Spellfire

Elminster nodded and said, “Enough, and well enough.” He turned to Shandril. “How do ye feel now?”

Shandril looked at him with a little frown. “Well in head and body, or at least I feel nothing amiss, but there is in me a… stirring, a feeling… a tingling.”

Elminster nodded slowly, as if unsurprised, and looked to Narm. “Have ye any spells or cantrips in thy head?”

Narm shook his head. “No. I-I have scarce had the time to study, since…” His voice trailed off under Elminster’s grin.

“Aye, and good.” From his robes, he drew forth a scroll, glanced at it, and handed it to Narm. “Read this” he commanded, “and cast it-at thy lady. Tis but a light spell; ye ca

Narm glanced around at the bare, moonlit hilltop, feeling the watching eyes he knew to be there in the trees. He took a slow, deep breath, and then cast the spell as carefully as he had done the first time ever. He turned and centered the art upon Shandril, who stood waiting.

Light flared around her, and then in a moment died. Elminster stepped near, looking at Shandril. Nodding at the fire in her eyes, he then produced another scroll. He gave this to Narm and said, “As before. It will not harm her?’

Narm cast another light spell, and again it was absorbed. Shandril’s eyes glowed brighter. A third time Elminster handed Narm a scroll, and he cast light. Shandril’s body took it in. The old mage came near to Shandril and waved Narm away but did not touch her. He then said to Shandril, “Lady, do ye see that boulder, there? Shatter it with thy spellfire, if ye will.”

Shandril looked at him, trembling a little, the fire leaping in her eyes, and said only, “Yes.” Once again tingling fire coiled and raced within her, roiling about in her veins. She bore down on it with her will, thrusting it down one arm until it built, to a soundless thunder.

From her hand burst forth spellfire in a long, rolling gout. The boulder was enveloped in orange flame, building to white intensity. The three could feel heat upon their faces, and there was a sharp crack as the stone shattered. Shards sprayed in a small shower upon the hillside as the flames died away. Silence stretched for long moments.

Elminster turned to Narm. “Stand back, now,” he warned. “Over there, beneath that tree.” The mage cast a light spell of his own. It, too, was absorbed. Elminster then cast two more. Then he created a wall of force to one side, and nodded toward it. Shandril raised her hands and hurled fire.

The flames clawed at the wall and raged, becoming a blinding inferno as Shandril fully bent her will upon the barrier. When at last she gave up and let her flame die, shrugging, the wall still stood. Elminster nodded again, and asked, “How do ye feel?”

Shandril shrugged. “A little scared, but I neither hurt nor feel strange in any way.” She pushed with her will, letting flames leap up from her palms and then wink out in a little spurt, and added, “I hold more yet”

The sage nodded and said, “I shall raise a wall of fire there, before thee. When I nod, kneel before it and hurl spellfire through it, angling upward into the sky so as not to harm the forest. Only a little, mind thee. Cast it only for the length of a long breath, then cease.”

Shandril smiled, flames dancing in her eyes, and said, “As you will… a short but steady burst of flame.” Spellfire roared through the wall of flames as though it was not there, and roared onward, drawing the mage’s flames with it When the burst ended and curled away from the hilltop with a rippling, tearing noise of air, the wall of flames was gone. Flames dimmed and faded in the starlit sky above, and then all was gone as though it had never been. Shandril got up from her knees where she had been watching the beauty of the flames in the sky above her, and sighed.

“Are ye well?” Elminster asked, intently. Shandril nodded, and the mage said, “Right, then.” He raised his hands and quietly cast a bolt of lightning at her.

It crackled and struck, and Shandril reeled. Narm cried out involuntarily, but already Shandril stood strong again, and the lightning was gone. The smell of the bolt hung in the air about her as she turned, bleeding a little from where she had bitten her lip, and smiled reassuringly at Narm.

“How are ye now?” Elminster asked.

“Well enough,” she said. “I feel weary, a little, but not sick or strange.”

“Good,” the old mage said gently. “I shall cast more lightning at thee. Gather and hold it as long as ye can. If it starts to hurt thee, or ye feel it trying to burst out and ye ca

Shandril merely nodded and stood waiting, hands at her sides. When the sage’s bolt struck her, she flinched but then stood quiet as Elminster hurled bolt after bolt at her. The air about the hill crackled and tingled upon the faces of those who watched. Narm trembled and twisted his hands about in the robe he wore, but could not look away.

More and more energy the delicate, aged fingers of the old mage poured into Narm’s lady, and she stood silent and unmoving. At last she bent at the waist with a sob, threw her arms wide as she took a few steps to steady herself, and burst into a pillar of coiling flame.

“Mother Mystra!” Narm prayed hoarsely, in horror. Merith laid hands upon him quickly then, to prevent him ru

Abruptly, flames shot from it down the hill to strike the boulder. There was a flash, and those watching ducked as small red-hot chunks of stone showered down through the leaves around them. Jhessail hastily worked a wall of force from a scroll she had held ready, and Lanseril quenched those fires that started around them.

A smoking scar was all that was left where the boulder had stood. On the summit, a pillar of flame roared up as if to touch the glimmering stars. Elminster stood watching calmly, a cooling fragment of stone cupped in his hands.

Slowly, the roaring flames winked out. Shandril stood nude in the moonlight, sniffing curiously at the sharp smell of the scorched ends of her hair, which was otherwise untouched. Her cloak had burned away to nothing, but the flames had not marked her. Narm burst free of Merith and Florin’s grasps and ran across the scorched rock, heedless of the pain in the bare soles of his feet.

Elminster moved to intercept him, but it was not necessary. Shandril herself backed away. “Keep back, love!” she warned. “I know not if my touch will slay, right now.” Narm came to a halt barely a pace away. “I am well” she added gently. Her long hair rippled and stirred in the calm air as if with a life of its own.

“What can you do?” Narm asked Elminster in anguish.

“I will touch her myself, to end the test,” the old mage replied firmly. “I am protected by potent spells, where ye are not. A moment, if you can contain yourself.” He strode forward and took Shandril’s hand in his own.

“Well met, sir,” Shandril said with grave courtesy. Narm waited tensely.

“At your service, madam,” Elminster replied, bowing. His face was expressionless, but his eyes twinkled. Narm caught his gaze and shook his fists in impatience.

“Is she safe?” he almost pleaded. The sage nodded, and was fairly bowled over by Narm’s rush to embrace his lady. He stepped back and waved at the trees. Harpers, knights, and guardsmen of the dale appeared from all sides.