Spellfire

The smith Bro

“We stand in Shadowdale, and hear you,” Rathan said in response. “What saith the Lord of the Dale?”

Mourngrym stood forth. “I say, let their ways run together”

“We stand in Shadowdale, and hear you,” came Rathan’s voice, and it suddenly rose into a deep challenge. “What say the people of the dale? Shall the ways of these two, Narm and Shandril, run together?”

“Aye!” came the cry from a hundred throats.

“Aye, we have heard ye. We have heard all, save Narm and Shandril. What say ye two? Will ye bleed for each other?”

“Aye,” said Shandril, first as was the custom. Suddenly she was dry-throated.

“Aye,” Narm said, as quietly.

“Then let ye be so joined,” Rathan said solemnly, and took their left hands in each of his. Mourngrym stepped forward with his dagger drawn.

In the throng nearby, Jhessail and Elminster tensed. Now their protection on Mourngrym might be tested by someone seeking to compel him to strike at the young couple. Rathan’s face, too, was tense as he watched.

Gravely the Lord of Shadowdale reached out his dagger and carefully pricked the upturned backs of the two hands, Shandril’s first. Then he wiped the blade upon the turf before them, kissed it, and put it away. He stepped back in silence.

“Now, as we told thee,” Rathan whispered to them, and stepped back.

Narm and Shandril brought their bloodied hands to each other’s mouths, and then stepped into each other’s arms and kissed, embracing fiercely. A cheer arose from those watching.

“Of one blood, joined, are Narm and Shandril,” Rathan said. “Let no being tear asunder this holy union, or face the dark face of Tymora forevermore.” Above their heads, the spi

“See the sign of the goddess!” Rathan shouted. “Her blessing is upon this union!”

The disc rose, shining brightly, as Narm and Shandril stepped back, hands clasped, to watch. From it sprang two shafts of white radiance, with a noise like high, jangling harping. They stretched down, one to touch Narm and the other Shandril.

Narm stood motionless, smiling, eyes wide in astonishment as he felt power rushing through him, cleansing and strengthening him. At the touch of the light, Shandril burst into flames, and as she moved to embrace Narm in wild joy, her spellfire rose above them both in a great teardrop of rising flame. Their clothes blazed and were gone, but their hair and bodies were unharmed.

Elminster clucked disapprovingly and began to move his hands in the gestures of a weaving of art, muttering spell phrases unheard by those around him. The Harpers stepped from trees all about, then, to play The Ride of the Lion on many harps that shone and glittered in the bright light of Tymora.

For a moment it seemed that another Lady stood with Elminster and the bridal couple on the fire-scarred flagstones, a smiling lady with silver hair. Only Jhessail saw the wraith-like figure before it faded silently away again. “Sylune!” Jhessail whispered, and tears came into her eyes.

Robes of illusion enclothed Narm and Shandril as the flame died down. Rathan shouted, “It is done! Go forth in joy! A feast awaits you at the tower of Ashaba! Dance, all!”

Jhessail came forward amid the happy tumult then to where Elminster, Mourngrym, the clerics, and Storm stood guard about the happy couple, smiling.

“It is done,” she said softly, and kissed them both. “It is time for me to give you what was given to Merith and I upon our wedding day. Foes are gathering even now in the woods to take you, and there will be battle. Mind you fly high, and take no part.”

Elminster gravely began the casting of a spell of flight upon Shandril, and Jhessail did the same upon Narm. When they were done, Elminster said gruffly, “Remain aloft no more than ye must-this magic will not last forever. Go, now!” He guided them into another embrace, and patted Shandril’s back awkwardly. “Rise!” he bid them, “before the fighting reaches us!”

Shandril thanked them all, and then, in Narm’s embrace, rose slowly from the earth. Both were silent in awe as they rose up through a clearing sky together. The bright disc of Tymora silently rose with them and followed, leaving Rathan staring up into the sky. “I do hope Tymora sends me back her holy symbol,” be said, watching the faint radiance moving eastward over the forest.

“And I hope,” Storm said as gently, “that they have the sense to steer well clear of Myth Dra

“I’ll see to that, sister,” came a soft voice from above, as a black falcon swooped out of the mists and then climbed away from them, heading east.

Elminster growled. “Now I suppose I’ll have to keep eyes alight for whatever she might do to get spellfire, too!” he said, and became an eagle, and was gone into the sky.

Those who still stood where Sylune’s Hut had been looked at each other, and then at the dalefolk hastening back toward the tower as swords flashed and sang amid the trees. Harpers and guards of the dale were battling men in a motley of leathers-mercenaries, by their look.

Jhessail sighed. “Well, back to the battle again,” she said.

“Aye,” Storm agreed. “As always.” They drew blades, a wand, and two maces, and charged into the fray. As always.

Talk Not

Aside

Open the door, little fools: we wait outside.

The green dragon Naurglaur

Sayings Of A Wyrm

Year of the Spitting Cat

“We should go down,” Shandril whispered into the wind. Narm’s arms tightened about her, and he and Shandril flew for a time in silence. The great green expanse of the elven woods lay below them.

“Aye,” he reluctantly agreed at last. “I shall not soon forget this.”

“Nor shall I,” she whispered. “As I should hope not!”

Narm chuckled at her mild indignation. Bending his will to turn northwest again over the seemingly endless trees of the Elven Court, they headed back to Shadowdale.

“I can’t help but feel,” he said, looking about them, “that we’re being watched.” It was an odd feeling to have while soaring naked high above the land.

“I’m sure we are, and we have been since we first rode with the knights,” his lady replied. “How else could they protect us?”

‘“Well, yes… but now?”

“I’m sure they’ve seen such things before” she said. “Elminster’s five hundred winters old, remember?”

“Aye.” Narm sighed, looking all about them. They were gliding low over the trees, the sky clear but for a line of clouds to the north. They could see no other creatures in the air or below. Narm shrugged. “ Would that none of this were necessary,” he said, “and we could walk unafraid together.”

Shandril fixed him with very serious eyes. “I agree with you,” she replied softly. “But without spellfire, you and I would be bones by now.” They passed over the bare top of Harpers’ Hill and left it behind them again. “Besides, it is the will of the gods. Rage as we might, it is so, and shall be.”

Narm nodded. “Aye… Your spellfire can be handy enough, I’ll admit. But does it harm you?”

Shandril shrugged. “I know not. I do not feel amiss or in pain, most times. But I couldn’t stop it or give it up, even if I wanted to. It is part of me, now.” She turned in his grasp to look back, and as she did so something circular and silver drifted out of the empty sky into her hands. Shandril caught it before thinking of danger. It was cold and solid, and the touch of its smooth weight sent her fingertips tingling.

“It is Rathan’s holy symbol!” Narm said, astonished. “How came it here?”

“By the will of Tymora,” Shandril said quietly. “To answer your doubts.” Narm nodded slowly and almost sternly. The fine hairs upon his arms stood out stiff with fear. But he held her as gently and firmly as before.