Spellfire

Beyond the priest a gallery opened out to the right and left, ru

Storm nodded to them. “Well met, both of you. Games of chance?”

“What else in the service of Tymora?” Eressea replied. “It is sacrilege, mind you, to work upon odds, or cheat, or otherwise affect pure chance.”

Storm nodded. “You know why we’ve come, Rathan?”

“Aye,” he said, and rose. “Ye may go down to the doors, for we must now discuss holy things,” he said simply to the men-at-arms. After a moment, they turned away with nods and murmurs and salutes. Rathan gestured to the acolyte to follow them, but left the door open. He turned to Narm and Shandril. “Ye wish to be wed before the bright face of Tymora,” he said simply. “When?”

“As soon as possible, by your leave,” Shandril said hesitantly.

“The day after tomorrow,” Storm insisted. “I shall sponsor/’

“Nay, lady,” Rathan said with a grin. “The Lord Mourngrym hath already claimed that honor. All has been made ready, but for the asking of Her Grace, Eressea.”

He turned to Eressea, who had risen. Her stern face was alight. She smiled happily, and said, “I will give Tymora’s blessing with pleasure. Is it to be here, or in the tower, or-?”

“Outdoors, Preceptress,” Storm said softly, surprising them all. “Upon the site of my sister Sylune’s hut, which is burned and gone now.” There was a little silence. Shandril realized that Eressea was looking to her for her approval.

“Agreed,” she said simply, unaware of what she should say. But Narm quietly echoed her, and made it somehow formal by doing so. Then Rathan spoke.

“Agreed,” was all he said, and Eressea bowed.

“After dawnfry, then, the day after tomorrow,” the Perceptress said. “Let the word go out.” Rathan bowed, and went out and down the stairs before them.

“The young lord and lady to be wed? Gods’ good wishes to them! I tell you, Baerth, I saw flames come from her very hand! ‘Spellfire’ they’re calling it-but it was no spell like I ever saw cast! No dancing about or chanting, she just frowned a little, like Delmath does before he lifts a full barrel, and there it was! Aye, you wouldn’t want to be marryin’ that, now would you?”

Malark, in the shape of an owl on a branch overhead, gri

Malark would not soon forget the desolation of Rauglothgor’s lair. A mistake in this matter could be his last. He turned tired eyes toward the Twisted Tower. She was guarded even now. Especially now.

The wedding ceremony would be one chance to get at Shandril-of-the-Spellfire, but not a good one. All of the most powerful protectors of Shadowdale would be gathered there. Perhaps later… these two had to leave the dale sometime. Malark had the uncomfortable feeling that others were waiting for just that to happen, and he might have to battle rival bids for spellfire, perhaps even Oumrath.

Malark growled to himself, and took flight restlessly, heading south across the road. Soon, Shandril of Highmoon, he thought. You’ll feel my art soon…

The day dawned cool and misty. Shandril and Narm had stept apart as custom demanded, Shandril in the Temple of Tymora with Eressea, and Narm in the Twisted Tower with Rathan. Both were up and awake before dawn to be bathed in holy water and blessed. Word had spread throughout the dale, and folk began to gather early by the banks of the Ashaba.

Rathan filled a glass from a crystal decanter and held it high. “To the Lady,” he said, and emptied it into the bath. Then he turned his head to look down at Narm and gri

Narm rose, dripping. “You mean you’ll miss all the festive tippling, later?”

Rathan shrugged. “How else can I make this a special occasion? Eressea and I will go off together somewhere after it’s all done and share a glass of holy water!’ He stared off into reverie for a moment and then blinked and said gruffly, “Come on, then. Out and dry yourself! If ye are so heedless as to get the chills, Shandril may wed a walking corpse!”

“Cheery, aren’t you?” Narm observed, as Rathan unwrapped heated linens from hot rocks, grunting and licking his fingers, and held the linen out for Narm to take.

“If it’s a clown ye want, I’ll send for Torm straightaway” Rathan replied. “But don’t blame me if he gets thee so drunk and distracted that ye forget to come to thy wedding-or if he locks thee in a chest somewhere so that he can have the pleasure of marrying your Shandril himself!”

“Torm?”

“Aye. And if he’s busy misbehaving elsewhere, I may take his place in such adventures myself.”

Eressea was kissing Shandril’s forehead formally, and then hugging her fondly. “We must make haste now,” she said. “Your lord-to-be awaits you. Shadowdale gathered awaits you, too. So let us ‘scoot,’ as Elminster says.” Shandril rolled her eyes, and together they hurried down the stairs.

A lone horn rang out from where Sylune’s Hut had been and echoed in the dale, to signal that Na

Storm Silverhand walked behind them, blade drawn, as the guard of honor. Any hostile eyes watching and pla

Well ahead of them walked Mourngrym, Lord of Shadow-dale, bareheaded but fully armored, the arms of the dale upon his breast, and a great sword at his side.

The trumpeters along the route bowed to him but did not sound their horns until Shandril reached them. One by one their calls rang out as the bride drew nearer.

Mourngrym saluted Narm and then stepped aside. A few bare stone flags among still-scorched grass marked the spot where Sylune’s hut had stood. When she lived and was Lady of the Dale, no temples had stood in Shadowdale. All had come here to be wed before her. Now at least one more couple would be wed here.

Rathan stood square upon the stones, looking for Shandril. The disc of Tymora upon his breast began to glow as he cupped it in his hands.

Nearer they came, Shandril and Eressea, and the last trumpeter blew two high notes. A fanfare of all the trumpets joined him, loud and long and glorious. When the last, thrilling echoes had died away, Shandril stood before Rathan.

The priest smiled at her and cast the disc of Tymora, which he had taken off its chain, into the air. It hung a man’s height above their heads, spi

“Beneath the bright face of Tymora, we are gathered here to join together Narm Tamaraith, this man, and Shandril Shessair, this woman, as companions in life. Let their ways run together, say I, a friend. What saith Tymora?”

Eressea stepped forward and spoke. “I speak for Tymora, and I say, let their ways run together” Rathan bowed his head at her words.

“We stand in Shadowdale,” he said then. “What saith a good woman of the dale?”

Storm Silverhand took a step forward and spoke. “I say, let their ways run together.”

“We stand in Shadowdale, and hear you. What saith a good man of the dale?”