Spellfire

Shandril and Narm looked at each other. “I-we both think you are right,” Shandril said, reading Narm’s eyes. “We would speak with the knights first however.” Elminster looked to Narm, who nodded silently. “We do not want to leave this place, and our friends,” Shandril added. “If we must, we would know where in the Realms it is best to go.”

Elminster nodded. “Well said. If ye like, I’ll tell Mourngrym.”

Shandril nodded. “Please.” She did not burst into tears until after he’d gone.

“He’s right, you know,” Narm said gently, arms about her. Shandril sniffled as she nodded.

“Oh, I know. That’s not what makes it so sad. It’s leaving friends. First Gorstag and Lureene at the i

“Well, that’s as polite and yet as honest a calling as I’ve had in a long time” the sage’s unmistakable voice said dryly behind them.

Narm and Shandril broke apart, whirling. “You must have been waiting outside the door!” Shandril said hotly to Mourngrym. The Lord of Shadowdale raised calming hands.

“Everyone must stand somewhere,” he said. “I lost five gold pieces at dice with the guards, if it’s any consolation to you. The others’ll be here in a moment.”

He crossed to a tall cabinet. “In the meantime, shall we have a glass of wineapple? I strained it myself. It’s not fermented; you ca

“Well, seeing as you have the cabinet open,” Rathan hailed him from the door. Mourngrym sighed. “Is Torm with you? I thought as much… leave something drinkable in there that I can give to visiting gentles, will you?” He went and sat on his throne, flagon in hand.

“Well met, Jhess, Illistyl… where’s Merith?” he called.

“Along in a minute, my lord,” Jhessail said. “He was in the bath when Shaerl called.”

“Ah, that’s why she isn’t back yet!” Torm said i

“My lord, if I may borrow your boot for a moment?” another voice said from the door, sweet and low.

“Of course, lady,” Merith said politely, drawing it off and proffering it politely. Shaerl took it from him and threw it hard and accurately. Torm groaned and dropped Mourngrym’s flagon with a clatter, amid general mirth.

“All here?” Mourngrym asked. At the door, Lanseril nodded as he set an ornate bar across the handles and snapped it down into place. “Good, then… Narm and Shandril have something to ask of you.” Silence fell.

Shandril looked around at them all, suddenly shy, and nudged Narm. He looked at her uncomfortably, cleared his throat, and then lapsed into silence.

“Ye need no speech, lad,” Elminster’s calm voice came from his left. “Just say thy piece straight out, before someone else attacks the tower to seize thee.” There were chuckles of agreement at this. Narm swallowed and got to his feet.

“Well, then,” he said quickly. “Shandril and I think we should leave you, to have our own lives and adventures. We do not want to insult or upset anyone. You have been good friends and protectors to us, and my lady and I will be ever grateful. But as long as we stay, it seems Shadowdale will be an armed camp, as one evil group after another comes seeking us. We must go-but where, how, we do not know.

“We would talk it over with you, if you will, and then decide alone together after. We alone must live with what we decide, and with each other.” He sat down suddenly, feeling foolish.

“Good speech,” Illistyl said. “Well then, what would you know?”

Shandril spoke. “What are the Harpers? Not who, but what? What do they work toward?”

Florin answered her. “My wife is a Harper, lady, yet even to me, they remain mysterious. They are secretive about their membership and their precise aims, but they do work for causes that we deem ‘good.’ The air of mystery they deliberately foster seems to be their defense against foes who are stronger at arms or art.

“When you see the device of a silver moon and a silver harp, you face a Harper. Storm Silverhand is one, you know, as is the High Lady of Silverymoon. Storm can tell you others, where it is not my place to do so. Many bards, rangers, and half-elven mages are Harpers. The Harpers oppose the Zhentarim, and those who cut trade routes into wilderness to mine and fell timber with no thought for those who live there-the merchants of Amn, for instance. We respect the Harpers, and aid them.”

“Well enough, then,” Narm said, sitting back. “Where should we wander, Harpers or no?”

“Somewhere where you can get filthy rich,” Torm said with a grin. “And hide among the masses of people, and find any work you fancy-Waterdeep, for instance.” Mourngrym, whose family was of noble Waterdhavian stock, shook his head ruefully.

“Have you no honor?” Jhessail inquired wearily of Torm.

“Aye, indeed. 1 keep it at the bottom of my pack and take it out to shine it up and look at it on windy nights in the wilderness, by the fire. It looks grand, I tell you. But it is poor company, and doesn’t keep one warm.”

“Ignore him,” Rathan said. “His ratlike city instincts lead his lips astray. Waterdeep is a good place to hide, aye, but it would probably prove more dangerous to thee than Shadowdale. It is full of prying eyes from half the lands in 1 Faerun, and not a few who will take from thee what they can and leave the rest in a gutter.”

“Aye” Lanseril agreed. “It is better to travel the wilds of the Sword Coast North, the high forests and the fair city of Silverymoon. The Unicorn Run is a place breathtaking in its beauty, with great trees that have stood there clad in moss since the world was young and man a fledgling southern race. It is worth the trip, I tell you.”

“Aye, go where few tread, and where ye can see what few have seen and ye will always remember;’ Rathan agreed. “I shall envy thee thy journey, bring what perils it may-”

“Is every lord and lady among you going to philosophize pompously the whole tenday through?” Elminster asked in exasperation.

“Why not? It is our turn, indeed, after years of listening to your fulminations,” Torm returned wickedly. A hush fell as all waited to see if he would forthwith become a frog.

Elminster merely chuckled and said, “True enough. My turn to listen and be entertained, then.”

Florin and Lanseril were visibly disappointed that Torm was going to escape a transformation, at least this time, and rose and turned away to stroll about the chamber.

“Is this discussion not the way to do it, then?” Shandril asked.

“Well,” Lanseril’s voice floated back to her. “Let us say that few have sense enough to do it beforehand. Most rush into battle without thinking enough, and talk about it only to themselves.”

“Do not think, though, that jaw-wagging is not good or necessary,” Rathan said. “It is one of the most important things a priest does for lay worshippers who come to him.”

“Aye, well said,” Torm agreed. “Such talk is as necessary as the sword in an ordered life, and in the doings of kings and statesmen across the Realms. It was the sage Mroon who defined-almost a thousand winters ago, mind you-the famous ‘circle of diplomacy’: ‘Why talk but to end the fighting? Why fight but to end the talking?’ It is as true today as then… Well, old mage? Did I remember, or did I not?”

“Ye did… perhaps the first thing I’ve told thee that ye have recalled, that I can tell,” Elminster said severely. “But enough banter-it does not help these good people to make their decision, only hastens them to bed with weariness and lost time.”

“Aye,” Florin agreed. “Perhaps we should tell you of the Realms about so you can better decide your route. Would that help?”

“Indeed,” Shandril and Narm answered together.

“Danger, you will find, lies on every hand. You want to wander freely, and hide yourselves, so places where few dwell that are near to us here are out, as are warlike and inhospitable lands. That bars you from anything north of the Moonsea, and from the Stonelands, Daggerdale, and Myth Dra