Spellfire

Shandril thanked him with her eyes and said, “We ca

“So Narm said,” Gorstag replied. “And he said it was for you to tell us why. Will you, lass?” Shandril nodded.

“Have you ever heard of spellfire?” she asked.

Gorstag nodded, sadly. “Your mother had it,” he said softly. “Oh, lass. Oh, Shandril. Beware the cult.”

“Beware the cult, indeed” Narm said ruefully. “We have fought them half a dozen times or more already, if you mean the Cult of the Dragon.”

“Aye,” Gorstag said, “I do.” But he said no more, for Shandril was gaping at him, flame flickering in her eyes.

She calmed herself and asked quietly, “Please, Gorstag, who were my parents?”

“The sage did not tell you?” Gorstag asked, gaping at her in his turn. “Why, your mother was a companion-at-arms of mine. We were adventurers together, long ago: Dammasae the Incantatrix. If she had a last name, I never knew it. She was born in the Sword Coast lands. She would not talk of herself.”

“Are you-my father?” Shandril asked softly. Gorstag chuckled. “No, lass. No, though we were good friends, Damm and I, and often held each other by the campfire. Your father was Garthond. A sorcerer he was, by the time he died, Garthond Snessair. I never knew where he was born either, but in his youth, he became apprentice to the mage Jhavanter of Highmoon.”

“A moment, if you will,” Lureene said gently. “This grows confusing. Let me go to the kitchen. Gorstag, pour ale, and tell your story as a story. If you ask question upon question, Shan, it grows as tangled as a ball of wool.

Shandril nodded. “You have told me the two things I wanted most to know. Unfold the rest as you see best, and I’ll try not to break in. By the gods, master, why did you not tell me all of this before? Years I’ve wondered and worried and dreamed. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Easy, lass. And I am not your ‘master.’ You are your own master, now.” Gorstag was solemn. “There were good reasons. Folk were looking for you, even then, and asking me where you came from. I never wanted to tell you a He, girl, not since I first brought you here. Oh, you had wise eyes from the first. I could not say false to you. I knew that these same prying folk asked you and the other girls questions when I was not about. If you knew the truth, they’d have tricked or drawn it out of you.

“So I said nothing of it to you, and let the rumors of my fathering you pass unchallenged, and waited for you to be old enough to tell. You are that, now, and past time. I’m sorry you had to run away to find your adventure. The fault was mine, not to have seen your need sooner, and made you happier.”

“No, Gorstag;” Shandril said. “I’ve had nothing but good from you, as the gods witness all, and I blame you not. But tell me the tale of my parents, please. I’ve waited many a year for such news.”

“Aye. Well, then. Enough of dates, and all. We can puzzle that out later. Here’s the backbone of the tale. Garthond, your father, was an apprentice of the mage Jhavanter.

“Jhavanter, and Garthond with him, fought several times against the Cult of the Dragon in Sembia hereabouts. Jhavanter held an old tower on the eastern flanks of the Thunder Peaks, which he called the Tower Tranquil. Garthond dwelt there with Jhavanter until mages of the cult destroyed Jhavanter in a fight. After that, Garthond continued his studies-and his feud with the cult.

“At every turn he would work against them, destroy their lesser mages, and terrorize any among them not protected by art. He grew in power, Garthond did, and survived many attempts on his life by the cult. Eventually he rescued the incantatrix Dammasae from cult captivity-they had her drugged, bound, and gagged, in a caravan heading to one of their strongholds.

“Dammasae had adventured with me and others before this. She had become known for a natural power she had-a power she wanted to develop, by practice and experiment. She could absorb spells and use their force of art as raw energy, held within her. She could use her power to heal, or to harm in the form of fiery blasts. The cult took her to learn the secrets of spellfire for their own use, or at least control her use of it to further their own schemes. No doubt, if they seek you now, it is for the same reasons.”

“That,” Shandril agreed softly, “or my destruction. But please, Gorstag, say on!” To know her life at last! Her eyes were moist as Narm put his arms around her shoulders comfortingly.

Gorstag took down his axe from behind the bar and lowered himself into a chair facing hers, laying the axe near at hand on a table beside him. He turned his chair so as to better see the front door. Outside, moon-dappled mist drifted past the windows.

“Well,” the i

“Here I must leave what I know occurred and relate to you some guesswork-of my own, of the sage Elminster, and of some others. We believe that a cult mage, one Erimmator- none know where his bones lie now to question him-cursed Garthond in an earlier battle of art. The curse bound a strange creature called a balhiir from another plane of existence”-Shandril gasped, and Narm nodded grimly-”in symbiosis with Garthond. Perhaps it was a cult experiment to find the possible powers of any offspring of a spellfire wielding incantatrix’s union with a mage ‘ridden’ by a balhiir.”

“I fear so,” Narm replied. “But your tale, Gorstag… what happened after they were wed?”

“Why, the usual thing betwixt man and maid,” Gorstag said gruffly. “In Elturel they dwelt, then, in quiet. In due time a babe-a girl, one Shandril Shessair-was born. They did not return to the Tower Tranquil and the dales, where the cult waited in strength and the danger to their babe was greater, until she was old enough to travel. Eight months, that wait was.”

Gorstag shifted in his chair, eyes distant, seeing things long ago. “They rode with me. East, overland, we went, and the cult was waiting for us, indeed.” The i

“Garthond was thrown down and utterly destroyed, but he won victory for his wife and daughter, and for me. That day he took nine mages of the cult with him, and another three swordsmen. He did not die cheaply.

“He was something splendid to see that day, Shan. I’ve not seen a mage work art so well and so long, from that day to this, nor ever expect to. He shone before he fell.” The old warrior’s eyes were wet again, as he stared into dim night and saw memories the others could not.

“Dammasae and I were wounded-I the worse, but she could bear hurt less well. She carried less meat to lose and twice the grief and worry, for she feared most, Shan, for you. The cultists were all slain or fled from that place, and we rode as fast as we could to High Horn for healing. We made it there, and Dammasae had some doctoring. She needed the hands and wisdom of Sylune, though, and we could not reach Shadowdale in time.

“Your mother is buried west of the dale, on a little knoll on the north side of the road, the first one close to the road west of Toad Knoll. A place holy to Mystra, for she appeared there to a magister once, long ago.”

Gorstag looked down at the flagstones before his chair. “I could not save her?’ he added simply, old anguish raw in his voice. Shandril leaned toward him, but she said nothing.

“But I could save you,” the warrior added with iron determination. “I did that.” He caught up his axe and hefted it.