Hand of Fire

The stone-faced man cast a glance along the table. Another man caught it reluctantly, leaned forwai'd with a nervous throat-clearing, and said, "H-highest, here are all the ah, players, as we see them. Firstly, those attacking the caravan. Thoadrin of the Cult of the Dragon, and his warriors. He and one survive and have turned back, or so we believe."

"As do I. Proceed."

"Rendilar Bluthlock of Scornubel, leading a force of rogues of his city, probably at the behest of the Master of Shadows. All now perished or fled. The Master sent two other agents after the caravan-a woman unfamiliar to us, openly on horseback, and his most trusted spy, Tornar the Eye. They've not yet caught up to the wagons."

"You know of no one else lurking in the Blackrocks, preparing attack?"

"N-no, Highest. A second group are those keeping watch over the caravan. We suspect someone of the Arcane Brotherhood is aware of the movements of Shandril Shessair but know no one for certain. Yet."

"Other watchers being the Cult, independent rabble of no account, and the Zhentarim?"

"Yes, Highest. So far as we can tell, no one oversees the Cultists along on the caravan. They are left to their own devices and report back later,"

"If they can."

“Ah-yes, highest, indeed, this leaves the Znentarim, and of them we've managed to farscry the wizards Korthauvar Hammantle and Hlael Toraunt, who are working together and reporting to the mage Drauthtar Inskirl."

"A veteran of internal Zhent skirmishes, not to be underestimated by the sensible."

"Indeed so. Inskirl seems to be under the command of Eirhaun Sooundaeril, called 'The Maimed Wizard' by his fellow Zhentarim."

"Whom he spies on, seeking treacheries to report to Manshoon. I hear hesitation in your voice. Hold back nothing!"

"Y-yes, Highest. There's another wizard of the Zhentarim involved, but we know not how: Hesperdan. They all seem to fear him, yet he spurns orders and lackeys."

"Ah. Yes, he's to be feared, perhaps even more than Manshoon and Fzoul, though he has a habit of vanishing for decades at a time, leaving all affairs untouched. Watch him as closely as you dare."

"Ah-it shall be done, Highest. This brings us to agents in the caravan. We may not have uncovered all but are confident we've found everyone of consequence."

"Unfold them to me."

"Indeed. The Cult may have lost all its spellfire seekers. They numbered four warriors-one named Brasker, another Holvan-and a wizard and a thief working together, Malivur and Krostal. Krostal was well known to us; a capable and dangerous man. He told Malivur he recognized a 'far more powerful' Cult mage posing as a merchant of the caravan, but we've not yet identified who. This unknown wizard is probably the only Cult agent left."

"And the Zhents?"

"Reduced to three ambitious but weak magelings, we believe: Deverel, Jalarrak, and Rostol. We don't yet know which of the caravan merchants each is. Dead already are two priests of Bane, Stlarakur and Sabran-the most formidable Zhent, in our judgment-and the wizards Mhegras, Praulgar, and Aumlar."

"The last won himself a not inconsiderable reputation… but such accomplishments usually pave roads to early graves."

"Indeed, Highest. He nearly slew our Pheldred, after Pheldred attacked him; a personal matter, we believe."

"I agree. Anyone else?"

"Y-yes, Highest, there is one other."

The stone-faced man nodded at another mage, who went swiftly to the door, unlocked it, and ushered in a man who was smiling.

The flame above the table danced a handspan or so in his. direction, and seemed to flare a little brighter. "You would be Marlel," said the Highest in a dry voice. "The Dark Blade of Doom."

Marlel sat down in the seat of the man who'd been sent to fetch him, leaving that mage hovering uncertainly, and replied, "Every man in my profession needs a more memorable name than the one given at birth. Just as you are now 'Highest' and less often 'Hulrivior.'

There was a sharp intake of breath around the table, but the voice from the flame seemed almost amused as it said, "You learn what you must, I see. How is it that you became interested in me and found your way to this table?"

"I suspect I'm the most capable survivor of Voldovan's caravan who might be induced to work with… you of Thay. I was personally known to one of your mages here in Triel, from, let us say, 'earlier escapades.' Coin has changed hands, and I fear I've clean forgotten whatever former reason or alliance I may have had for accompanying this particular string of wagons and suddenly come to the conclusion that, for the good of all Faerun, no less a capable mage than a Red Wizard should command spellfire."

"Commendable," the Highest commented. "How, in your incisive, professional view, should we of Thay come to possess spellfire?"

"By using me to strike at the right time and in the right ma

Something small and gemlike gleamed in his palm-for the instant before Marlel's smile widened, and he flung the small something right into the flame, hurling himself and his chair over backward in the same motion.

The room exploded in streamers of white fire, and the man called the Dark Blade of Doom rolled away from the table and up to his feet with a wand in his hand while headless bodies were still reeling at the table and other men were screaming and clutching at sightless eyes.

Coolly he used the wand to blast faces and hands wherever he saw them, ridding the room of foes who could do him harm. Patiently he waited for the smoke and the afterimages still dancing before his own eyes to clear.

The flame above the table was gone, and if his little secret had worked as it was supposed to, the Red Wizard Hulrivior, wherever his smoking body might now be, was "Highest" no more.

Marlel smiled softly down at the last two Thayans still living, as they writhed on the floor, staring first at the smoking stumps where their hands had been, then at the man who'd dealt them such maiming.

As their curses faded into weary groans, he a

He aimed the wand at his wounded audience and triggered it again.

"Well, now!" Korthauvar Hammantle said, as the scrying magic faded and he sat back to grin at his fellow Zhentarim.

"This is rich!"

"Yes," Hlael agreed, shaking his head, "but how did Marlel get yon magic? And stay alive to make an agreement with anyone!"

"Ah," said a soft voice from the shadows behind them.

"That would be my doing."

Korthauvar and Hlael froze, suddenly ice-cold and dry-mouthed. They knew that voice even before the old man in the dusty maroon robes and the long-pointed shoes shuffled forward into the light: Hesperdan!

Korthauvar was still trying to swallow as the old wizard smiled and added, "Now, I think, it's time for you to stop watching and to go and fetch me spellfire. There's no need to farspeak Drauthtar or delay any longer. Just go and do it." He raised a bony, green-veined hand in which a strange scepter glowed and flickered, and whispered, "Now."

It was bright and cloudless as they left Triel, but the Trade Way seemed deserted. As the creaking, groaning wagons rolled on, Voldovan eyed every bush and nearby crag suspiciously-as Narm and Shandril knew all too well, for they sat on the perch beside him, guiding the beasts of his wagon. As the hours passed without incident, the caravan master grew more tense and wary rather than less so. When they stopped to water the beasts and refill skins at a roadside stream, he was almost dancing with tension.