Spellfire

“Who, then?”

“Again, I am not sure. I believe it was the warrior Gorstag, of Highmoon.”

The Simbul nodded. “So I have come to suspect these last few days. I thank you for trusting me so, to answer me openly. I promise you, old mage, that I shall not betray your trust. The girl Shandril is safe from my power-unless the passing years change her as they did Lansharra and she becomes too dangerous to leave unopposed.”

“That is my present burden,” Elminster said heavily. “Such a fall must not happen again.”

“What, if I may ask you without offense, will you do differently this time?” The Simbul was watching him closely, her eyes very dark.

“Leave her be,” Elminster replied. “She will choose her own path in the end. Her choice may be the clearer and happier for her-if not easier in the making-if I do not sit upon her every act and speak upon her every thought.” Elminster met The Simbul’s gaze thoughtfully. “The Harpers can protect her nearly as well as I could, without locking her in my tower and thus keeping her under my eye… and I could not do that without ruining her choice, even had I the cruel heart to do it.”

The Simbul nodded. “That is the right road for you to ride, I think. It is good, indeed, that I needn’t force you to take that route.” Elminster smiled, a little sadly. “A good thing, indeed,” he said very softly, “for such an attempt would likely have destroyed ye.”

The Simbul regarded him soberly. “I know.” She nodded slowly and then almost whispered, “I have never doubted or belittled your power, Elminster. You take the quiet way and play the befuddled old fool, even as I take beast-shape and hide often. But I have seen what your art has wrought. If ever I should have to stand against it, I expect to fall.”

“I did not disturb ye this night to threaten ye.”

“I know,” The Simbul said, rising slowly. “Will you allow me to teleport to you now?”

“Of course, lady,” Elminster said. “But why?”

The Simbul’s eyes were very dark as she let fall her tattered gown. Beneath it, she wore a garment of thin, black silk strands that reached from her throat to cuffs at her wrists and a broad cummerbund belt. The outfit covered little. Set with many small, twinkling gems that winked out when she did, her garment shone the more brilliantly when The Simbul reappeared beside Elminster. Unsmiling, she stood almost timidly amid the dark room’s clutter of papers and books. Elminster gaped at her and then deliberately composed himself and smiled.

“But, lady, I have seen some five hundred winters,” Elminster said gently. “Am I not too old for this?”

She stopped his lips with slim white fingers. “All those years will give us something to talk about, you and I” she said, “instead of art.” She was slim and very light as she sat in his lap, and her skin as she leaned forward to embrace him was smooth and soft. “I would tell you something,” she whispered, as Elminster’s arms went gently around her. “My name, my truename, is-”

“Hush, lady,” Elminster said, eyes moist. “Keep it safe. We shall trade them, soon. But not now.”

The tears came. “Ah, old mage,” The Simbul said, sobbing into his chest, “I have been so lonely…”

Lhaeo, who had come up the dark stairs with tea, the pot wrapped in a thick scarf to keep it warm, stopped outside the door and heard them. He set the tray down carefully on a table nearby and went softly downstairs again for a second cup. What is the weight of secrets? he wondered to himself. How many may a man carry? How many more, a woman, or an elf?

It was dark outside, but in the little cottage near the woods candles flickered and the hearthfire blazed merrily. A woman straightened up from the cauldron as they came in. She was no longer young, and the clothes she wore were simple and much patched. She gasped. “My lords! Welcome! But I have nothing ready to feed you. My man’s not to be back from the hunt until morning.”

“Nay, Lhaera,” Rathan said kindly, embracing her. “We ca

Lhaera looked at them in wonderment. “With Imraea? But she’s scarce six-”

Torm nodded. “Old enough that her feet are firmly on the ground.” He was interrupted then by the precipitous arrival of a small, dark-haired whirlwind who fetched up against his legs, laughing. As he reached down to embrace her, she danced back out of his reach and a

Both knights bowed, and Rathan answered solemnly, “We are pleased to see thee, lady. We have come to discharge our duty to ye. Are ye in good health and of high spirits?”

“Aye, of course. But look how beautiful my mother is since you healed her! She grows taller, I think!”

Torm and Rathan regarded the astonished and smiling Lhaera carefully. “Aye, I think you are right. She does grow taller,” Torm said solemnly. “Be sure to send word to us when she grows too tall for the roof, for you will need some help rebuilding then.”

Imraea nodded. “I will do that.” She eyed Torm. “You are making me wait, Sir Knight. Is my patience not well held? Am I not solemn enough?” Then she fairly danced. “Did you bring it?”

“It is not an ‘it.’ It is a ‘he,’ as you are a she,” said Torm severely, drawing open his cloak and letting something soft and furry into her arms. Its fur was silver and black, and it had great, dark, glistening eyes. It let out a small and inquiring meow. Imraea held it in wonder as it stretched its nose out to hers.

“Has it-he-a name?”

Rathan regarded her severely. “Aye, it has a truename, which it keeps hidden, and a kitten name. But you must give it a proper name, the name you can call it. Take care you choose wisely. The kitten will have to live with your choice.”

“Aye,” Imraea agreed seriously. “Tell me, please, its kitten name that I may call it so while I think on such an important choice.” Lhaera smiled broadly.

“Its name,” said Torm with dignity, “is Snuggleguts.” Torm dropped nine pieces of gold into her hand.

“What is this?” Imraea asked in wonder.

“Its life,” Rathan said. “The kitten will need milk, and meat, and fish, as it grows, and it wilt need much care, and to be kept warm. You, or your parents, must buy those things. You must take the mice and rats it will kill, thank your pet without any disgust or sharp words, and bury them. It is your duty. Know you, Imraea, that the gods gather back to themselves cats and dogs and horses even as they do you and me. There is no telling when Snuggleguts may die. So treat it well and enjoy its company, but let your kitten roam free and do as it will. Each time you see your pet may be the last.”

“I will. I thank you both. You are kind, you two knights.”

“We but do the right thing,” Torm replied softly.

“Aye, that you do,” Lhaera said to them. “And there’s few enough, these days, who take the trouble to do that.”

Sunset at The Rising Moon

By night dark dreams bring me much pain -but always comes, after, bright morning again.

Mintiper Moonsilver, bard

Nine Stars Around A Silver Moon

Year of the Highmaritle

“The Wearers of the Purple are met,” Naergoth Bladelord said. “For the glory of the dead dragons!”

“For their dominion,” came the ritual response from sullen throats. Naergoth looked around the chamber.

Malark had not shown his face again. Naergoth was begi

“Well enough,” Dargoth said. “What say you, Za