."It is not all tavern-tales and fond memories. Ten levels beneath us, in thecrypts, I know at least three of the knights who sleep forever. It is a pricesome of them, no doubt, never intended to pay-but pay it they did, mostwithout choice. Think on this before you become an adventurer.

"The life you choose may well take Narm from you, or cripple one of youbeyondart that you can command or hire to put right. Once you have power, though, youhave very little choice-you become a foe and a target for many, and mustbecome either an adventurer or a corpse.""How did you come to be a knight?" Shandril asked curiously. "You are youngerthan Florin and Jhessail, and your art is ...""Lesser? Aye, so it is. There was a lycanthrope here in the dale a few yearsback-not long ago, though it seems long enough to me now. The knights took acensus, so that their art could be used to try and detect the weretiger. It was poor Lune Lyrohar, one of the girls at Mother Tara's."They found that I had powers of the mind, and Jhessail took me to studyunder her, I lost all my folk in the wars, so I came to live at the tower." Shesmiled. "Much of the time thus far has been spent raising Jhessail's andMerith's daughter; most of the rest, studying art. One has little choice onceit begins.""So I fear. Yet it was my choice to leave the inn. All else has followed onthat. I suppose there is no other choice now." Shandril smiled. "Yet I do notregret any of it, for it has brought me Narm.""Hold to that," Illistyl said, almost fiercely. "Do not forget that you havefelt so. Hard times lie ahead, I fear. Your power, if wielded with deliberateintent, is a menace to all workers of art in this world. Few are stupid enoughnot to realize that. All who have the inclination will attempt to destroy you or control you as a weapon against others."You will see spellcasters enough to sicken you before long, and yours is anendeavour in which no matter how mighty one becomes, there is always someonemore powerful. Learn that very quickly. The lesson is usually a fatal one ifignored. It can happen to you, too, Shandril-something of art may well beable to counter spellfire, perhaps something as simple as a cantrip mostapprenticesknow." Shandril nodded, soberly. "Sometimes I think I cannot do it... and yet itfeels so good, even with the pain-when I let it out, that is. I see Jhessail, too;how happy she is with Merith, and both of them are adventurers. Even if she is not* *

slain, Merith, as an elf, must know his lady will die hundreds of wintersbefore he does. Yet they married, and seem happy. It can happen."Illistyl nodded. "It is good you see that. It takes much work and patience,mind. Look-how does Jhessail seem? Her character, I mean.""Warm, kind, yet strict and proper . . . understanding. I can say little more;I barely know any of you.""Indeed, yet I would say you've seen Jhessail well enough. But there is more.Her control is so great that one does not notice that which won her Merith,which underlies her warmth. She is pa.s.sionate-not just romantically, butspiritually-and strong-willed."Jhessail and the cleric Jelde were lovers when I first came to the tower. There was a great fight between Jelde and Merith over Jhessail. Jhessail decidedshe loved Merith more, so she set out to win him, before all the Elven Court andmindful of her brief span of years. She seeks longevity by her art, always,but she has never thought to outlive even his youth."That sort of control is required to master all but the simplest art. It isthe sort of control you will need to stand at Nairn's side through all that willcome against you both. Hear and heed, Shandril, for I would be your friendfor more than a few years, if I can." The theurgist grinned suddenly. "I seem tobe one for long speeches this day."Shandril shook her head. "No, no, I thank you! IVe never had someone my age-orclose, you know-that I could talk of things to, and not have to curb mywords. Even Narm... especially Narm."niistyl nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "Especially Narm." She glanced around."Remember the places I'm going to show you now," she added, as they got up."One day you and Narm may be glad of a place to hide away in, together."One day soon," she added warningly, and Shandril could only agree.Night had fallen, deep and dark, before Rozsarran Dathan rose from his tablein the Old Skull's taproom, waved a * *

wordless good-night to Jhaele, and staggered to the door.

Behind, the plump innkeeper shook her head ruefully as she went to mop up the table where two of Rozsarran's fellow guards slumped senseless and snoring in their chairs, dice and coppers alike fallen from their hands. They were like children sometimes, she thought, lifting one leather-clad sleeve out of a pool of spilled ale and adroitly avoiding the instinctive yank and punch its sleeping owner launched vaguely at her. Good lads, but not drinkers.

Outside, in the cool night air, Rozsarran reached the same conclusion, albeit slowly and less clearly. Hitching up his swordbelt, he began to walk hastily back toward the tower. An overcast sky made the night very dark, and a brisk walk might make him feel less rock-witted before he reached his bed. Late duty tomorrow, praise Helm. He could use the sleep....

A silent shadow rose out of the night clutching a horse-leather knotted about a fistful of coins. He tipped Rozsarran's helmet sharply forward to expose the back of his head, and gave sleep to him.

The guard slumped without a sound. Suld caught him under the arms before he reached the ground and heaved him up. Arkuel caught hold of his booted feet, and they hurried him into the trees.

There Malark worked magical darkness and commanded Arkuel to unhood the lamp.

In its faint light the cult arch-mage cast a spell of sleep upon the guard and then studied him carefully. "Strip him," he ordered briefly. When it was done, he studied the mage's face and hair intently and had his underlings turn the body, seeking birthmarks. None. Right, then. He cast yet another spell, slowly and carefully. His form twisted and dwindled and grew again, and a double of Rozsarran stood where Malark had been moments before. The disguised archmage dressed hastily, ensured that his concealing amulets were still upon him, and said coldly, "Wait here. If I do not return by dawn, withdraw a little way into the woods and hide. Report in Essembra- you know where-if I come not back in four days. Understood?"

