Spellfire

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Jhessail said briskly, putting a slim arm about his great shoulders. “Not now. We need you.” Awkwardly she drew him down until he was sitting against the wall. “You’ll feel much better once you’ve been healed.” Merith joined them. Florin nodded gratefully to them both, and then quietly fainted.

Jhessail let his head rest heavily on her shoulder and said to her husband, “My lord, please run to the strongbox for one of our potions. He’s hurt worse than I thought.”

Shandril, watching this, turned her face to the wall and leaned her forehead upon her arm. “I-I-we must leave you. You are always hurt for our sake, one attack upon another. You are my friends! I must not do this to you, day after day, mages attacking and all…” She burst into tears.

“Must we have all this weeping?” Rathan complained. “It’s as bad as all the fighting! Nay, worse-ye can stop the fighting by slaying your foe!”

Narm rose to defend his lady, but Rathan pushed him down again with two strong fingers. “Don’t start! Ye’re not fully healed yet, not nearly. I’m not having ye rushing around getting hurt and dispensing worldly sage-speech and crying all about the place, yet. D’ye hear? Just lie back down and wait. We’ll see if there’s time for me to spare to listen to such foolishness later.”

Merith went to Shandril then, and tickled her gently under the ribs on one side, until in irritation the young lady turned from the wall. Then he swept her up in his arms and kissed away her tears. “Nay, nay, little one, you need not be ashamed or upset on our account. It is a hard road you walk, an adventurer’s road. Would you not walk it together, with us? It is not so lonely or hard, with friends.”

“Ohh, Merith,” Shandril said, and sobbed upon his shoulder. Merith carried her over to where Florin and Jhessail sat, and sat her down upon his own lap before them. Jhessail and Florin both looked at her with smiles.

“You must not cry so,” Jhessail chided her. “Does the hawk weep because it has wings? Does the wolf howl because it has teeth? We do what we can with our art or our skill-at-arms. Is your spellfire so different? Use it as you see fit, and don’t hold yourself responsible for the attacks others make on you, or this place. We do not blame you for them.”

She reached over and patted Florin’s knee. “Let’s all go down to the great hall as soon as Eressea has done her healing,” she said, “and see if there’s aught to eat or drink. Violence always makes me hungry.”

In a turret that curved out from the i

“That’s quite enough of this foolishness,” Elminster said peevishly. “I leave ye and within half a dozen breaths ye’re fighting yet another mage trying to steal spellfire for himself! Well, then, I’ll not leave ye again… yell stay in my tower, ye two, with my scribe Lhaeo and myself.

“To draw off all who are snooping about hoping to seize spellfire for themselves, Illistyl and Torm will impersonate ye, and will stay in a tent with Rathan upon Harpers’ Hill. Merith, ye and Lanseril will keep a watch upon them. Now pass that wine ye’re curled so lovingly about, Rathan, and let’s have no argument or endless clacking of tongues; the matter’s settled.”

“I’m glad of that,” Florin said dryly. “Have you no task for Jhessail or myself?”

“Eh? Gods’ watch, man! Someone has to watch over the dale, and fight the armies of Zhentil Keep if they come calling! You two ought to be able to manage that!”

There were dry chuckles, and then a yawn. Shandril’s eyes were nearly closed. “Love,” Narm said gently, shaking her. “Are you sleepy?”

“Of course I am,” she replied faintly. “We were going to bed when this uproar started, remember?”

“To bed, then!” Elminster said gruffly. “All of us will go over to my tower together-and then mind the lot of ye all return here, except ye two. I don’t want to be falling over a lot of snoring knights in the morning!”

“At this rate,” Lanseril replied, “you’re safe on that score. You’ll be falling over a lot of snoring knights at highsun, instead.” Amid chuckles they went out into the night.

“Keeping you awake, Rold?” one of his fellows grunted jovially at dawnfry that morning. The guardroom was strewn with gloves, helms, and scabbarded blades, as their owners lingered over the last of fried bread, tomatoes, and bacon. The old veteran yawned again.

“Glad I am, indeed,” he said, “that the young lord and lady are out of the tower. No offense to them, mind you. It’s just that I’ll be more likely to sleep when I’m off duty.”

“Less of sinister mages and assassins skulking in every hall and chamber and peeking in at all the windows, you mean,” another, sharp-voiced guard agreed, buckling on his sword.

“Aye, Kelan. Less art we ca

“Who d’you think got to Culthar? What did they offer him to chance such a reckless grab at one who could cook him to the bones in an instant?”

“Who can know another man’s price?” Rold replied, as quietly. Several of the guards nodded. The veteran added, “I doubt that he needed much persuading. I think he was already loyal to someone or some group outside of the dale, and they merely told him to do this thing for them.”

“What group?” came the blunt question, as swords were readied in sheaths, and belts settled about hips. Rold shrugged.

“That, I know not-or I’d be at Lord Mourngrym to let me go after them. Nay, do not laugh. It is always easier on one’s temper, if not one’s hide, to be moving and attacking, instead of growing weary and cold at a guardpost, never knowing where and when strikes a blade-or worse, art you ca

“Where did they go, then?” one of the younger guards asked; a late riser, still heavy about the eyes, dawnfry on a plate in his hand. Rold chuckled.

“Mind you aren’t late for your own funeral, some morn, Raeth; he said. “The young lord and lady will be camping out by Harpers’ Hill with Rathan Thentraver. Practicing hurling this spellfire where Lord Mourngrym’s Fine rugs wont be scorched. Most of the knights will be going off about the dale and elsewhere about the Dalelands at Elminster’s bidding.”

“Ah, things’ll get a mite quieter for a few days, then” Raeth said with some satisfaction. Many of the older guards chuckled.

“Think you so?” Kelan asked him. “It’s a long run through the forest, in full armor, to Harpers’ Hill!” Rold was still chuckling as the bell rang and they hastened out to their posts. Raeth, mouth full of bacon, wasn’t.

“This is a fool’s plan,” Rathan grunted. “One only Elminster could have come up with.” The chosen of Tymora surveyed the tents sourly. “Lady, aid me,” he prayed. “I am surely going to need all thy help.”

“Cheerful, aren’t you?” Torm answered him. “I’m enjoying this.”

“Ye have weird enthusiasms,” Rathan grunted. “Ye cant even enjoy thy lady when she must wear the form of Shandril every instant.”

Torm gri

“Shameless philanderer,” Rathan growled. He looked at the trees all about them. “I wonder when the first attack will come?”

“While you’re standing there,” Torm replied, “if you keep yapping sourly about Elminster’s wisdom and the danger you have so foolishly plunged headlong into. Go in, then, and pray to the Lady for healing art. No doubt we’ll need it soon enough.”