Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [52]
Delg's eyes were large and round; Narm was somehow glad that this was as much news to him as to them. "One of these dark ones died that night, too," Mirt went on, "when he got past them to strike at ye. Elminster used some sort of spell I've never heard of before to snatch the sphere from around all of ye and hurt it about the Shadowmaster, like a tightening fist, until all its prismatic effects were visited on the creature. It was trapped, unable to escape to another plane, and was destroyed." Shandril shuddered, and cast a quick look at Narm. His fists were clenched in his lap, and he looked chilled and frightened.
Mirt frowned. "Yer faces say ye've not known of this before. Ab, well-perhaps that was for the best.
Terrified folk seldom make wise decisions." He got up with a grunt and added, "Enough talk for now.
On, or night'll come long before we see open land beyond these trees."
Shandril nodded, her face rather white. "Why has no one ever told us about these 'Shadowmasters'?" she almost whispered, as they all stood up. "I would rather have known."
Delg shrugged. "What difference could it have made, lass, save to worry you?"
Mirt nodded. "Aye. One thing more, too. Does one put a sword into a child's hand and march her out to face the gathered host of the Flaming Fist, just to see her expression? That's sheer cruelty."
"While standing her in the mist so she can't see the army she faces, is merely slaughter-is that it?"
Shandril asked softly, eyes steady on his, flames leaping deep within them.
Mirt held her gaze in silence for two long, slow breaths before he reached out one gnarled hand to touch hers. Then, to the astonishment of the others, he knelt before Shandril, as one does before a king.
Looking up over her hand, her fingers still in his gentle grasp, he said roughly, "Aye. Ye have the right of it, Lady. That's why I came here. It's never nice to die alone."
"It always takes longer to get out of a forest than it does to get in," Mirt grumbled as the last of the light failed. Dusk hung heavy around them as they made a hasty camp amid the trees.
Delg seemed upset with their route and everything else; when Narm asked him what was amiss, the dwarf turned dark eyes up at him and said, "I feel ill luck ahead, soon."
The gloomy dwarf stood first watch, and Mirt was soon snoring like a contented bear on one side of the fire. Shandril and Narm lay together in their blankets and held each other. After Narm fell asleep, Shandril stared into the fire.
It seemed very long ago that they'd flown over Shadow dale together at their wedding-and longer still since she'd left The Rising Moon in search of adventure. And now, folk she hadn't even heard of plotted her death.
The watching skull was patient. It waited, floating low in the concealing darkness while silent tears fell onto Shandril's blanket. It waited, motionless, while she settled herself down against Narm, stroking his cheek tenderly.
It waited, as she fell asleep, and waited still, until Delg's attention was elsewhere. Then, silently, it drifted down to feed.
One bare shoulder had been left exposed as Shandril and Narm lay huddled together. The skull sank down and bit the smooth white flesh. Shandril stirred-and then, with a sort of sigh, relaxed. Spellfire flowed slowly, unseen, out of her.
Delg got up then, as good sentries do, to walk about and check on the safety of those he guarded.
The skull cast a hasty, silent spell to keep Shandril asleep as its fangs withdrew, and then another to quickly heal the wounds it had made.
By the time Delg looked down at Shandril, the skull was gone. Plucky lass. If she'd been a dwarf, now… Not for the first time, Delg wished he'd married. This was the sort of daughter he could be proud of. Tenderly he covered