Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [102]
Shandril closed the door,
Behind her, the scraping sound came again. She spun around-to see the Zhentarim wizard walking slowly and confidently down the hall toward her, There was no blood on him; he looked unhurt and very much alive. He smiled at her as he came. "Well met, Shandril Shessair," he said lightly, "You bear a sharp sword, I see. Shall we try it against my spells?"
His smile was steady and confident, Fear touched Shandril. Trembling, she hurriedly opened the door on the right again-but the crates and dusty cloths were gone, This time, the door opened into a brilliantly ht hall of polished marble and hanging candle clusters.
Shandril swallowed, Cold sweat ran down her back. If she stepped through that floor, would she ever find her way out again?
She looked back down the dark hallway to see how close the Zhent had come-and found herself staring at a stone wall that hadn't been there before, blocking the hall only a few paces away. The carved stone face of a lion stood out in relief in its center, and seemed to smile mockingly at her.
Despite the wall, she could hear the scraping sound of the wizard's boots coming nearer, somewhere on the other side of the stones, He was striding confidently, not slowing or seeming uncertain about his way. She tossed another coin-and it vanished into the lion's smile without a sound. An illusion, There was no Narm or Mirt or anyone else here to help her now. Whether she lived or died was up to her, Damn all Zhent wizards! Shandril took a deep breath, turned back to the well-lit marble hall, and went in, sword ready.
The marble hall was large and empty. It stretched away for many paces on all sides, dwarfing Mourngrym's feast hall in Shadowdale. The ceiling was lost in darkness high overhead, and the polished floor gleamed under her boots, Shandril hurried forward, trying to get as far away from the door-and the wizard pursuing her-as possible.
There was a hint of movement on either side as Shandril hurried past, as if phantoms were locked together in stately dances-but whenever she looked directly to either side, where she thought she'd seen movement, all was still.
The hall was wider and longer than any room Shandrl had ever seen-probably larger than the hall she'd run through in the dark in Myth Drannor – but now she could see its other end, Stairs led up to a dais there, and a single dark door, She was about halfway there when the music began, Soft, sweet piping and harping. Intricate and mournful-and like nothing she'd ever heard before. She looked all around, but no musicians were to be seen. The music seemed to wash around her, corning from everywhere and nowhere. A trick sent by the wizard-or something else? Far behind her, she heard the door where she'd entered swing open, and the scrape of boots sounded again on marble, Shandril set her teeth and strode on, The music faded as she reached the steps, By the time she had ascended to the top and looked back along the hall, all was silent except for the sounds of the striding wizard, He was coming toward her, a small figure in the distance, and Shandril knew he was smiling.
She could feel it.
Behind the approaching wizard, the hall had changed, At that end now were stone pillars and archways, brilliantly lit by flickering torches, which showed her al least four stone-lined passages running off at various angles, They certainly hadn't been there when she'd come into the hall.