Spellfire

“Gods above,” she sighed. “To think that I once behaved as this one does! It is a wonder, indeed, that Elminster did not deem the form of a slug or a toad would do me more fittingly, to end my days! Patience, above all, patience! Pity the poor student of art; he still has this lesson ahead of him! Pity the little laurite, indeed!”

Narm looked up, alarmed. Jhessail winked, and then screamed, “Again you allow meaningless 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 you run about yelling, and they are eating in the grain sack, they’ll go on eating as long as they can. If they must run, they’ll run with mouth full, and fully intending 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 rest of us must work for it! Study, I say!”

The door opened and Illistyl peered in. “Too lite a performance,” she remarked mildly. “Now, if you could only imitate Elminster’s voice…” She closed the 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?” she inquired, looking down at the unharmed brass at her feet. Jhessail gri

“Unfortunately not,” she said. “He’s using it.”

“Using it? Whatever for? He hasn’t written a line all this time. He seems to have been otherwise occupied,” Illistyl declared, with exaggerated i

All this time, as she shouted, Illistyl was rushing toward a frightened and dumbfounded Narm, until she was only inches away. Whereupon she smiled sweetly, and added in a normal voice, “Narm, how are you ever going to advance your art 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 speak again.

“You must be used to a lot of ponderous dignity and mystical mumbling,” Illistyl said. “Now look down at your book again… you can’t read runes while you’re looking at me.”

Narm sighed loudly and feelingly, and bent to his books once more. “Mystra aid me,” he muttered.

“She’ll have to. But give her a little help in the task, eh?” Illistyl responded. She turned to Jhessail. “Well, it’s nice to know I wasn’t the only one 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? Elminster continuously threatened to spank me with an unseen servant spell while I studied. Then he threatened to force me to battle him with the spells I’d managed to memorize through all of that.”

Illistyl chuckled. “You never told me that! Did he make it any more than a threat?”

“No. I learned to study through nearly anything, with astonishing speed.”

“Think he’ll do as well?” Illistyl asked quietly, nodding at Narm’s bent head. Jhessail shrugged.

“For himself, aye. But as protector and mate to one who will be attacked day after day because she can wield spellfire-that’s less certain. Are you listening again, 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 littered with rubble. Elminster saw her eyes moving about, and said, “An accident, long ago. 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 this chamber 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 very gently. Stop at once if it affects thee.”

Shandril nodded in her turn, and bent her will to the task. The thought of burning 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. Spellfire blossomed from her other hand, and writhed out in a small, delicate tongue to lick at her unprotected hand.

No pain, but a tingling in her limbs that built in intensity as she continued to 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; her uncontrollable 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 the shoulder. “Enough.”

The flames died. Elminster stood facing her, working the fingers of one blackened hand with a frown of mingled interest and pain. “Well, then. It does not burn thee, but the force may harm thine i

Shandril giggled at his tone. “You will want to watch the two of us, then, to further your investigations?”

Elminster looked up past his brows at her disapprovingly, as he waggled his fingers. “It may not surprise ye to learn,” he said gravely, “that in over five hundred-odd winters, I have seen such things a time or two before.” He gri

He turned, in a swirl of robes. “But enough of such unsuitable topics for an old man to be discussing with a young lady when they are alone in the dark. Turn thy spellfire 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. It struck 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’s fierce 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 and sooty 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 i

“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, or behind… or your eyes, again. See if ye can hurl it in a spray, or curve the flames around sharp bends, or hurl small balls or streamers of flame. Knowing the accuracy of thy aim would also be useful.”

“How long do you-never mind. How shall we proceed?” Shandril mopped her sweating forehead 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, with her will, and a tiny spurt of flame shot out. The mage sucked on the pipe and turned its bowl adroitly all at once to catch the flame, puffed contentedly, then nodded to her.