"Aye, Lord Mage."

"Understood, Lord Malark."

"Well enough. No pilfering, no wenching, and no noise! I don't plan to be long."

And Malark was gone, adjusting his swordbelt. How did they even lift such blades, let alone swing them about as if they were as light as wands? This one was as heavy as a cold corpse. He felt his way back out of the trees and the magical ring of darkness to the road.

There he found two guardsmen weaving slowly toward the tower. They were half asleep, irritable, and smelled strongly of drink. "Aghh, it's Roz!" one greeted him loudly, nearly falling. "Bladder feel the better for it, old sword? Fall over any trees?"

"Arrghh," Malark answered, loudly and sourly, thinking it the safest reply.

He deftly ducked and rose up between their linked hands, putting an arm about the

shoulder of each. One of the guardsmen gave at the knees and almost fell.Malark winced at the weight dragging at his shoulder."It is good you came back," the collapsing guard rumbled as he hauled himself upMalark's arm and rocked on his heels a moment before catching his balanceagain."I need your shoulder, I fear. G.o.ds, my head!""Arrghh," Malark said again, stifling a grin."Urrghh," the guard on his other arm agreed sagely, and they stumbled on.Ahead,the torchlight at the tower gates grew brighter and closer, step by bobbingstep. Elsewhere, Malark might have crept or flown in the shape of a bird orvermin to a window and dispensed with all this dangerous foolishness, but nothere. Not with Elminster about, and all these knights who could call on hisaid. "Best I ever drank was at The Lonesome Tankard, where the roads meet inEveningstar . . . 'at's in Cormyr, old sword.""Uhh," Malark agreed.Somehow he got the three of them through the guards and inside. He let themstumble slightly ahead of him to guide him, and they went straight down along,high hallway to the guardroom. There luck was with Malark. Cul-thar, his spy,was one of the two watchmen, waiting in the guardroom until a bell rang onthe board before him, calling him to a.s.sist of another guard elsewhere. The otherwas just rising, with an oath, to answer a bell three floors up.

"Why can't Rold relieve himself before he takes up his post?" he growled asbe made for the back stairs. Malark's companions stumbled around the room, catching at the table forbalance. They made for the door to the bunkroom. One began to sing-under his breath,fortunately-as he went. "Oh, I once knew a lady of far Uttersea . . . she'llnever come back, now, no never come back to me ..." The door banged, andthere came a fainter crash on the other side of it. Culthar cursed. "He's always falling over that chair. It'll be broken now, sure, and we'llhave to fix it again because"-Culthar's voice now rose in vicious mimicry of theguard-"he's not too good with his hands, and alt." At that moment, the otherguard who had come in with Malark heaved and shuddered, and made a sickeninggulping sound. "Oh, G.o.ds!" Culthar cursed. "Quick, get his face into thatbucket! Hurry! I should have known Crimmon would drink himself sick!" Malarkscooped a leather bucket from its peg and did as he was bid, just in time.When the retching was done, Crimmon roused himself blearily and walked towardthe bunkroom almost normally, saying, "No more for me, I think. I'd best begetting back, Jhaele," back over his shoulder."*es, dearie," Culthar said in disgusted mimicry, and they both waited. Aninstant pa.s.sed in silence, and then there was another splintering crash fromthe bunkroom. Malark chuckled helplessly, and after a moment, Culthar joined in, as Crimmon's curses faded in the bunkroom. Malark put down the bucket and closedthe bunkroom door. He turned to face Culthar, who frowned and said, "And howmuch have you had to drink?"Malark let his face shift back to his own features for two slow, deliberateseconds and said, "Nothing, Culthar. Sorry to disappoint you." When hegrinned, an instant later, it was Rozsarran's own lopsided grin.Culthar stared at him in astonishment. "Lord, why are you here?" hewhispered."Is Roz ...?" "Sleeping. I have little time for talk. Take this." He pressed a ring intoCulthar's palm. "Hide it well, on your person, and do not part with it. Ithas magics upon it to conceal it from normal scrutiny by one of the art, but wear it only when you intend to useit. Speak its command word, which is the name of the first dracolich you servedwhen you joined the followers, and it will instantly take you and one othercreature whom you are touching flesh to flesh to Thun-derstone-specifically, a hillabove that town where one of our group lives as a hermit. His name is Brossan. Ifhe is not there, go to ..." Several more instructions followed. Then-"One thing more. I may appear to you and give the sign of the hammer, or aredcrest may fly into this guardroom-it may be but an illusion, mind. Theseboth are signals that you are to try and take this Shandril Shessair and escapewith her by means of the ring if you see any opportunity, however scant.Otherwise,you are to take her when you think best-you guessed the task before I saidit,did you not? Good. You will do this?""Aye. For the greater glory of the followers," Culthar whispered. Malarknodded and picked up the reeking bucket."Before your feUow watchmen return," Malark said, "I shall go to be sickoutside." Holding the bucket before him, he staggered out and down the hall,once again every inch the drunken Rozsarran. It was a white-faced andthoughtfulCulthar who drew off his boot and ran the bra.s.s ring onto his little toewhere he could feel its presence rea.s.suringly at every step.It was a loudly and realistically sick Rozsarran who staggered out throughthe guards at the gate and into the night. It was a coolly efficient nightcat wholoped from where the bucket and clothes had fallen, heading for a certainspotin the trees. There the nightcat became a rat, crept close to the the waitingcultists, and listened."Do you hear anything?" Suld asked suspiciously, peering into the night."Probably the master, coming back," Arkuel said. "Just sit quiet, now, orwe'll both catch it." "Sit quiet, yourself, cleverjaws. It wasn't me who bought a wagon whose frontseat was so full of splinters it was like a carpenter's beard.""Pierced your wits, did they? You shouldn't carry them so low down," Arkuelsaid smugly."You say a lot of clever things," Suld responded darkly. "I hope the scantwits you have about you work half as well for more useful work.""Well met" said Malark dryly, stepping from the darkness in a spot neither of them was facing. "I'm glad to hear you both so happy and good-natured." Hepointed at the sleeping Rozsarran. "Take up our sleeper, and come. Cover thelantern and I'll carry it."When the light was hidden, the mage dispelled his darkness and set off backtoward the tower. There he raised darkness again and within it they dressedRozsarran and left him with the bucket in his hands, for the other guards tofind. "Back to the inn," Malark commanded simply, banishing his darknessagain.The mage raised his arms and his fingers flowed and grew, then branched andbranched anew. In the s.p.a.ce of a breath or two, Malark's upper body lookedlike a large bush. A mouth opened high on one of the branches and said, "Come! Andstay behind me." Together they crept through the night to the back of thestables. "The dogs sleep," Arkuel whispered."Yes, but the stablemaster does not," Malark hissed back, and withdrewslightly,becoming himself again and muttering the phrases of a spell while Arkuel andSuld stood guard, swords drawn. Malark rejoined them and eyed the blades withcontempt. "Put those away," he muttered angrily. "We're not carving roasts.""The stablemaster, then?" Arkuel asked, as his blade slid back into itssheath. Somewhere off in the hills to the north, a wolf howled."He has something to watch, over by the well," Malark said. "Dancing lights.Come, now-quickly and quietly, to the wall." He strode across the innyard,his underlings at his heels.At the base of the wall, the archmage's body shifted shape again, rising into a long pole with broad rungs; it gripped the windowsill of their rented roomwith human hands. The pole sprouted two eyes on stalks that peered back across theinnyard. The stablemaster stood, axe in hand, watched the bobbing lightssuspiciously.

