Hand of Fire

At the far end of the gloomy room, a sharp-featured woman wearing rather too much face paint and rather too little of anything else ducked out from behind a curtain and snapped, "Next!"

"Fraea," the cold-voiced man said quickly.

"Four gold," the woman said promptly, holding out her hand.

"Four?"

"Dispute with me, Nalvor, and it'll be five," was the swift reply. "Four, or be off with you!"

Marlel led his two priestess-robed companions in the other direction, down a dark and narrow passage, to a doorway where a tall, bald mountain of flesh with tusks and large ears-a half-ore, whose face and chest were covered with old, wandering sword scars-stood with arms folded and a spike-handled axe gripped in each heavy hand, blocking the way.

"Business with Rildra," the Harper told him.

The guard's eyes narrowed. "You, Marlel?"

"Strange times, Ulburt, and strange doings. Look upon it as free entertainment, sent by the gods especially to you."

"I look upon it as trouble," the half-ore told him bluntly, "especially when you're involved. What business with Rildra?"

"A chance to flip her a coin and so get to talk to Pharaulee."

"That you can do directly," the guard told him, waving them past. "Rildra met with a little accident earlier today."

"Her last?"

"Unless she knows some way to come back to life after hanging for half a day with two glaives run right through her. But she took a Red Wizard down to the worms first, and one of his bodyblades, too-I guess they're not used to roughing up women who aren't slaves and don't carry hairpins. Right through the eyes, she skewered them."

Ulburt's voice was full of grudging pride. Against Narm's shoulder, Shandril convulsed in a silent, sudden shiver.

Marlel turned to his two companions. "Wait here. Ulburt will look after you, or I'll come back, cut off his down-belows, and feed them to him as Ms next meal."

Without waiting for a reply, the Dark Blade of Doom ducked past the half-ore's deep, a

He returned quickly, standing aside with a flourish in Narm and Shandril's direction. They were momentarily aware of a pair of old and very sad eyes regarding them out of a large and gray-haired but lushly beautiful face, ere that face nodded and withdrew behind the half-ore once more.

"Pharaulee just wanted to see you," Marlel explained. "All settled. You have the-well, I'll show you."

Ru

"Hurh!" Ulburt growled. "You're not supposed to know about that!"

"Well, you shouldn't be so careless, Ulburt," the Harper replied serenely. "You're the one who showed me this back stair, last month-taking a body through it after you had a little accident with your axe, as I recall." Giving the section of moving wall a last shove, he grabbed Narm's forearm and tugged him into the gloom.

"I never! I-"

"Come" Marlel murmured to Shandril with some urgency, "let's get up above before anyone decides we're interesting enough to follow."

Shandril rolled her eyes. "Oh, half Faerun already seems to have taken that view," she murmured. "You lead the way."

Marlel gri

"I hesitate to agree until I know just what you mean by 'this,'" Shandril replied evenly, waving at him to precede her. "Increasingly, I find, I dislike disagreements-they tend to be so final."

"No doubt," Marlel said thoughtfully, giving her a look that was devoid of his usual smile for once. "No doubt."

He went up the narrow, foul-smelling stair in the darkness, Shandril followed warily and close behind him, and Narm watched the half-ore haul the section of wall closed and watched out behind them as best he could in the deep gloom that followed.

They were at the top of the stair, on a little landing where their way onward, up a few steps and along a passage of many closed doors, seemed to be blocked by two dark figures who were hissing curses at each other, when Shandril felt the first tinglings of a spell. It felt like cold tendrils, caressing her mind-without hesitation she drank the magic, her spellfire flickering in her eyes.

Each time it felt wilder. Each time she had the frightening feeling that it was going to overwhelm her thoughts and will and what inside of her was Shandril Shessair, and just burn its own willful way on in wild destruction. That feeling was growing stronger-but damn all these greedy, ruthless fools if they didn't keep on trying to snatch her, to take her spell-fire for their own.

What if they finally grew enough stone cold everyday wits and good sense to wait until she was exhausted and took her while she slept? What then?

Trembling, Shandril heard Narm make a queer sound behind her. She whirled. He was reeling, his face twisting as he looked at her wildly, nostrils flaring like a wolf smelling blood-gods! The spell had taken him-and as he reached for her, she caught the side of his head in her hand and slammed it into the stairway wall.

His eyes went dark, like two snuffed candles, and he slumped. Letting go of him, Shandril rode her rage around in a whirling turn that brought her nose to nose with Marlel- who leaned forward, frozen, with his hands out to grab at her.

Feeling fresh magic rolling at her, the kitchenmaid from Highmoon sent spellfire racing along the paths of those unfolding spells-stabbing out through the walls around her in three directions. There were brief screams as half-seen wizards staggered, in both directions-but Shandril ignored them to snarl at the Harper, "If you had any hand in this trap, Marlel, I'll make your death slow and terrible, believe you me!"

"Lady, I never!" Marlel protested. "I-let me past and I'll take up your man and carry him! We must get to your room-here: the keys! Third door on the left along yon passage!"

He certainly looked guilty-but then, he also looked afraid, and for men who carried secrets in plenty, there often wasn't much difference between the two looks. Moreover, there might not be a man who dwelt in all Scornubel who didn't have dark secrets enough not to look guilty, if you seared him with the candle that was fear.

"Do so!" Shandril snapped, snatching the keys. "If you do him harm, I'll make you regret it for days!"

Her eyes were like two flames, and the Harper flinched away as he slipped past her. Shandril made sure the wizards in the two rooms she'd gutted moved no more, and by then Marlel was on his way past her again, panting under Narm's limp weight.

It seemed like a very short time before Marlel had them both into the room he'd indicated. Shandril made no protest when he snatched the keys back from her and used them on the door with a deftness that told her his usual profession more clearly than anything else he'd done thus far. The Harper slammed the door behind them, laid Narm gently on the bed, and whirled back to the door to drop its two wooden bars into place.

"You didn't leave anything burning, back there?" he panted.

"Why?" Shandril snapped, still furious. "Were those wizards friends of yours?"

"Lady, if the Tankard catches fire…"

"A few floorboards were smoking. Most of what I seared, I took to ashes. I'll care about such things when my Narm is awake and-whole again."

Marlel gave her a worried look, and bent over the young mage. "Have you means of healing?" he asked quietly, after a moment..

“Why?" Shandril asked, keeping her voice hard.

He shook his head in silent dismissal or exasperation, tapped gently at Narm's cheek, and then said, "He's coming around. That water-!" He pointed at an ewer of wash-water standing in the sink of a battered washstand. Shandril fetched it, and Marlel dipped his fingertips in it, nodded at its icy temperature, and drew a line of it down Narm's cheek.