Spellfire

“What is it?”

“Only water, I fear.”

“Good enough for me,” she said, taking a long swig. They ate in silence for a time.

“Who was that sorceress?” Narm asked suddenly.

“She called herself Symgharyl Maruel, or The Shadowsil,” Shandril said. She told him of the Company of the Bright Spear, and of finding herself imprisoned in the cavern, of how the bone had brought her to Myth Dra

Narm swallowed a lump of bread quickly and shrugged. “There is little to tell. I am an apprentice of the art, come from Cormyr with my master, Marimmar, to seek out the lost magic of Myth Dra

They looked at each other.

“I thank you, Narm,” Shandril said slowly. “I’m sorry I ran from you and led you into this.” Their eyes met. Both knew they would probably die here. Shandril felt a sudden, raw regret that she had found a man so friendly and so attractive too late. They had met just in time to die together.

“I’m sorry I drove you here,” Narm replied softly. “I am not much of a warrior, I fear.”

Wordlessly Shandril passed him the bread and clasped his forearm as the company clasped those of their equals. “Maybe not,” she said after a time, desire stirring within her, “and yet I live because of you.”

Narm took her hand and raised it slowly to his lips, eyes on hers. She smiled, then, and kissed him on impulse.

It was a long time before they parted and looked at each other. “More sausage?” Narm asked hastily.

And then they both laughed nervously. They ate sausage and bread, huddled together in the gentle light of the globe. “How came you by this globe?” Narm finally asked.

Shandril shrugged. “It was here” she said, “with the other treasure. I know not what it is, but it has served me as a lamp. Without it I wouldn’t have found you.”

“Yes,” Narm said, “and my thanks for that.” The look in his eyes made Shandril blush again. “You asked about the dracolich. This is the first time I’ve ever seen one, but my master told me of them. They are undead creatures, created by their own evil and a foul potion, just as a fell mage becomes a lich. A depraved cult of men worship such creatures. They believe that ‘dead dragons shall rule the world entire,’ and they work to serve these dead dragons so that they will be favored when this prophecy comes to pass.”

“How does one serve a dragon, save as a meal?”

“By providing the potions and care it needs to achieve unlife,” Narm replied. “After that, they provide spells and treasures. Servants also provide a dracolich with information and much flattery when visiting.”

He fell silent as they ate. After a time, Shandril asked quietly, “Narm, how great is your art?”

Narm shook his head. “Feeble, lady. Too feeble. My master was a capable mage, though I have never seen him hurl magics as the Lady Jhessail of the knights did, back there.” He nodded at the darkness where the rocks had fallen to wall them in. “I know a few spells of use, a few more that are but tricks or little things used to hone the will or the nimble-ness of mind and fingers, and the names of a few who may tutor me further. My master is no more, and as a mage, I am almost nothing without him.”

“Something more than nothing rescued me,” Shandril countered. “You did, and your magic was strong and swift when I needed it. I-I will stand with you and trust in your art.”

Narm looked at her for a time and laid his hand on hers. “I thank you,” he said. “It is enough, indeed.” They embraced, holding each other fiercely in the near-darkness. “We may die here,” Narm said abruptly, in a low voice.

“Aye,” Shandril said. “ ‘Adventure,’ they call it.”

Abruptly, from the back of the cavern, they both heard clearly the click and clatter of a falling stone. They fell silent, listening, but there were no more sounds of moving rock. They exchanged worried glances, and then Shandril picked up the globe and held it high. Its radiance fell across the rocks but revealed nothing. Narm stepped carefully toward the wall of rock, dagger in hand. He walked about for some time.

“Nothing, my lady,” Narm said, returning. “But I found this for you.” He held out a pendant of electrum wrought in the shape of a falcon in flight, set with garnets for its eyes. She took it slowly, smiled, and hooked it about her neck.

“My thanks,” she said simply. “I can only give you coins in return. I am sitting on a heap of them, and one at least has fallen into my boot.”

“Why not?” he said. “If die we must, why not die rich?”

“Narm,” Shandril said very softly, “could you not gather coins later?”

Narm turned and looked at her. Shandril held out her arms toward him. When he knelt by her, he found she was shaking. “Lady?” he asked, holding her.

“Please, Narm,” she whispered, dragging him down atop her, her hands moving with sudden urgency. Narm, surprised, found that she was very strong. His discarded pack fell across the globe, and they spoke no more for a very long time.

Later, they lay face-to-face on their sides in the darkness, Shandril’s breath warm upon Narm’s throat and chest. Even cold coins and rock could make for a comfortable bed, he decided. Shandril held Narm gently, thinking he had drifted off to sleep, but he spoke to her then.

“Lady,” he said roughly. “I know it has been but a short time since we met, but I love you.”

“Oh, Narm,” she said. “I think I have loved you since our eyes first met in The Rising Moon, and that feels like so very long ago-a lifetime at least!” She laughed, hugging him tenderly. Her expression turned thoughtful. “It’s strange, but I’m not afraid to die now. It’s not so terrible to die here, if we die together.” Narm’s arms tightened about her.

“Die?” he said. “Who knows but that a little digging might win our freedom? The dracolich’s grotto is too big to be completely filled with rock… I hope.”

“We’ll dig, then,” Shandril said, “if you’ll let me up.” They rolled apart and uncovered the globe. Its radiance showed them each other, shadowed and bare, and Shandril snatched up her tunic automatically to cover herself.

“Lady,” Narm said gently, “may I not even see you?”

Shandril laughed in embarrassment, and her laughter became tears. Narm held her and soothed her as her sobs died away. He murmured gentle support and reached over her shoulder to catch up her tunic. “We’re not dead yet,” he whispered.

They sat together for some time in silence, arms about each other, summoning strength. Then Shandril began to shiver, and they both dressed and got up to walk around for warmth. Narm gathered gold enough to fill both their pouches and found another treasure for his lady.

He handed Shandril a ring and bracelet joined together by fine chain, so that it covered Shandril’s forearm from finger to elbow with curved plates and worked hoops of chased electrum, chain and all being set with many sapphires.

For himself, he found a dagger, with its brass pommel worked into the snarling head of a lion, and two rubies inset as the lion’s eyes. He passed over many splendid treasures, but he managed to put one bar of gold in his pack before he heard Shandril’s hiss of surprise.

Something moved on the rocks beyond Shandril, approaching her from the tumbled rockfall. Something black and scaly, and about as long as a shortsword. It scuttled soundlessly over, around, and through the stones toward them. It was some sort of long-necked, long-tailed lizard. Narm stepped forward hastily to blast the creature with his art if it attacked. Without slowing, the creature crested a rock five paces from Shandril, who raised the globe to see the creature more clearly.