"Hurry" commanded a mouth that appeared on the crossbrace Arkuel was reachingfor. He flinched back and almost fell from the ladder. "Don't do that," he pleaded, catching himself."Move!" the ladder responded coldly. "You too, Suld. Our luck can't hold allnight." But they all reached the chamber and closed the shutters withoutincident. Malark wondered, as he erected a wall of force between himself and hisunderlings, just what would go wrong when the time came. Everything had gonesmoothly, yet he could feel in his bones that the secret of spellfire was notfated to come within the grasp of the followers.Such hunches had given him sleepless nights before, but this time he fellasleepbefore he could fret. Soon he was falling endlessly through gray and purpleshifting mists, falling toward something he could not quite see that glowedred and fiery below. "Horsecobbles," he said to it severely, but the scene didnot go away, and he. went on falling until he reached morning."I would speak with the cook," the traveler said. "I eat only certain meatsand must know how they are prepared. If you have no objection-?""None," Gorstag rumbled. "Through there, on the left. Korvan's the name.""My thanks," the dusky-skinned merchant said, rising. "It is good, indeed, tofind a house where food is deemed important." He strode off, leaving Gorstagstaring after him in bemus.e.m.e.nt. After a moment, the innkeeper caught Lureene's eye and nodded at the kitchens, pointing with his eyes. She nodded, almostimperceptibly, and straightened from a table where a fat Sembian merchant wa.s.staring at her low-laced bodice. TUrning with her hand on her hip in a waythat made Gorstag snort with amus.e.m.e.nt, and the eyes of every man at the Sembian'stable involuntarily follow her, she glided toward the kitchen.The stranger was suddenly at Korvan's elbow. "What news have you for thefollowers?" a silky voice said in Korvan's ear. The cook froze. He thenturned from a pan of*O*

mushrooms sizzling in bacon fat and reached for the bowl of chopped onions,his long cook's knife still in one hand. He nodded briefly as his eyes met themerchant's. "Well met," he muttered, as he turned back to the pan and dumped the onionsin,tossing them lightly with his knife. "Little news, but important. A herder saw a girl who used to work for me here, a little nothing named Shandril who ran off a few tendays back, in the Thunder Peaks with the Knights of Myth Drannor andElminster of Shadowdale. She had just wielded spellfire, and burned 'a dragon or something;' Rauglothgor the Undying, fear. This man said he heard The Shadowsil's name mentioned, and that there were gold pieces all around-""There will be, indeed. Sir Cook, if you do the boar just so," the merchantreplied smoothly. Korvan, looking up with knife in hand, saw Lureene glidinginto the kitchen behind him. He glared at her."What keeps you, girl?" he growled. "Can't you seduce patrons as fast as youused to? I'll be needing b.u.t.ter and parsley for those carrots, and I need thefowl-spit turned now, not on the morrow!""Turn it, then," Lureene said crisply, "with whatever part of you first comesto hand." She swept warming rolls from the shelf above the stew cauldrons into abasket and was gone with an angry twitch of her behind.The merchant chuckled. "Well, I'll not keep you. Domestic bliss, indeed. Mythanks, Korvan. Is there anything more?""They all went off northward, the herder said, from where he saw them, nearthe Sember. Nothing more." The onions sizzled with sudden force, and Korvanstirred them energetically to keep them from sticking."Well done, and well met, until next time," the silky voice replied, and whenKorvan turned to reply, the merchant was gone. On the counter beside Korvan were three gleaming red gems, laid in a neat triangle. The cook's eyes bulged.

