All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [44]
Amglar smiled thinly. Tou'll probably be cursing me on the morrow. Save your delight for when all of this is over, and we're standing proudly on the battlements of Zhentil Keep again. Then I'll thank the gods too… just how fervently I do it then, mind you, will depend on what they've done to us since."
All three of them laughed together, the grim laughter of fighting men who shared the same peril-and the same jaundiced view of the world that had put them there. Then they clasped forearms and parted.
On his way to the fires, Fflar stopped for a moment as he realized something the other two had already known-most soldiers keep warm with the memories of such moments.
Swords Creek, Mistledale, Flamerule
17
Sylune of Shadowdale lay awake in the darkness, as she did every night. When one no longer needs to sleep and one's friends are in danger, there is no better way to guard them than to lie among them, feigning slumber, with a watch spell set.
Through its invisible web she felt Itharr stir, plagued by dark thoughts, building his killing rage for the battle tomorrow. Later, Sylun6 sent soothing visions to Belkram when a dream made him start in terror and almost awaken. Sharantyr needed no such kindnesses; she lay in peace, her dreams deep.
They were fine battle companions and good friends, Sylun6 smiled up at the dark roof of the tent overhead. She closed her eyes again and turned her thoughts to the many folk and places and things she must check on and watch over during this Time of Troubles, if the Realms she loved were to survive, and not some shattered, twisted remnant of Toril. At least the hours when others slept gave her time enough for reflection, to consider and anticipate all the consequences and probable unintended effects of her every action. It could truly be said of the Chosen that, more than any other thinking creatures of Faerun, they knew exactly what they were doing at all times.
Right now, Sylune was thinking over the battle tomorrow… the battle that would probably cost her this body. Jhessail and Rathan both carried fragments of stone from her hut should anything befall the one within her now, and-something was amiss!
A scrying spell swept over the tent, seeing who lay within. Its primary dweomer paused above each sleeping face as Sylune pretended to slumber, but it did not seem to sense the spell web, and withdrew without any disturbance. Yet, that is. Now someone, probably a Zhentarim mage, knew who was in this tent. While most folk still believed that the Witch of Shadowdale was long dead, only a Malaugrym had any reason to view these four sleepers as greater foes than the mightier Knights of Myth Drannor sleeping in other tents.
Sylune let out her breath in a long gasp and rose from her physical body as a ghostly, shadowy image, questing out into the camp around for any signs of fell magic. She could feel the frozen fire of magic items lying immobile in the tent Jhessail and Merith shared with Illistyl and a lady Rider, and a few faint dweomers from enspelled glow daggers riding on the hips of watchful sentries around the edge of the camp… but as long moments passed, no hostile spells came out of the night. Far away to the northeast, near ruined Myth Drannor, a wolf howled, but nothing nearby answered.
Yet a single fireball could do a lot of damage to a force this small. Perhaps she should raise a spell shield. Sylune glanced out of the tent into the still moonlight. To do so over the entire camp would be a punishing drain on the little life essence she had left; she really needed a living being to power such a magic-and to do it for long would leave the creature weak and quivering. Not a sword arm could be spared from the battle, though, so…
Something was disturbing the spell web! Sylune whirled back to face into the tent in time to see two dark, serpentine bodies rise up through the floor, making the softest of tearing sounds. Their heads, which had parted the canvas so swiftly, were deadly steel blades atop undulating, scaled coils, but they rose up in the darkness, growing swiftly larger.