Spellfire

Manshoon found himself, when he could see straight again, hanging head-down in a tangled ruin of shadowtop branches and leaves, Orlgaun’s scaled back above him. The dragon lay belly uppermost among smashed and splintered wood, impaled and twisted horribly. The mage crawled and slipped about until he fell out of the branches to the leaf-strewn ground beneath, and moved out from under the vast carcass as soon as he gained his feet. He had lost the wand, though he still carried other items of power aplenty. Ahead, in the direction Orlgaun had been flying, the trees thi

Manshoon took a step forward, and another, and then stared in shock at a bat-winged, horned, and tusked creature that had appeared out of the trees in front of him. A malebranche! Beyond it he could see another, and quick glances about told him that others were approaching. The devils of Myth Dra

The High Lord of Zhentil Keep cast a spell in grim haste, backing away, and then cursed loudly and feelingly as his lightnings struck down the nearest devil. He turned away from the clearing and fled as fast as his legs could go. The trees here grew too thickly even to fly! As he ran, Manshoon drew a wand of paralyzation from its holder at his belt and thought on how best to use the magics he had left. It had not been a good day.

Fall Flagons

I have known high honor, proud fame, and great riches, and have drunk deep of good wine at feasts where my mouth watered and my belly was filled with delightful viands amid good fellowship and conversation… and I tell you that all these pale and drift away as idle dreams before the gentle touch of my Lady.

Mirt ‘the Moneylender’ of Waterdeep

In a letter to Khelben ‘Blackstaff Arunsun in proclamation of his lover Asper as his lawful heir

Year of the Harp

The knights had traveled swiftly into the woods, moving northward, after the retreat of Manshoon. The Thunder Peaks marched north on their left with them as they went, leaving Rauglothgor’s shattered lair behind. They walked until night fell, rose with the dawn, and went on again until another nightfall.

In Mistledale, the knights purchased mules. Elminster let lapse the last of a succession of floating discs he had conjured up to carry Shandril, despite her protests. The others had walked.

A footsore Narm clambered up onto his mule, which favored him with an unfriendly look, and glanced enviously at the knights who still sprang about and vaulted up into their saddles and traded jests with unflagging enthusiasm. They were obviously all used to walking miles at a stretch, from aged Elminster to the Lady Jhessail. Narm’s thighs were achingly stiff. He gri

The green dimness of the woods was all about them now. Shandril leaned over to Narm and asked in a low voice, “How far away is Myth Dra

The couple’s involuntary shared sigh of relief was cut short by Torm’s dry, sharp voice saying from where he rode watchfully behind them, “Ah, yes. We can head that way if you’d like. I hear one can have a devil of a time there, heh-heh…”

He smiled benignly at the chorus of dirty looks flung his way. Someone has to provide entertainment, after all.

It was late. The golden light of approaching sunset glinted on leaves ahead of and above them. Vet the knights pressed on. Riding beside each other except where trees in the trail forced them into single file, Narm and Shandril clasped hands reassuringly. Whatever happened, they were together. When it grew suddenly much darker, Jhessail and Merith conjured glowing motes of light that drifted along in midair with them, bobbing and floating about, occasionally darting to one side to illuminate this or that tangle of brush or dark thicket.

They rode on slowly amid the giant trees and smaller saplings alike, the soft singing of crickets all about them. The chorus would die away in front of them and begin again behind them. Off to one side or the other, particularly to the right, eerie gray-green and blue radiances-small and scattered glows that did not move-could be seen occasionally.

“What’s that?” Narm asked, pointing. “Is it witchfire?”

Merith nodded. “Glow moss, witchfire, and the other fungi of the forest that shine at night. The elven name for all of them is, in Common, ‘nightshine’.” The elf lounged in his saddle, helm hung from its horn, very much at his ease. Of course, Shandril thought, feeling suddenly less awed and much safer, to Merith this endless wood is home. She relaxed, and very soon sank low in her saddle.

Jhessail saw her, and quietly worked a spell of sleep upon her and upon Narm, who rode, nodding himself, beside her. Merith took charge of the mules as his lady cast another floating disc. Torm chuckled softly as he boosted the sleepers from saddle to disc, and then yawned himself.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Jhessail warned him. “Get back on your mule.”

Torm spread his hands in injured and very feigned i

He staggered forward a step under the unexpected impact of a solid nudge in the back from his mule, and his friends burst into laughter all around him.

“Be an adventurer,” he grumbled as he settled himself in his saddle again. “Become rich and famous, they said. Hmph.”

“Famous, anyway,” Merith assured him. “Why, I’ve even seen notices with your picture on them posted here and there. And of course all these men with knives keep calling on you…”

Torm made a rude noise. It was returned, with spirit, from where Elminster rode in stately dignity ahead of them all, startling everyone into silence. It all made no difference to the mules.

The sun was bright and high again when Narm and Shandril came slowly awake. Their arms had crept about each other in slumber, and they were drowsy and deep-rested. Narm looked up at the sun-dappled leaves overhead, heard the familiar creak of leather and soft thud of the mules’ hooves, and relaxed, Shandril’s warmth and weight on his left side. His left hand tingled. He wiggled his fingers to bring feeling and strength back and felt her stir. Then he realized he was flat on his back, moving, with no mule bumping and shifting beneath him. He sat up in alarm.

He and Shandril were floating serenely along on a disc of firm nothingness, with Jhessail just behind them and Merith just ahead. Far ahead, over Elminster’s shoulder, he could see Lanseril leading the way toward a brightening in the trees. Jhessail smiled reassuringly at him. “Well met, this morn,” she said. “We are almost in Shadowdale.”

As she spoke, and Shandril sleepily pulled herself up Narm’s shoulder to see, they came out of the trees into a high-walled passage between two redoubts of heaped stones. The silver and blue ba

“ ’Ware!” called the guard formally, barring the way to the bridge beyond. The sight of the lords and lady of the dale had them bowing and standing aside in the next breath. The sight of Elminster made them more silent than usual, and Narm and Shandril passed over the mill bridge and into the dale without a word of query or challenge.