Spinels! A hundred pieces of gold each, easily, and there were three! G.o.dsabove! Korvan s.n.a.t.c.hed them in one meaty fist and then stood, eyes narrowedin suspicion. What if this was some trick? He'd best not be caught with themabout the kitchen.

The kitchen door banged. Outside, Korvan glared all around until he wa.s.satisfied that no one watched. With a grunt, he put his shoulder to thewaterbarrel just outside the back door. Ignoring the water slopping down the far side, he tipped it so that he could lay the gems, and a dead leaf to cover them, in a hollow beneath the barrel's base. Carefully he lowered the barrel again and straightened up with a grunt to look about again for spying eyes. Finding none, he rushed back into the kitchen again where the smell of burning onions greeted him.

"G.o.ds blast us!" he spat angrily as he raced across the kitchen. Lureene stuck her head in at the door from the hall that led to the taproom and grinned at him.

"Something burning?" she inquired sweetly, and withdrew her face just before the knife he hurled flashed through the doorway where her smile had been, and clattered off the far wall.

Korvan was still snarling when Gorstag found the knife, minutes later. "How many times have I told you not to throw things?" the innkeeper demanded angrily.

"And a knife, man! You could have killed someone! If you must carve something to work off your furieSj let it be the roast! The taproom is filling up right quickly, and they'll all want to eat, I doubt not!" Gorstag tossed the knife into the stone sink with a clatter and went out.

Lureene, seeing his face as he went behind the bar to draw ale, sighed. He smiled all too seldom, now, since Shan-dril had run off. Perhaps the tales in Highmoon all these years had been true: Shandril was Gorstag's daughter. He had brought her with him as a babe when he bought the inn, Lureene was sure. She shrugged. Ah well, perhaps someday he'd say.

Lureene remembered the hard-working, dreamy little girl snuggling down on the straw the other side of the clothes-chest, and wondered where she was now.

Not so little, anymore, either . ..

"Ho, my pretty statue!" the carpenter Ulsinar called across the taproom.

"Wine!

Wine for a man whose throat is raw with thirst and calling after you! It is the G.o.ds who gave us drink-will you keep me from my poor share of it?"

Lureene chuckled and reached for the decanter she knew Ulsinar favored. "It is patience the G.o.ds gave us, to cope when drink is not at hand," she returned in jest. "Would you neglect the one in your haste to overindulge in the other?"

Other regulars nearby roared or nodded their approval "A little patience!" one called. "A good motto for an overworked inn, eh?"

"I like it!" another said. " wait with good will-and a full gla.s.s, if one is to be had-for Korvan's stuffed deer, or his roast boar!"

"Oh, aye!" another agreed. "He even makes the greens taste worth the eating!"

He fell silent, suddenly, as his wife turned a cold face upon him and inquired, "And I do not?"

Ulsinar (and not a few other men) laughed. "Let's see you wriggle, Pardus!

You're truly in the wallow this time!"

"Wallow! Wallow!" others called enthusiastically. The wife turned an even

stonier face upon them all."Do you ridicule my man?" she inquired. "Would you all like your teethremoved,all at once and soon?" The roars died away. There were chuckles here and there. Gorstag strode over."Now, Yantra," he said with a perfectly straight face, "I can't have thissort of trouble in The Rising Moon. Before I serve all these rude men who haveinsulted you and your lord, will you have the deer or the boar?""The boar;' Yantra replied, mollified. "A half-portion for my husband."Gorstagstared quickly around to quell the roars of mirth. The innkeeper winked as hemet the eye of Pardus, who, seated behind his wife, was silently butfranticallytrying to indicate by gesture and exaggerated mouthing of words that hewanted deer, not boar, and most certainly not a half-portion."Why, Pardus " Gorstag said, as if suddenly recalling something. "There's a man left word here for any who makes saddles of quality that he'd like a singlepiece, but a good one, for his favorite steed. I took the liberty ofrecommending you, but did not presume to promise times or prices. He's fromSelgaunt and probably well on his way back there by now. h.e.l.l call by again in a few days, on his way out fromEOGHEENWDOD Ordulin to Cormyr. Will you talk with me, in the back, over what I shouldtell him?" He winked again, only for an instant."Oh, aye," Pardus said, understanding. There was no Sem-bian saddle-coveter,but he would get his half-portion of boar out here, in the taproom, and as muchdeer as he wanted in the back, with Gorstag standing watchful guard, a littlelater. He smiled. Good old Gorstag, he thought, raising his flagon to the innkeeper.Long may he run The Rising Moon. Let it be long, indeed.Late that night, when all at last were abed, and the taproom was red and dimin the light of the dying fire, Gorstag sat alone. He raised the heavy tankardand took another fiery swallow of dark, smoky-flavored wildroot stout. What hadbecome of Shandril? He was sick at heart at the thought of her lying deadsomewhere, or raped and robbed and left to starve by the roadside ... or worse,lying in her own sweat and muck in slave-chains, in the creaking,rat-infested hold of some southern slave-trader wallowing across the Inner Sea. How muchlonger could he bear to stay here, without at least going to look? His glancewent to the axe over the bar. In an instant the burly innkeeper was up fromhis seat-the seat where unhappy Yantra had sat- and over a table in a heavy butfast vault. He soon stood behind the bar, the axe in his hands.There was a little scream from behind him-a girl's cry! Gorstag whirled as ifhe was a warrior half his age, snake-quick and expecting trouble. Then herelaxed,slowly. "Lureene?" he asked quietly. He couldnt go-they needed him here, allthese folk . . . oh, G.o.ds, bring her safe back!

