Crown of Fire

Wise enough to ally itself with strength and come drifting down the dark night streets of Zhentil Keep to this meeting-at a time when its lesser brethren were keeping Manshoon and Sarhthor busy in another meeting, elsewhere. Wise enough not to trust the man standing alone before him in the dark room.

"Greetings returned to you, Fzoul Chembryl," it said in a deep yet hissing voice. "You know why I have come." "I do. Spellfire, and our plans to seize it." Fzoul paused. "I presume you don't want to listen to me speak of all our failures thus far?"

"You presume correctly. Begin, if you will, with the passage of the spellfire wielder through Thunder Gap." Fzoul nodded. "At the Gap, Shandril Shessair fought the most powerful dracolich known to exist, Shargrailar the Dark-and destroyed it. This act officially ended any pursuit of spellfire by the Cult of the Dragon. We know of six Cult agents who continued to pursue Shandril after the council met in Ordulin. One, Thiszult, disappeared at Thunder Gap, and we presume him to have perished by spellfire. Another, Ghaubhan Szaurr, commands a large permanent force in the Stonelands too large and skilled for us to eliminate at will, so we have suffered it to remain and harry the patrols of Cormyr for us. Szaurr will become a factor only if Shandril travels into his grasp. The other four have been eliminated by members of the Brotherhood."

The beholder kept cold silence.

Fzoul cleared his throat and went on. "Our efforts to seize spellfire by magical force have failed repeatedly due to the power of spellfire and the intervention of others, including Elminster of Shadowdale, the Knights of Myth Dra

Fzoul took two slow steps and raised his hand. A glowing map of the Dragon Reach lands, from the Marsh of Tun to the Vast Swamp, and the Neck north as far as the Ride, began to form in the air. It was as large as the beholder that regarded it and pulsed with red, moving lines of light at Fzoul's bidding.

"Our magical failures have led us to the conclusion that either creative uses of Art, or new spells, or both are necessary to deal effectively with spellfire. So for the first time we have thrown the Zhentilar into the hunt in force. The former Cult stronghold at Semberhome, and the old bandit keeps of Alarangh and Tossril, south of the East Way and just east of Thunder Gap-here and here-are bases for our troops. Their open presence will goad both Cormyr and Sembia to arms to protect their borders and keep the trade roads open, so they have been instructed to act only in emergencies, when the prize is worth the cost." Fzoul paused to catch the beholder's gazes directly. "spellfire," he added quietly, "was considered a prize worth any cost."

"Let us hope those words do not haunt you overmuch," the beholder replied, its deep voice sounding slightly wry.

Fzoul shrugged and went on. "From these strongholds, two groups of mounted lancers with crossbows set out. Twenty from Alarangh, and sixty from Tossril. The force from Alarangh passed through the Gap only a few days ago and caught up with Shandril-who is accompanied by a dwarf and her husband, a mage of no account, immediately."

"She destroyed them," said the beholder.

"Aye, with spellfire. It revealed clear limits to the energy she can wield. She collapsed when she had routed them-and her companions fled with her to the hamlet of Thundarlun, where there was a guard post of twenty-eight Purple Dragon troops."

"At the same time, all of our agents in Cormyr, Tilverton, and the Stonelands were warned of Shandril's coming. One of our forces in the Stonelands, under the command of Warcaptain Karkul Memrimmon, was ordered south into the Hullack Forest. With the aid of one of my upperpriests, they managed to cross the Moonsea Ride unobserved, east of Gnoll Pass, and rode by night to the headwaters of the Immer here. "

"By then, your warriors had slaughtered the garrison at Thundarlun and set some of it afire, but Shandril slew them all," the beholder added.

Fzoul sighed. "Aye. Either she recovers her powers very rapidly, or she found some sort of aid in Thundarlun that ah, renewed her spellfire energies."

He paused, cleared his throat again, and went on. "When the swordmaster of the force from Tossril did not answer magical queries, we assumed he was dead and his force defeated. Spies riding foulwings from Semberhome were sent to overfly easternmost Cormyr, and return before they could provoke any response in force from Azoun's war wizards. They found no sign of Shandril or her companions and concluded she must have gone into the Hullack Forest, seeking cover."

"Your spies in the court at Suzail and among the war wizards?"

"Reported nothing," Fzoul replied. "So far as we know, Shandril does not have the backing of Azou

There was a faint shriek from outside the chamber, and then another, louder one. The eye tyrant turned. "Sacrifices? At this time, Fzoul?"

"No," the priest replied. "We understand it is customary for you to feed about now, each day."

The beholder's eyestalks began to whip and coil sinuously in evident pleasure. "My thanks for this courtesy," it said, drifting eagerly forward.

An instant later, they heard curses, sobs, and struggling noises just outside the chamber-and then a naked man was hurled into the sanctum, cartwheeling in the air. In the doorway, they saw a flash of moving metal from the staff that had struck him. It was still trailing motes of magical light as it withdrew.

Some of those same sparkling points of light clung to the body of the terrified man, who did not fall to the ground, but drifted to a halt in the air close to Fzoul.

The man saw the beholder looming over him, shrieked in terror, and lunged away, soaring through the air toward the doorway he had come in by.

"Sporting," said the beholder, as the man flew away, into the light spilling from the passage beyond.

An instant later, he struck an invisible barrier with a crash. The snapping of bones could be clearly heard, and the man sagged limply, drifting toward the ground.

"Not too sporting," Fzoul replied with amusement. At his words, the captive's head snapped up. His eyes narrowed with hatred, and he dived through the air, snarling as he swooped down at the unmoving high priest.

He never got there. An eye flared, and he was dragged inexorably sideways toward the waiting maw of the eye tyrant. Its jaws snapped; fine droplets of blood rained down, and the legless body jerked and spasmed in midair.

Xarlraun eyed the limp, hanging man disappointedly, then drifted in to gulp him whole. "I expected a better fight," it said between crunching noises.

"The next one may be better," Fzoul said smoothly. The beholder belched, shaking the chamber and making Fzoul's stomach churn and his eyes sting. It licked its lips, considering. "That one had drunk much sherry, not long ago." Then it leaned toward the priest, and said in silky warning, "You won't be foolish enough to try poisoning any of these morsels, will you?"

"Of course not," said Fzoul. "That sort of behavior is beneath me." His tones were calm, even scornful, but a sudden dampness glistened on his forehead.

Outside the chamber, the screaming began again. The beholder listened and then said, "I'll eat again when we're done. Please give the necessary orders-and have all the priests who are listening just outside withdraw, as well." Its voice sounded coldly amused.

As the high priest came back from the doorway, the beholder spoke again. "Go on, Fzoul. I'll regard the map if I feel the need. Your aerial spies found no trace of the spellfire wielder and assumed she'd gone to cover in the Hullack Forest."