Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [137]
Shandril let flames roar up into the sky and forced a savage smile onto her weary lips. The priests-' charge ended, They screamed and pushed at each other in a mad retreat. Shandril followed, grimly determined to make the city safe by nightfall, No, they'd not soon forget Shandril Shessair in this city.
By the time Shandril returned to Spell Court, the sun was setting over the Citadel of the Raven, In the gloaming, she saw winking spell lights beside the cluster of her friends, The lights faded, and a single figure stood where they'd been-the Bard of Shadowdale. Shandril ran joyously to meet Storm, who had begun conversing with Mire and the others.
As Shandril approached, Storm turned and called out warmly, "I wondered when you'd grow tired of devastating the place,"
They hugged each other. "Belarla and Oelaerone send you their heartfelt thanks and their congratulations," Storm said, "Mirt tells me they had to get back to their house, before the customers started to come calling-and before you got them into another fight they might not walk away from."
Shandril had started to laugh, but she fell silent at those set words, She looked past the bard at the body of Sarhthor of the Zbentarim lying still on the flagstones, Shivering she clutched Storms strong, reassuring body harder and quietly told the bard what the wizard had done before he died.
Storm drew back in surprise, staring alternately at Shandril and Sarhthor, "I don't recognize him," she said, "but I don't know all the Harpers in Faerun, after all," Her face darkened, "Come; let's be gone from here before Manshoon regains control,"
"Manshoon?"
Storm smiled ruefully." Manshoon is always less dead than he appears, Elminster's slain him more than once before-quite thoroughly-only to have to do it again a winter later, Manshoon has his secrets," She smiled more broadly and dropped something into Shandril's hand, "And now you do, too."
Shandril looked down, In her hand was a small silver harp on a chain. She touched it in wonder, Its tiny strings stirred in a mournful, somehow proud time.
"If you both don't mind," Storm added softly, "Mirt wants to give Delg's badge to Narm. You're both Harpers now,"
Epilogue
Lighting crashed and staggered across the sky far to the east. The guard watched it, thankful for the momentary entertainment. No duty post in Zhentil Keep was more mind-numbing than;his one, He hefted his halberd wearily and yawned. Rubbing his cheek, he watched lightning crack the dome of night again, and was briefly thankful that the storm was far off; otherwise he'd have to huddle against the door of the crypt to keep dry. Hours to go until dawn.
"Gods deliver me from this everlasting boredom," he muttered,
"The gods have heard you, fool-to your cost."
The guard tried to spin, but the hand that clasped his neck was very strong, Struggling wildly, he glimpsed the crypt's doorway, dark and open, but he couldn't see his attacker. He didn't need to. Fear lashing his heart, the guard went down into the last darkness, and he knew who had killed him.
Manshoon looked down at the sprawled body. "Yawning when you were supposed to be guarding my future is a crime punishable by death, Had I forgotten to warn you of that? Life is so unfair."
He carefully closed the door of the crypt, glancing at the four bodies lying ready there… four? Gods, he'd best be preparing others; how many had he gone through now? He turned away to start the long walk home across Zhentil Keep. The way was long, and the boots this body wore had started to crumble; he walked slowly, thankful that the storm had emptied the night streets, The few guards who saw him carefully looked away; Manshoon passed them with a grim smile.
Fzoul obviously hadn't known about all of his crypts. Sloppy work, unfortunately typical of the more devout or ostensibly devout-side of the Brotherhood. He looked up at the spires of the Black Altar as a lightning flash outlined them, and nodded.
"I have a score to settle there." There were advantages to staying dead for a