Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [136]
"Ohh!" he gasped, "Gods, but that burns!" His eyes flew open.
Shandril smiled down into his bruised face and kissed him, taking her spellfire back. Flames leaked around their lips as he smiled in grateful relief from the pain, then hugged her happily.
When Shandril broke free to breathe, Narm grinned up at her, "You've won! You did it!" he said.
Shandril crooked an eyebrow, "We did it," she replied, almost disapprovingly, "Without you-and the others-I'd be so much meat on Fzoul's floor right now."
She sighed and glanced up, A Zhentilar who'd been cautiously approaching across the courtyard turned and fled, Shandril chuckled.
"Fzoul and most of the wizards here- are dead-and I think I'm done with killing Zhents for a bit… unless they try to bother its again before we leave," She stood up. "How do you feel?"
"Weak, but whole," he said with a smile, He tried futilely to smooth down his hair with his fingers; it stood out straight from his scalp, "I've had enough of a taste of spellfire to know I never want such power" he added, "How are you, Shan?"
Shandril smiled at him, "Never better, lord of my heart." Spellfire danced in her eyes for a moment.
Narm shank away with an involuntary shiver.
Sadness touched Shandril's eyes as they stared at each other. Narm reached out to lay his hand firmly on her arm, "It's not-I don't fear you, my love; it's just the fire-"
"I know," she said softly, "You, at least, don't think of me as a prize to be fought over, or a goddess of fire to be feared."
Narm looked at the motionless forms lying nearby, "Neither do these Harpers, love," he said, She turned to Narm and replied, "Yes, time to wake these dear friends-all but Sarhthor, I fear." She stared at the wizard's sharp features and impulsively bent and kissed his cheek. He did not stir, Sad and sober, Shandril turned to heal her other friends with a kiss,..
The last tingling of the spellfire left Mirt, and the gentle healing hands withdrew. The Old Wolf growled and tried to struggle to his feet. The world swam, and his knees gave way, He fell back, too weak and dazed to rise yet,…
Tessaril sighed and fought her own weakness, Dragging herself upright, she leaned on her sword for support, "Come, Lord," she said quietly, extending a hand. Mirt groaned again, and struggled to reach her slim fingers…
"Mono. That was a nice kiss," Belarla said, stretching, as she lay on her back on the flagstones.
Shandril watched the wrinkles of pain fading away from the Harper s beautiful face and smiled down at her. Belarla smiled back "Yes, she's much better than most of our clients," a still groggy Oelaerone commented from nearby, She sat idly turning something in her fingers: a few scorched feathers clinging to a blackened wooden shaft-all that was left of the arrow that had nearly claimed her life. "But then they're men… and what do men know of kissing'"
Belarla rolled up to one elbow. She stiffened and put a warning hand on Shandril's arm. "Speaking of men," she murmured, pointing.
Shandril looked up quickly and saw men with grim faces-priests in the black robes of Bane-coming into the courtyard. The Holy of Bane were more than a score strong, and some of them held glowing staves and maces, A tall man at their head raised his staff, pointed at Shandril and her companions, and shouted, "For the glory of Bane, stay them!"
"Slay them!" thundered thirty throats as one, and the priests loyal to Elthaulin, the New Voice of Bane, followed him forward, With a dark look in her eyes, Shandril rose from the Harpers. Spellfire swirled around her hands and ran swiftly along her hair-and then she sent it lashing out, Elthaulin blazed up in front of her like a dry torch.
Healing took far more spellfire than smiting, Shandril realized wearily. Mast I go nn killing forever?
"Halt, men of Bane!" she cried, "Let me be, and I'll leave: you alive.