His waitress saw the anguished set of his face in the firelight and came upto him quietly, her blanket about her shoulders. "Master?" she asked softly."Gorstag? You miss her, don't you?"The axe trembled. Abruptly it was swept up and hung in the crook of the oldinnkeeper's arm, and he came around the bar with whetstone, oil-flask, and ragswith almost angry haste. "Aye, la.s.s, I do."

He sat down again where he'd been, and Lureene came on silent bare feet tosit beside him as he worked, turning the axe in his fingers as if it weighed no more than an empty mug. After a long minute of silence, he pushed the tankardtoward her. "Drink something, Lureene. It's good . . . you will be the better forit." Lureene sampled it, made a face, and then took another swallow. She set thetankard down, two-handed, and pushed it back. "Perhaps if I live to be yourage," she said dryly, "I'll learn a taste for it. Perhaps."Gorstag chuckled. The metal of the axe flashed in his hands as he turned itagain. Firelight glimmered down its edge for an instant. Lureene watched,then asked softly, "Where do you think she is now?"The strong hands faltered and then stopped. "I know not." Gorstag reached forthe bra.s.s oil-flask and stoppered it. "I know not," he said again. "That'sthe worst of it!" Abruptly he clenched his hand; the flask in his grasp wascrushed out of shape. "I want to be out there looking for her, doing something!" hewhispered fiercely, and Lureene put her arm about him impulsively. She couldtell Gorstag was on the edge of tears. He spoke in a tone she'd never heardfrom him before. "Why did she go?" he asked. "What did I do wrong that she hatedit here so much?" Lureene had no answer, so she kissed his rough cheek, and when he turned hishead, startled, stilled his sobs with her lips. When at last she withdrew tobreathe, he protested weakly, "Lureene! What-?""*bu can be scandalized in the morning," she said softly and kissed him again..S.B Sbcrdocos The hawk circles and circles, and waits. Against most prey he will have but one strike. He waits therefore for the best chance. Be as the hawk. Watch and wait,and strike true. The People cannot afford foolish deaths in battle. War toslay,not to fight long and glorious.Aermhar of the TangletreesAdvice before the Council in the Elven Court Year of the Hooded Falcon "I-I am too tired, lady," Narm said apologetically. "I cannot concentrate."Jhessail nodded. "I know you are. That is why you must. How else will you build the strengthof your will to something sharper and harder than a warrior's steel, as the oldmages say?"Jhessail's smile was wry. "You will find, even if you never adventure from this day forth, that you will almost never have quiet, comfort, good light, or s.p.a.ceenough to study as you are taught to do. You will always be struggling to fixspells in memory while over-tired, or sick, or wounded and in pain, or in themidst of snoring, groaning, talking, or even crying. Learn now, and you willbe glad of it, then.""My thanks in advance, then, good lady" Narm returned as wryly. Jhessailgrinned."You learn, you learn," she said. "Well... why are you not staring at the pagesbefore you? The spells will not remember themselves, you know."Narm shook his head, a half-smile of frustration on his face, as he said, "I simply can't! It's not possible!""So says the warrior when told to learn spells and become a great mage,"Jhessail countered, sitting suddenly in a smooth swirl of silver-gray robes."So, too, the thief. But you already cast spells! I have seen you .. . thesmallest cantrip you work says you can. 'Can't' died'when you read your firstrunes, lad! You sit there and lie to me with open face and open spellbooksboth? You can do better than that!" "Aarghh!" Narm answered in frustration, striking the table with his fist. "Icannot think with you talking to me, always talking! Marimmar never did thisto me! He-" "Died in an instant because his foolishness was far greater than his art,"Jhessail replied. "I expect more of you than that, Narm. Moreover, you mustexpect different ways of mastering art whenever you seek a different tutor.Question neither the methods nor the opinions freely given, even if they makeyou flame within, and do not belittle the knowledge imparted. It will shutoff,as one shuts off a tap, and you will get no more for all your pleading andcoins. You would be a mage, and know not what sort of pride you will have todeal with, yet? I know well-I'm dealing with your pride, right now!""I-my apologies, Jhess-Lady Jhessail. I have no wish to offend you. I-""-can avoid such offense by looking to your pages and trying to study through myjabber, and not wasting my time! I am older than you by a good start, lad. Ihave less left to me than you do, by far, if you have the wits enough to liveto full growth-an increasingly doubtful prospect, it is true, but one that Iwill cling to nonetheless."Narm tossed up his hands in wordless despair and bent his head to thespellbookopen in front of him. Jhessail grinned again. "Well enough. Remember-no,don't look up at me. You know I'm beautiful, and I know it, too, but the art ofMystrais far more beautiful. Its beauty lasts where mine will wither with the years.Remember that I have learned some art from Elminster himself-" Narm looked upin surprise. Jhessail scowled and pointed severely down at his book again, "-andI'm fast running out of severe things that he said to me, to parrot back at you.So for the love of Mystra, Narm, look down at your spells and try. That way I can lecture you onthe kings of Cormyr, or the court etiquette of Aglarond, or recite the love songsof Solshuss the Bard, and not have to tax my wits so.""Aye, I-I'll try. One question of you if I may, lady, before I do." Narmlooked up at her. Jhessail smiled and nodded. "Elminster spoke so to you? Why?""Because he considered it necessary, as I do, at this stage in the trainingof one who wields the art. Your Marimmar obviously never knew such discipline.Illistyl, who wields far less powerful spells than he did, has known it, andis the better for it. Elminster considered his tutoring remiss if a mage did notknow such frustration. "The art is a thing of beauty in itself, and it can also be helpful andcreative. Too many spellcasters neglect such facets of art in their haste togain wealth, and influence- and enemies-by mastering fire and lightning.Remember that, Narm. In years to come, if you forget everything else I taughtyou, remember that. *tou saw The Shadowsil's death. Elminster trained her for a long time. You saw what a fascination with power, and power only, can do.""Aye . . . but why else become a mage?""Why? Why!? Why become anything other than a farmer, a hunter, or a warrior?Those three professions the world forces upon any born here, if they try toscratch out a living for themselves in the wilderness. All else-carpentry,painting, weaving, smith-work-one does because one has the apt.i.tude and thedesire. "If power is all you want, become a warrior-but mind you always strike at theweak and unprotected. Your arm may grow weary with all the slaying, but poweryou'll have and power you'll use over others-until, of course, you fallbefore the greater power of another. Keep up questions of this ilk, Narm, and you'llfind I can keep up the testy temper of Elminster! Why aren't you looking at yourbooks?" "I-aye. Sorry, Lady Jhessail." It was Jhessail who threw up her hands indespairthis time. "G.o.ds above," she sighed. "Tb think that I once behaved as this one does! Itis a wonder, indeed, that Elminster did not deem the form of a slug or a toadwould do me more fitting* *

