Spellfire

Narm nodded. “Yes, and my thanks.”

“Thanks? It is impatient ye are again, Narm! The task’s not done yet. Save thy thanks until ye be master of this spell, at the least. Then thank yourself first. I can talk all day and only waste breath if ye do not heed, and work, and master the art.”

Narm gri

Narm stood in the field and watched him go, sighed, and reached for his spellbook. The sun was bright on the Old Skull. He sighed again and bent his head to the book.

When he stood up, much later, to cast his first flaming sphere, Narm drew a deep breath of satisfaction. At least he was alone and could work art without wisely watching eyes and a lot of sharp comments. He turned to look around at the stubble, enjoying the choosing of what he could burn at whim. It was then that he noticed a small boy had appeared from somewhere and was hanging upon the fence-rails watching him.

“Go away!” Narm said crossly. “This your field?” the boy replied laconically. “You could get hurt!” Narm said. “I’ll be casting spells here!”

“Aye. I’ve been watching. But I won’t be hurt unless you cast spells at me. You won’t do that; there are no evil magic-workers in Shadowdale. Ma says Elminster wont permit it.” “I see,” said Narm, and set his jaw. “Excuse me.” He turned away to hurl fire again.

The boy watched fire roll away once and stayed glued to the fence. All day long he stayed, as Narm hurled fire, sat down to study, got up and threw fire carefully again, and then went back to his books.

Narm was weary when he finally went to the gate at evening, and very thirsty. The boy climbed down from the fence then, and fell into step beside Narm. “I wish I could be a great mage, like you,” he said, almost shyly.

Narm looked at him and laughed. “I wish I could be a great mage,” he said ruefully. “I know so little. I feel so useless.”

The boy stared. “You?” He shook his head. “I saw you cast big balls of fire. You point them where to go, and they move at your bidding! You must be powerful!”

Narm shook his head, as they went on down the road. “Being a mage is a lot more than just hurling balls of fire about.” The boy nodded at him, slowly, and then waved a sudden good-bye, ducked through a gap in a hedge off to one side of the road, and was gone. Narm shrugged and walked on. Ahead he could see a patrol of guardsmen on horseback, trotting toward him with lances raised. It must be nice to call a place like this home.

Elminster was sitting out on a boulder near his front step, smoking, when Narm came up the path. He put aside his pipe and regarded Narm thoughtfully. “Well?” he asked. “Can ye put a sphere where ye want to?” Narm nodded. “So are ye a mage, then?”

Narm shrugged. “I have a long road to go,” he said, “before I am strong in art. But I can stand in most company, now, and know my art will serve me.” He added proudly, “There will always be others more powerful, but I’ve truly mastered what I do know.”

“Oh?” Elminster asked softly. “Think ye so?” His features suddenly blurred and shifted beneath the battered old hat, flowing and changing in a fascinating, rather frightening ma

Narm stared at him in anger, then resignation, and then sheepish amusement. “Elminster won’t permit it, indeed,” he said. “I can see that I’ll have to rise early in the day indeed to get ahead of you.”

Elminster smiled. “Ah, but I have five hundred years’ start on ye. Come. Di

To Walk Unseen

The bards soon forget a warrior falling without a great feat of arms. Would you be forgotten?

Face each battle, each foe, as though it is your last. One day it will be.

Dathlance of Selgaunt

An Old Warrior’s Way

Year of the Blade

The morning sun laid bright fingers upon the table where they sat in the audience chamber of the Twisted Tower. Shandril watched stray dust motes sparkle above the table as she and Narm waited for Elminster to come in from dawnfry in the great hall. Narm’s hand found hers, and they sat together in contented silence, alone with the fading tapestries of Shadowdale’s past and the empty throne. “I was brought here by Illistyl before we met in Rauglothgor’s lair,” Narm said quietly, “and spoke with Mourngrym. It seems an age ago, now.”

Shandril nodded. “It seems long ago that I left Deepingdale, yet it is a matter of tendays, not months.” She looked at the great painted map of the Dragonreach upon the wall. “I wonder where we shall be in a year?” she asked.

Narm never replied, for upon her words the doors opened and Elminster came in. Shandril had thought Mourngrym would be with him, but the sage was alone. He came toward them, slowly, and for the first time, Shandril thought, he really looked old. He sat down in a chair beside them, not on the throne, and fixed them with bright eyes.

“So quiet?” he asked. “Have ye both stopped thinking, then?”

“No,” Narm replied boldly. “Why say you so?”

The old mage shrugged. “The young are supposed to be always talking or laughing or fighting, they say. Ye two… surprised me.” He took out his pipe, looked at it for a long breath in silence, and then put it away again, unlit. “I asked ye here to tell thee that I have watched, these past few days, and ye two are as well trained with art and spellfire as we here can presently make thee. It is up to thee, now, if ye would grow more powerful. More than that, it is time for the both of ye to decide what to do with thine lives.”

“Do?” Narm asked, but not as one surprised. Elminster nodded approvingly.

“It is not good for ye to drift along under the influence of the knights and myself. Ye would be swept up into our councils and our struggles. Ye’d slowly grow embittered and empty, as ye lost the will and way to walk thine own roads and think for thyselves.”

“But we have found friends here, and happy times,” Shandril protested, “and-”

“And danger,” Elminster interrupted smoothly. “I want to keep ye with me. One ca

“What? Laving together will bring danger upon us?” Narm asked, bewildered.

“Nay-staying in one place will. With thy talent,” Elminster said, pointing a long finger at Shandril, “one mage after another will seek to slay thee. Mulmaster, Thay, and the Zhentarim all must needs destroy anything that threatens magery. So walk ye out into the wide Realms and disappear. I can alter thine outward selves with magic, although to each other ye will look the same. Pass from sight, and thy menace will be forgotten in the struggles these tyrants of art have with one another.

“My advice to thee,” Elminster continued, “is to wander, and hide. Ye will need friends who will raise sword or art to aid thee if needed. So walk ye with Storm Silverhand and her fellow Harpers, then find thine own way and thine own adventures again. Mistake me not-I would not be rid of ye. I think ye will soon be slain or stunted in art and spirit if ye stay here. Come back and visit, though.” The old mage put his pipe in his mouth and puffed it furiously into life with fire that sprouted from his forefinger, and his eyes grew suspiciously misty.