Spellfire

The cook stared at her, white-faced, for a moment-and then he raised his cleaver again and went for her, determined. Lureene cast the tin of flour she held at his face and fled out the door, into the hall and then the taproom beyond. It was empty.

She ran across it, dodging between tables, and burst out the front door in time to see the dark-cloaked mage spur out of the i

Before her, in the mud, Gorstag stood with his hands locked about the forearms of the warrior who had come with the mage. They stood straining against each other, the warrior’s sword shaking in his grasp as he tried to force it’ between them. Lureene ran as hard as she could toward them, sobbing for breath.

Behind her, the front door of The Rising Moon banged open again. Korvan. Her death. Lureene ran on, slipping and sliding desperately, knowing she had to warn Gorstag before Korvan’s cleaver could reach him.

The two men were only ten paces away, now… now six, now three… Suddenly Gorstag slipped to one side arid pulled hard on the man’s wrist instead of pushing against it, and the blade lunged forward-harmlessly past Gorstag’s shoulder. He crashed into the man’s chest and drove his fist as hard as he could into the man’s throat.

Throat, neck, and man crumpled without a sound, and Gorstag turned in time to catch Lureene about the shoulders and spin her to a halt. “Love?” he asked, and Lureene pointed past him.

“Korvan!” she gasped. “He serves the cult! Look out!” As she spoke, the cook put on a last burst of speed and chopped at them as he came. Gorstag pushed Lureene hard to one side so that she staggered and nearly fell, and leaped away in the other. The cleaver found only empty air.

Korvan looked about, wildly, at both of them-too late, as fingers of iron took him by the neck from behind. The cook staggered and lashed out blindly to that side with the cleaver-only to have that wrist deftly captured and twisted. Korvan let out a little cry and dropped his weapon from suddenly numb fingers. Gorstag wrenched him around bodily until they were face to face.

“So,” the i

“This has been coming for a long time,” said Gorstag slowly. “But at least I’ve learned something about cooking.” The hand that held Korvan’s wrist let go and darted to his throat, whip-fast, and the two old hands twisted mercilessly. There was a dull crack, and Korvan of the cult was no more.

Gorstag let the body fall into the mud grimly and turned to Lureene. “Are you all right, my lady?” he asked. “Is there fire or ruin behind you in The Moon?”

Lureene shook her head, wide-eyed. “No, Lord,” she said, close to tears. “I am fine… thanks to you. We are safe.”

“Aye, then,” Gorstag said, and he looked down the road. “But will Narm and Shandril be? Find me the fastest horse, while I get my axe.”

Lureene stared at him in horror. “No!” she said. “You’ll be slain!”

“Leave my friends to die because I did nothing?” Gorstag’s face was tike iron. “Find me the fastest horse!”

Lureene rushed toward the stables, tears blurring her sight as she ran. “No,” she whispered. “Oh, gods, no.” But the gods did not hear before she reached the stables.

There was a slow thudding of hooves, then, as Gorstag came back out of the i

A dwarf on a mud-spattered mule rode heavily in at the gate, and came to a sliding halt before Gorstag. The dwarf heaved himself sideways and rolled down out of the saddle with practiced ease, using the axe he bore naked on his shoulder tike a walking-stick. Crippled, he leaned heavily on his axe as he limped over to Gorstag. The i

“Well met,” the dwarf said to Gorstag. “You are Gorstag?” The i

“Have you seen a companion of mine, the adventuress Shandril? She waited on tables here, once,” the dwarf rumbled. I hear she rides with a young mage, now, and hurls spellfire.”

“Aye. I have,” Gorstag said, axe coming up. “Who then are you, and what is your business with Shandril Shessair?”

“I am come from Shadowdale,” the dwarf said gruffly, looking up at him with a gaze as harshly steady as his own. “From Sharantyr and Rathan and Torm of the knights I have heard where Shandril headed and followed on. I am sent by Storm Silverhand of the Harpers and Elminster the sage, and bear a note to ye, to tell you to trust me in this. Here; read it. Now tell me where Shandril is, for time draws on and my hones grow no younger.”

Gorstag gri

“Aye,” the dwarf replied, “most of them lie dead. Tell me where Shandril is!”

“A moment.” Gorstag read the parchment. Lureene brought the horse to his shoulder, and he moved so that she could read what was written, too:

To Gorstag, of Highmoon, By these words, well met! The bearer of this note is the dwarf Delg, once a swordmate of Shandril in the Company of the Bright Spear, just after she left your house. He serves no evil master and bears Shandril no ill will; trust us in this-he has submitted to all our tests of art in this regard, and it is true. The Cult of the Dragon destroyed the. company, and it was thought only Shandril survived. This Delg, left for dead in Oversember Vale, made his way to the shores of the Sember, where he was found by elves and taken to priests of Tempus. While they were healing his wounds and praying to the god for guidance as to what task they should set him in return, a messenger of Tempus appeared and said that Delg’s task was to defend the girl who wielded spellfire against seeking swords; and so he has come to you for word. Our part in defending Shandril is done, valiant Gorstag; we tend Dammasae’s place of rest and remember. Aid this one as best you can, and you will be honored greatly. Him shall have then in your debt, Elminster of Shadowdale and Storm Silverhand of Shadowdale.

Gorstag read it, frowning a little, and then looked up at Delg. “You’ve missed them,” he said simply. “They rode west from here some short time ago, now. A mage hostile to them follows them, close indeed.”

“I’ve missed them? Then there’s no time left to wait about!” the dwarf said, and hobbled back to his mule. “Up!” he commanded it, “and ride like the wind… or she’ll be in trouble again, and in need of old Delg, before we get there!”

“Will you not take a faster mount?” Gorstag asked, waving at the horse Lureene held. Delg shook his head.

“My thanks, but how fast would I travel if I fell off it at the first bend in the road? Nay, I’ll stick to what I know, and make haste in my own way. Fare thee well, Gorstag. Stay by your lady. It is the greatest adventure you can have.” And he gri

After a time Gorstag looked away from the road and said gruffly, “Well, you can put the animal away. We shan’t be needing it.”

Lureene nodded. “Of course,” she said, turning, “and there’s a little matter of corpses lying about, too…”

Gorstag growled and went to put away his axe and find a shovel. He carried the letter very carefully in his hand, and looked at it again as he went.

Shargrailar the Dark circled high above the Thunder Gap, cold winds whistling through the spread, bony fingers that were all that was left of its wings. Shargrailar was the mightiest dracolich in Faerun known to the cult, perhaps the most powerful bone dragon there had ever been. Its eyes were two white lamps in the empty sockets of a long, cruel skull. It looked down with the cold patience of a being who has passed beyond the tomb and yet can fly, and it flew lower, watching and waiting.