ly, to end my days! Patience, above all, patience! Pity the poor student ofart;he still has this lesson ahead of him! Pity the little leucrotta, indeed!"Narm looked up, alarmed. Jhessail winked, and then screamed, "Again you allowmeaningless noise to distract you! You call yourself a magic-user!?"Have you ever seen a rat? Oh, they'll crouch back to avoid a stick-but if yourun about yelling, and they are eating in the grain sack, they'll go oneatingas long as they can. If they must run, they'll run with mouth full, and fullyintending to return! Have you no more brains than a rat? Study, boy, study!Kings are born to their station; rats are born to theirs, too. All the restof us must work for it! Study, I say!"

The door opened and Illistyl peered in. "Oolite a performance," she remarkedmildly. "Now, if you could only imitate Elminster's voice . . ." She closedthe door again hastily as Jhessail hurled a quill stand in her direction.After the crash, the door popped open again, and Illistyl looked in again,rather anxiously. "You don't have any more of those at hand, do you?" sheinquired, looking down at the unharmed bra.s.s at her feet. Jhessail grinned ather. "Unfortunately not," she said. "He's using it.""Using it? Whatever for? He hasn't written a line all this time. He seems tohave been otherwise occupied," Illistyl declared, with exaggerated innocence.Her eyes found Narm, staring up at them both in astonishment, and she grew ahead taller upon the instant. Her hair rose about her head, and her eyes grewthe size of thumbs. "What's this? A few words we exchange, and this studentbreaks off his studying? Is he weak-minded? Is he a prankster? Or is he justwasting his teacher's time?"All this time, as she shouted, Illistyl was rushing toward a frightened anddumbfounded Narm, until she was only inches away. Whereupon she smiledsweetly,and added in a normal voice, "Narm, how are you ever going to advance yourart if you can't concentrate as well as any three-year-old playing in the mud?"Narm looked as if he was about to cry, and then burst into helpless laughter."I've never learned art like this before!" he said, when he managed to speakagain.

