Hand of Fire

Another merchant who was also a wizard saw his chance and hurled lightning, but Arauntar wore more leather than steel, and one of Voldovan's recent hires took the crackling bolt instead. That guard staggered, clawed the air, and went over on his back, outlined in spitting blue-white sparks.

The Zhentarim cursed and threw up his hands to cast another spell, but Arauntar ducked behind a snorting group of hobbled, frightened horses, and bellowed, "Guards! To me! That wagon-have the man out of it, and down dead! 'Ware spells!"

Men were shouting all over the camp now, and ru

Another Zhentarim hurled a fireball at her from his own wagon. Shandril saw the tiny streak of flame hurtling toward her and smashed it back with spellfire.

A great burst of flame shot up into the night where spell and spellfire met, spitting streamers in all directions like a Lanta

In its radiance the Red Wizard could be seen fleeing the smoldering wreck of his wagon, trotting away downslope.

Shandril set her lips in a thin line and sent him spellfire.

In all the shouting and waving of blades, no one saw a thin cloud, like a cloak of shadows, descending silently out of the night, but everyone noticed when the plume of flame suddenly went dark and dwindled. No eye failed to see when something dimmed the spellfire that was clawing at a screaming Thayan.

Darkness roiled silently, as if in pain, spellflames whirling away in all directions. Shandril's streamer of spellfire faded, and shrank back.

Shandril's eyes widened in astonishment as she watched, and from the Zhent's wagon came a harsh laugh and another spell.

Lightning spat across the trampled sward, seeking the life of Shandril Shessair, but the shadow swooped, and the bolt darkened, sank, and died… as if something had devoured it.

"Get to that god-rotting wagon!" Arauntar roared, and the Zhentarim burst out of his door and fled away across the field, just as the Red Wizard had.

Arauntar cursed, flung his sword, and watched it bounce far short. The wizard looked back and laughed. He was still laughing as he came to a crashing halt with Beldimarr's blade through him, and the fiercely gri

"Ho!" he called, as the dying wizard gurgled and slid down his dark, wet steel, clawing vainly at it, "I don't know what's drinking magic, but 'tis a night for sword-swingers at last! Where's that murdering mage?"

"Gone that way!" Arauntar called, pointing with his dagger, as he came ru

All around them, the fighting was getting personal and bloody. Some merchants had fear or temper enough to get out blades and join the fray. Others ordered their bully-blades to defend their wagons. Guards snapped orders, were defied, and replied with sword-thrusts.

"Go!" Beldimarr shouted, shoving Arauntar back toward Voldovan's wagon. "Look!"

Arauntar spun around and saw, cursed bitterly, and put his head down and ran.

A dozen swordsmen were whirling around Voldovan's wagon like a dark storm, fencing with each other and the snarling, already wounded caravan master. Whenever they had a moment free from fending off hostile steel, they plunged their blades hilt-deep in the cloth sides of the wagon, thrusting hard at whoever might be within. Arauntar heard at least one startled scream from Shandril and a wild shouting that was probably Narm trying to cast a spell-and finding to his horror that nothing happened.

As the Harper ran, faster and harder than he'd ever sprinted in his life before, he clearly heard the young mage's next words: “Tis here, Shan! In here with us! Some sort of dark-thing!"

"My knife does nothing to it," Shandril gasped, as Arauntar pounded nearer and Voldovan sank back on his perch with a sob of pain, bleeding in two places and with eager swordsmen pressing in for the kill. One of them-gods blast him!-was a guard just hired in Triel!

The Harper arrived hacking a neck here, a face there and had those men down or reeling back in two swift, panting moments.

"Try flame on it!" Shandril was crying, inside the wagon.

"The lantern!"

Narm's reply was a roar of pain, mingled with Shandril's scream. A moment later, they reeled out onto the perch. A moment after that, Arauntar saw why.

Someone had got hold of a long lance-a horse lance, cargo from one of the wagons-and thrust it through the back of Voldovan's wagon. The slashed, flapping-down back of Narm's clothing and the bloody bared skin beneath told clearly enough where it had scored.

Arauntar went for that man with a roar, hoping to distract him from cutting his own door through the wagon-back and clambering up inside. The moment the Harper was gone from the front of the wagon, someone hurled a blade out of the night and hit Voldovan in the face with it. The startled caravan master fell off the perch, leaving the way clear to the young couple inside.

Three swordsmen surged forward as one, with an eager roar, and from out of the night, hair streaming behind her, came a woman none of them had ever seen before. A long, slender sword gleamed in one of her hands and there was a dagger in the other. She crashed into them from one side, driving them together into a confused tangle of steel by the sheer fury of her charge.

"For Myth Dra

One of the other swordsmen howled in glee and hurled his dagger at the spellfire-wench. Narm sprang desperately in front of his lady and smashed the weapon aside with his arm. It clanged away off the wagon, and he winced and sank down, Shandril clutching him and drawing him back inside.

By then, Sharantyr had sworded another swordsman, leaving only the one who'd thrown his knife. He eyed her, took a pace back, raised his blade warningly, and acquired a sudden look of wild pain.

A moment later he came crashing at her, ru

The swordsman smashed into the perch like a Waterdhavian street-puppet, loose-limbed and dangling, and fell aside, already dead. Behind him stood the two mages who'd driven him forward, the talons of a huge spell-spun claw floating in the air before them. Sharantyr tugged at her sword, trying to fend off the deadly thing, but even as she snarled and hauled it free of the dead man, a darkness fell upon the claw and it faded. The two wizards stepped back in alarm.

The crash and skirl of swords from the rear of the wagon told of Arauntar's battle with the men who'd been attacking there. As if avoiding that fray, Narm and Shandril came again to the wagon-mouth and saw Sharantyr advancing on the two wizards.

Both of the Zhentarim drew daggers and threw them. The ranger shifted her blade coolly, and both hurled knives clanged away harmlessly into the night.

She smiled grimly, took another step toward the men- and Arauntar came around the side of the wagon with a roar and hurled himself on Sharantyr.

"No!" Shandril screamed. "Arauntar, no! She's a friend!"

Sparks flew as whirling blades met, two very swift steel-wielders twisted and darted and lunged. Over them, Korthauvar of the Zhentarim smiled tightly and flung another dagger.

Narm caught this one in his arm, deep and quivering. He snarled, and before Shandril could stop him, sprang out over Arauntar in a furious leap that carried him right onto Korthauvar's toes.

As the wizard roared in pain, tried to leap back, and lost his balance as his pi