Spellfire

The dracolich chuckled again. “Humans never are, I have found. Ask on; she interests me.”

The Shadowsil nodded as she moved forward to confront Shandril. Her dark eyes caught and held those of the young thief; Shandril prayed silently to all the gods who might be listening that she be free of this place and these two horrible beings of power.

Symgharyl Maruel regarded her almost sympathetically for a time and then asked, “Were you a member of the Company of the Bright Spear?”

Shandril lifted her head proudly and said, “I am.”

“ ‘Am?” The Shadowsil laughed shortly. Shandril stared at her with mounting fear. She had secretly hoped that Rymel, Burlane, and the others had somehow escaped the great dragon. She covered her face at the memory of the vicious attack, but she knew the truth now. The mage’s cold laughter forbade her to deny it any longer. Tears came.

“You were taken by the cult and imprisoned in Oversember. How did you escape?” The Shadowsil pressed.

“I-I…” Shandril’s face twisted in fear and grief, and mounting anger. Who was this cruel sorceress, anyway, to drag her here and bind and question her thus?

The dracolich’s deep, hissing laughter rolled around Shandril again. “She has a temper, Shadowsil. Beware. Ah, this is good sport!”

“I found the bone and read what was on it,” Shandril answered sullenly. “It took me to the place with the gargoyle. I know no more.”

Symgharyl Maruel strode toward her angrily. “Ah, but you do, Shandril! Who was that fool who attacked me before we took the gate here?”

Shandril shook her head helplessly.

“My name, witch,”-a new voice echoed over them all in answer-”is Narm!” There was a flash and a crackling in the air, and Shandril saw the mage stagger and almost fall, face contorted in pain and astonishment, as a swarm of small bolts of light struck her body.

Shandril looked behind her as she rose from her knees. High above, at the mouth of the cavern, were six humans. Two in robes stood before the others. One of them, also the one who spoke, she recognized from those last seconds before Symgharyl Maruel had forced her through the gate. He was young and excited. The other, a woman whose hair was as long as The Shadowsil’s, stood with hand outstretched. She had been the one who had just hurled magic at the purple-robed sorceress.

Shandril had no time to see more before the cavern rocked with Rauglothgor’s roar of challenge. The dracolich reared up to face the newcomers, eyes terrible, bony wings arching. Shandril hurled herself at The Shadowsil, who sprang away and hissed a word of art-and vanished before Shandril could grab her. Rauglothgor spat a word that echoed in the grotto around her, and a fiery streak lashed high over her head and exploded flame in all directions.

Shandril dove flat and looked around wildly. The newcomers were leaping down the sloping cavern floor toward her, apparently unharmed by the fireball. She saw the purple-robed sorceress appear on a high ledge behind them all.

“Look out!” Shandril screamed, pointing above them. A man in plain robes glanced up and back, and there was a winking of red light from a circlet he wore. From it burst a thin red beam that struck The Shadowsil. The sorceress stiffened, hands faltering in their spell-weaving, and then she slumped back against the rock wall, holding her side and screaming curses of anger and pain.

The dracolich roared again, and the long-haired woman lashed out in reply with a bolt of lightning. As it crackled overhead, the lightning outlined a tall man in blue-gray plate armor and the young man as they scurried down the slope toward her. The man in armor held a drawn blade.

The young man called out to her. “Lady! You from The Rising Moon! We come to aid you! We-”

His words were lost in the roar of the dracolich’s second fireball, bursting just behind the two ru

Shandril’s feet slid again in slithering coins. She caught her balance with a painful wrench and leaped onto rocks. The silent winking of the beljurils grew ahead of her as she neared a wall. Behind her there was another flash and the metallic clinking sound of ru

But the feet did not sound as if they were following her. Shandril gasped for breath as she climbed rocks with bruising speed. Light sprang into being again, and she dove forward into a cleft between two boulders. The dracolich roared again.

And I haven’t even a blade! Shandril thought, rolling to her feet, banging knees and elbows in the process. She peered back across the cavern at the battle.

Symgharyl Maruel stood upon a high rock, hands moving-but she was not spellcasting. Rather, she was slapping at something very small. Insects!

The slim and beautiful newcomer in robes was casting a spell, facing the dracolich across the grotto. Knee-deep in coins at the dracolich’s feet stood the man in armor, chopping and slicing at the skeletal form that towered over him. Another warrior was racing down the slope to join him. An elf! This one, too, bore a glowing blade. The blade’s radiance was briefly overwhelmed by a roaring blast of flames from the dracolich’s bony maw.

Rauglothgor turned his head toward Shandril as he rose up from a gout of flames he’d launched at the warriors. Shandril turned in panic and scrambled up the cavern wall, praying that the dracolich would not overwhelm her.

“Lady!” came that voice again. The young man was still pursuing her, but she dared not stop. She clambered up over rocks and loose rubble. The dracolich, Symgharyl Maruel, and these powerful newcomers all stood between her and escape, she decided, and she doubted if the gods cared enough about Shandril Shessair to save her. Better to flee while they were busy slaying each other!

The flickering glow of another burst of flame reflected off the rocks before her. Shandril heard a man roar in pain as the fire died away. Behind her, much closer than she expected, she could hear the young man chanting rapidly. Was he trying to trap her with a spell, too? She scrambled away.

Suddenly, she slipped and fell hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. The favored of Tymora, as usual, she thought, gasping for air.

Shandril looked up in time to see the young man who’d been pursuing her land softly at her side. She jumped to her feet to run away, raising an arm to fend off attack. Narm grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. “Lady!” he panted. “Keep down. The sorceress…”

Abruptly, there was a flash and a deep, rolling explosion, and small stones clattered and fell about them.

“She is free of the insects!” the young man gasped, looking around them frantically. “Oh, gods!” he cursed.

Shandril followed his gaze up the purple-robed form of Symgharyl Maruel, who appeared before them with a triumphant smile.

But the smile was knocked from her face as a slim, dark figure leaped at the sorceress, somersaulting in the air. The figure’s feet struck The Shadows!! with bruising force in the shoulder and flank. The two figures hurtled clean out of view behind rocks.

“Well met, witch!” a merry voice said from behind the rocks. “I am Torm, and these are my feet!”

Back down below, however, Rauglothgor hissed and roared, and Shandril saw its great bony form twisting and rearing. Next to her, the handsome young man chanted, “By grasshopper leg and will gathered deep. Let my art make this one”-he touched Shandril’s knee-”leap!” He thrust something small into her hand. “Lady,” he hissed, “break this, turn, and leap up there. The sorceress!”

Shandril, goaded into fearful scrambling, fumbled with the wisp, broke it, and jumped. The art took her high and far in one mighty bound. She landed on a ledge in the heights of the cavern. Behind her she heard The Shadowsil chant high and shrill, and then there was a flash. Shandril landed lightly on tumbled rocks. Whatever art the sorceress had hurled had missed her.