"You must be used to a lot of ponderous dignity and mystical mumbling,"Illistylsaid. "Now look down at your book again . . . you can't read runes whileyou'relooking at me."Narm sighed loudly and feelingly, and bent to his books once more. "Mystraaid me," he muttered."She'll have to. But give her a little help in the task, eh?" Illistylresponded. She turned to Jhessail. "Well, it's nice to know I wasn't the onlyone to climb stone walls in my frustration at this stage of your teaching."Jhessail raised an eyebrow. "You think I didn't, in my turn? Elminstercontinuously threatened to spank me with an unseen servant spell while Istudied. Then he threatened to force me to battle him with the spells I'dmanaged to memorize through all of that."Illistyl chuckled. "You never told me that! Did he make it any more than athreat?" "No. I learned to study through nearly anything, with astonishing speed.""Think he'll do as well?" Illistyl asked quietly, nodding at Narm's benthead. Jhessail shrugged."For himself, aye. But as protector and mate to one who will be attacked dayafter day because she can wield spellfire-that's less certain. Are youlisteningagain, Narm?" *Narm looked up. "Sorry, did you ask me something?""Much better/' Jhessail replied. "See that you apply yourself in this, Narm.Your life-and your lady's life-will certainly depend upon it."Shandril looked around the cavern in awe. It was vast, and dark, and litteredwith rubble. Elminster saw her eyes moving about, and said, "An accident,longago. Be ye ready, little one?""Aye," Shandril answered dryly. "What now?"Elminster looked grave. "A few more tests. Things better learned before thy life depends upon it." He walked a few paces away from her. "My art shields thischamber against prying magic," he added. "First-hold thy hand up, like so... now the other/'Shandril looked at him, a little afraid. "Do you want me to turn my spellfire upon myself?"Elminster nodded slowly. "We must know," he said, "but mind ye do it verygently. Stop at once if it affects thee."Shandril nodded in her turn, and bent her will to the task. The thought ofburning herself made her feel sick. She set her teeth, looked up at the mage,and then stared at the hand which would receive the flames. Spellfireblossomed from her other hand, and writhed out in a small, delicate tongue to lick ather unprotected hand.No pain, but a tingling in her limbs that built in intensity as she continuedto envelop her hand in flames. She withdrew it from the raging, blistering heat,found it unmarked, and plunged it in once more. The flames roared; heruncontrollable shuddering grew.Abruptly she felt something grasp her hand and draw it from the flames.Another hand took its place, and almost immediately she heard Elminster grunt,"Urrrgh,"and draw away. He touched her shoulder, and then, slowly and deliberately,her bare cheek. No flame erupted from that contact. He patted her on theshoulder. "Enough."The flames died. Elminster stood facing her, working the fingers of oneblackened hand with a frown of mingled interest and pain. "Well, then. Itdoes not burn thee, but the force may harm thine innards, circling back in. Itdoes burn another, regardless of defences of art. When ye are not so full of energythat it burns in thine eyes, it harms only where ye intend it, and not at anytouch. Narm will last longer than I had feared."Shandril giggled at his tone. "You will want to watch the two of us, then, tofurther your investigations?"Elminster looked up past his brows at her disapprovingly, as he waggled hisfingers. "It may not surprise ye to learn," he said gravely, "that in overfive hundred-odd winters, I have seen such things a time or two before." Hegrinned."I'd have seen far more, too, if I'd had the courage to keep my eyes open at a younger age than I did."He turned, in a swirl of robes. "But enough of such unsuitable topics for anold man to be discussing with a young lady when they are alone in the dark. Turnthyspellfire here, upon this wall-nowhere else, mind; this cavern may not be entirely stable! Let us see what befalls."Again Shandril set her will, and spellfire flamed out from her hand. Itstruck the wall with a hollow roaring and burst in all directions, sparks and tendrils of flame leaping among the rocks. The cavern wall held, despite Shandril'sfierce efforts to hurl all the heat and flame she could at it. When Elminster patted her on the shoulder again to desist, the cavern wall was red-hot andsooty black."How does it feel to hold such power in thine hands?" Elminster asked softly."Eerie, indeed" Shandril answered truthfully. "Exciting and fearsome. I-I never seem to be able to relax anymore.""Could ye at the inn?""Well, yes. Short moments by myself, now and then. But it's not just the adventure . . . nor the spellfire . . .""It's Narm," Elminster said dryly. "Would ye try something else for me?""Yes . . . what is your will?""See if ye can hurl spellfire from thy knee, or forehead, or foot, orbehind... or your eyes, again. See if ye can hurl it in a spray, or curve the flamesaround sharp bends, or hurl small b.a.l.l.s or streamers of flame. Knowing theaccuracy of thy aim would also be useful.""How long do you-never mind. How shall we proceed?" Shandril mopped hersweatingforehead with one hand; her fire had made it hot in the cave. Elminster held out his pipe wordlessly. She pointed one finger and pushed, just a little, withher will, and a tiny spurt of flame shot out. The mage sucked on the pipe andturned its bowl adroitly all at once to catch the flame, puffed contentedly, thennodded to her. "Aye . . . we'll start so ..."It was quiet in the hall that night, despite the gathered band of knights.Theysat at the trestle table that stretched at least thirty paces down the centerof the room. It was warm and smoky, and the remains of a good feast were still uponthe table. The guards who usually lined the walls and the servants alwaysscurrying between table and khchen were absent, barred from the chamber byMourngrym.

Mourngrym and Shaerl sat at the head of the table. At the foot sat Elminster.Down one side of the long board, from the head, sat Storm Silverhand,Shandril,and Narm. The knights lined the other side. All other places were empty.Jhessail was on her feet, addressing the a.s.sembled company. "My lords andladies," she concluded, "Narm Tama-raith has advanced his art considerablysince first he came among us. He lacked not apt.i.tude or dedication, but merelysuffered from poor and insufficient prior training." She smiled, and toNairn's intense surprise continued, "He was a joy to train. Illistyl and I have nohesitation in presenting Narm before this company as an accomplishedconjurer.It is my understanding that Elminster wishes to examine and train Narm yet,to further him for the special task of art required in supporting the unique powerof his betrothed. I yield to my master."Elminster rose, even as she sat smoothly, and said, "Aye. I will talk to Narm of that before long. But I am here tonight in answer to Mourngrym's request"-Hissubtle emphasis on the last word brought a smile to the edges of the Lord ofShadowdale's mouth. "I will report to ye on what I have learned of the powersof Shandril Shessair, specifically that unique ability we call 'spellfire.' Thepower to wield spellfire has been known in the Realms in the past-""It is my duty this time, I fear?' Florin interrupted, standing with a politebow to Mourngrym and to the old sage. "Elminster-the short version, please.No disrespect intended, but we have not your interest nor patience."Elminster eyed him sourly. "Patience seems in short supply these days. It is a lamentable state of affairs when things happen at such a pace that folk canscarce talk things over and grumble before the face of the land is changedagain. Wieful days, indeed-" Here he forestalled several knights who hadopenedtheir mouths to speak. "But I digress. Tb the matter directly at hand: theLadyShandril, betrothed to Lord Narm Tamaraith, both of whom sit among us."Shandril can now, without the presence of the balhiir that apparently beganher use of spellfire, draw in spell energy without much personal harm-although some harm appears to be involved with some magic-and store it, for an unknown length of time and without apparent ill effects. She can subsequentlysend it forth, upon command and with some precise control, as a fire thatburns despite most magical defenses, and affects all things and beings I have beenable to observe it against thus far."Shandril has a finite capacity for such absorbed spell energy, but we arepresently not entirely certain what it is. We know neither the preciseeffects of the spellfire upon Shandril, nor the limitations of the spellfire shewields. "I can tell you what spellfire is: the raw energy that all workings of art are really composed of, broken down by Shandril's body in some unknown manner from a given magical effect-of spell or item-into the force necessary to create andenact such an effect. "As The Simbul, distinguished ruler of Aglarond, pointed out at the testing,such a power is dangerous-dangerous to Shandril personally, and to thosenearby.When Shandril's body holds so much energy that her eyes flash spellfire, hervery touch can harm those around her with an unintentional discharge. She isalso a threat to those who work magic everywhere in this world. Those who seethis last threat will act to destroy Shandril, or to possess her to use herpower against others."Certain fell powers undoubtedly already know of her abilities, and will actsoon, if they have not begun already. There is much more to be said,but-hem-yeasked for the short version." The old archmage sat down again and reached forhis pipe."So you are saying, then, that war will come to the dale again, because thesource of spellfire is here?" the Lady Shaerl asked."Aye," Elminster replied, "and we must be ready. Tb arms and alert! We mustdefend Shandril's person with our swords, and raise the art at our command todefend against the many mages who will come for Shandril's spellfire. She cannot be everywhere to battle all of them, were she the most willing slayer in the world. Our spells we must also cast to Shandril, to feed her spellfire-it is this her man Nairn does best. Days of blood, I fear, are upon us."

Mourngrym spoke then in challenge, rising to look at all

there a.s.sembled, and said, "It is hardly fair, you powerful and experienced adventurers, to drag these young folks into a battle that will almost certainly mean their deaths, just to use them as weapons against those who come here."

"They are in such a battle as we breathe now," Elminster said sharply. "We delivered them out of it once, as a knight drags a weary fellow out of the fray for a time to catch his breath, quell his pain, and set to again. It is the price of adventuring, such conflict. And don't tell me that they are not adventurers. One ran off with a chartered company of adventurers, while the other willingly returned to Myth Drannor, alone and unarmed, to 'seek his fortune' after the death of his master at the hands of the devils. We do not, lord, intend to 'use them as weapons,' but to see they know their powers fully."

The old sage glanced around at the knights, and added, "Why invite such peril?

Why see a young maid become a threat to one's own powers? Why build her strength, and that of her consort, to make them an even greater menace?

Because... because, after all these years, it still feels good to have helped someone, and accomplished something. This first fight, it is part of that, and we cannot avoid it. When it is done, it is our duty to let them go where they will, and not compel them or make their choices for them."

A large green gla.s.s bottle that stood upon the table, full of wine and as yet unopened, like many of its fellows, began to change shape. As all watched in astonishment, it grew and became The Simbul, kneeling atop the table with proud and lonely eyes. The witch-queen nodded to Narm and Shandril, and then looked to Elminster.

"You will let these two walk freely?" she asked. "Truly?"

The archmage nodded. "Aye. I will. We all here will."

"Then you have my blessing," she added softly. She turned into a bird and, with a whir of wings, she darted up the chimney and was gone.

The knights relaxed, visibly. "One day I suppose I'll be used to that," Tbrm remarked. "Old mage, can't you tell by art when she's near?"

Elminster shook his head. "Unless she actively uses art of her own, nay. Her cloak-of-art is as good as any greater

archmage's-which is to say, well nigh perfect."

"Such as yours, perhaps?" Tbrm pressed him. Elminster smiled broadly, and suddenly he wasn't there. His chair was empty, without flash or sound. Only the faint smell of his pipe smoke hung in the air to say he had been present at all.

Jhessail sighed and cast a spell to detect magic. She looked all about, keenly, and then shook her head.

"Faint magic, all about," she said, "and those things I know to be enchanted that we carry. But no sage."

"tou see?" Elminster said, appearing at her elbow and kissing her swiftly on the cheek. "It is not as easy as it might seem, but it works."